[Illustration: _The Return of the Crusaders_]

                    _Life Stories for Young People_




                               BARBAROSSA


                     _Translated from the German of
                              Franz Kühn_

                                   BY
                            GEORGE P. UPTON
                    _Translator of “Memories,” etc._

                        WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS

                  [Illustration: A. C. McCLURG & CO.]

                                CHICAGO
                          A. C. McCLURG & CO.
                                  1906

                               Copyright
                          A. C. McClurg & Co.
                                  1906
                      Published September 22, 1906

                THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.




                          Translator’s Preface


From whatever point of view we consider Frederick I,—more familiarly
known as “Barbarossa,” because of his red beard,—whether as the greatest
of the sovereigns of the Holy Roman Empire, or as one of the most
gallant of the famous crusade leaders, the story of his life is one of
absorbing interest. This little volume includes a sketch of the events
which led up to his accession to the throne of Germany, of his various
campaigns in Italy after he had received the imperial crown, and of the
disastrous third Crusade, in which he took part with Richard the
Lion-hearted of England and Philip Augustus of France. The young reader
will probably feel most interested in Barbarossa as a Crusader,
particularly because in this connection appear the two young knights,
Raymond and Conrad, who became the _protégés_ of Barbarossa after the
death of their gallant father, Conrad of Feuchtwangen, on the
battlefield. Their brave exploits in battle, the adventurous ride of
Raymond when he carried to the Emperor the news of the danger of his
father and his little band in the valley, the capture of the brothers by
the fleeing Turks at Iconium, and the exciting description of the test
to which the Sultan exposed them, will appeal to the young from the
romantic side, while their noble qualities as Christian knights and
their high manly character should make an equally forcible appeal, in
these days when knighthood can hardly be said to be in flower.

In making this translation I have endeavored to retain the vigorous
descriptions as well as the healthy sentiment and charming simplicity of
the author’s moralizing by keeping as closely to the original as
possible. The only liberty I have taken with the text is the omission of
passages here and there,—without marring the context, however,—so as to
make the volume nearly uniform in size with the others in the series. I
have invariably characterized Frederick as Emperor, referring to him
thus as Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire rather than as King of Germany.

                                                                G. P. U.

Chicago, July 1, 1906.




                                Contents


  I. Return of the Crusaders                                          11
  II. Frederick Ascends the Throne                                    21
  III. The Italian Campaigns                                          33
  IV. The Mayence Festival and Tournament                             45
  V. Life in the Castle                                               52
  VI. The Third Crusade                                               61
  VII. Conrad’s Victory in the Valley                                 73
  VIII. Raymond’s Heroic Ride                                         86
  IX. Conrad’s Death                                                 100
  X. Capture of the Brothers                                         112
  XI. The Brothers’ Ordeal                                           126
  XII. The Emperor to the Rescue                                     138
  XIII. Barbarossa’s Victory and Death                               153
    Appendix                                                         167




                             Illustrations


  The Return of the Crusaders                             _Frontispiece_
  Raymond’s Ride                                                      92
  The Test                                                           132
  Redbeard and the Lion                                              156




                               Barbarossa




                               Chapter I
                        Return of the Crusaders


The second Crusade was ended.[1] Exploits as heroic as those in the
first Crusade, under Godfrey of Bouillon,[2] had been performed, but no
battles as glorious as those in the first had been fought. It was a
difficult task to wrest Palestine from the domination of the Turks.
Scarcely the tenth part of the stout champions who set out from the
various provinces of France and Germany returned, and of this little
remnant many were exhausted by marches, enfeebled by disease, and doomed
to speedy death. Most of the castles resounded with lamentations over
the death of their masters. Widows and orphans stood wringing their
hands around catafalques in front of the altars in the castle chapels,
as the chaplains prayed for the souls of the noble ones who had given
their lives for the Christian religion in the far distant wastes of
Asia. Every province mourned its dead, for in many cases the people had
lost their lord and protector, who had restrained cruelty and
lawlessness. Even in cases where these masters had ruled with an iron
hand and, in violation of their knightly and Christian duties, had
maltreated their inferiors, there was no rejoicing over their death; for
during the son’s minority the guardian came into absolute control and
might rob and plunder at will, while if there were no heir, the Emperor
had the power to place a stranger over them. “It is better to cling to
the old ways” was a German saying, even then.

Felseck was one of the few joyous castles. A great banner bearing the
colors of its master waived from the loftiest turret. Armed servitors
stood upon the ramparts and the guardians of his widely scattered
possessions awaited his coming at the gates and portcullises. From the
watchtower the warder scanned the plain, which stretched a long distance
from the castle heights, watching with experienced eye every cloud of
dust raised by each little passing troop. Many a time the heart of the
warder, who had grown gray in faithful service to his master, beat more
quickly as his keen glance recognized signs of an approaching company,
and repeatedly he brushed away a tear when he found himself deceived and
saw the company riding off in another direction, or not displaying the
colors of the house.

It was already past midday. Many a face was clouded with anxiety and
suspense, and some even feared that the report of the safe return of the
lord of the castle might be false, especially as so many reports had
proved untrue. Rather than have their joy turn to bitter grief, it would
have been less sorrowful tidings had they been told at once that Conrad
of Feuchtwangen was no longer among the living. It would have been a
crushing sorrow, but they could have submitted to the inevitable with
more courage than if they had had to realize that the hope of his
return, once aroused, must give place to life-long disappointment.

A cloud of dust appeared again, and the warder gave the signal. A
solitary knight was seen riding swiftly toward the castle. His colors
could not yet be made out, and the occupants of the castle, as well as
the people round about who were awaiting the arrival of the lord of the
manor, hovered between fear and hope. All watched the approaching
stranger anxiously; many insisted they could distinguish the colors of
the house, but others were in doubt. When it was certain that the former
were right, then all were eager to know whether he brought joyous or sad
tidings.

A trumpet signal was heard in the distance, to which the warder at once
replied. This interchange of calls announced the approach of a friend of
the house. Rushing forward to meet him, the people questioned the rider
and begged for information. They followed after his sweating steed and
exultantly surged forward to the castle gate. The nearer he came, the
bigger and more clamorous grew the multitude, and long before the gates
were opened to him, the people were confident he was the bearer of good
tidings.

Then the castle halls resounded with joyful acclamations which could be
restrained no longer, and which grew more exultant as another and louder
flourish of the trumpet was heard from the watchtower; all rushed out to
extend their welcome, for, rapidly as the little band approached, it was
all too slow for the impatient throng. The broad plain was soon covered
with the enthusiastic multitude. All were eager to witness the return of
their good master to his ancestral halls after the performance of such
glorious deeds in the face of such adverse circumstances.

Stout hands bore the consort of the returning knight in a litter at the
front; and by her side were her two lovely, fair-haired boys, images of
their father, who could not restrain their impatience and were doing
their utmost to keep up. At last they met the returning knights. Conrad
of Feuchtwangen quickly dismounted from his great war-horse, and in an
instant his faithful Gertrude was in his arms. The joy of seeing her
lord once more overcame her, and she clung helplessly to the strong man
who was again all her own after such long absence, and spared from the
dreadful dangers to which he had been exposed daily and almost hourly.
She had hardly recovered herself before she was greeted with passionate
embraces and expressions of joy, which the boys also shared. Frightened
at first by the stern, sun-browned face of their father and the pallor
of their mother, they soon regained their courage. They clung to him and
were loth to desist from hugging and kissing him and calling him the
tenderest of endearing names. Universal joy prevailed, and tears of
sympathy came to the eyes of many a bearded warrior at the sight of such
happiness. Good wishes and the heartiest of welcomes were extended on
all sides, and Knight Conrad cordially thanked all, both high and low.

When the first joyous outburst was over, they made their way to the
castle. Gertrude mounted a beautiful snow-white palfrey; the boys were
placed on their father’s war-horse, and supported by his strong arms
they passed through the joyous multitude, who followed after them. The
knight and his train entered the beautifully decorated castle halls,
while the armed servitors and the people could hardly find room in the
large courtyard. Evening came, but its cool air did not dampen the
enthusiasm. The courtyard glowed with the light of torches illuminating
the crowd, which was hilariously but harmlessly celebrating the occasion
with the contents of the castle cellars. Within, in his high ancestral
hall, Conrad sat with his family and friends at a richly furnished
table, and many a bumper of choice wine was drank in honor of the happy
home-coming. At intervals the cheerful strains of lutes were heard, and
the Minnesingers, inspired to do their best, sang many a long-drawn-out
story of the heroic deeds of the old German heroes, in majestic verse.

“We have had enough, noble sirs,” at last said Conrad. “Thanks for your
painstaking service. Now join us in celebrating this happy day. You must
be weary.”

“Oh, my lord, how could we ever tire of relating the great deeds of our
ancestors? Are they not the source of all the pleasures and sorrows of
the present and future? Do they not inspire emulation of noble actions,
and the exercise of knightly virtues?”

“Their remembrance is a treasure for all time,” said a knight of about
the same age as Conrad, “but we have also witnessed exploits worthy of
our ancestors, even if the outcome was not as fortunate.”

“Oh,” said Gertrude, and many joined in her request, “tell us of your
exploits in the Holy Land among the Turkish hordes, even though it may
temper our joy to hear the true account.”

“As you see,” replied the knight who was called Frederick of Swabia, “we
do not return as numerous or as imposing as when we set out. It was then
a goodly sight to look upon,—nigh seventy thousand heavily armored
knights, not including foot-soldiers, riding to the Holy War. Hungary
and Greece were astonished when they saw the array, and exulted over the
certain destruction of the Turkish army. Oh, the treachery of these
villains, who expected their deliverance at our hands and then placed
almost insurmountable obstacles in our way! They overcharged us in the
sale of supplies. Our hungry men were often obliged to procure
subsistence by force when they were out of money. This occasioned many
fatal quarrels, and we reached Asia Minor at last needy and sorely
troubled. It was there our real misfortunes began, for the Greeks
carried their knavery to the extreme. Sometimes when our army, which
unfortunately had chosen the shorter but more dangerous route, arrived
at cities, we were not allowed to enter. There was no way of obtaining
food except in baskets let down from the walls, for which extortionate
prices were demanded. It was ‘Money, or your life!’ Often, when the
money was sent up, the rope was not lowered again, and the unfortunate
one, who perhaps had parted with his last penny, was only laughed at.
Even when we obtained anything for our money it was wretched stuff,
barely fit to eat, and sometimes poisoned. In some cases lime was found
in the bread, which caused the death of several of our half-starved
warriors.”

“Terrible!” cried Gertrude, shuddering at the thought of such suffering,
“was that Christian-like?”

“The Greeks treated us even worse than the heathen Turks did, and it
will always be remembered to their shame. Their guides purposely led us
astray. More than once they disappeared at daybreak, when they were most
needed. Once, to our great surprise, we found ourselves well-nigh
delivered by those scoundrels into the hands of the Saracens. For
Turkish gold they led us into an arid waste, where the Turks suddenly
attacked us and, favored by the almost limitless stretch of level
country, surrounded us and used their fatal skill at fence so
dexterously that in a few days the greater part of the German army was
sacrificed. Hardly the tenth part of it returned to Byzantium. We were
among the fortunate ones, but our friendly reception at the hands of the
Greek Emperor was poor compensation for our misfortunes. Shame upon the
people of a country who would rather see their champions perish than aid
them against a dangerous foe!

“Little grateful for this hospitality, we continued our retreat as soon
as possible. At Nicea we met the French, who at the outset had as large
a force as our own, and who had met with similar misfortunes. The most
of them had been slaughtered by the Turks. An agreement was made to take
the remainder to Antioch, whither the King of France had gone by vessel.
Instead of keeping their word, however, the Greeks detained them in dark
hovels, and left them a prey to hunger and disease.”

“Horrible!” exclaimed all.

“But true,” said Frederick. “Will you believe me when I tell you that
thousands voluntarily surrendered to the Turks, for they expected and
received better treatment from them than from those of their own faith?”

These dreadful revelations brought tears of sorrow to the eyes of
Gertrude and many of the listeners.

“At last,” continued Frederick, “we reached Jerusalem, where also both
sovereigns came. Reduced in numbers and half-starved as we were, we
nevertheless ventured to besiege Damascus, but were baffled again by
these Eastern Christians, who, in consideration of Turkish gold, helped
the enemy and obstructed us.”

“So you see,” interrupted Conrad, “we came back rich in exploits, but
not crowned with victory.”

“That is not our fault,” replied Frederick, “and yet it is not just to
lay the blame upon Providence. It is just as unreasonable also to
reproach the Abbé Bernard of Clairvaux,[3] who advocated the Crusade, as
to charge us with responsibility for the failure of the movement which
he was certain would be successful. The highest human skill cannot avail
against treachery. The grand work of rescuing the Holy Sepulchre will
not succeed until all engaged in it are animated by Christian love and
harmony, and work together for the common purpose, allowing nothing to
divert them from its attainment.”




                               Chapter II
                      Frederick Ascends the Throne


The German Empire suffered many grave calamities the following year.[4]
Henry, who already had been designated successor of Conrad III, suddenly
died, and all hope of filling the vacancy on the throne without exciting
dangerous quarrels among the princes and their adherents seemingly was
gone. The seriousness of the situation was soon apparent. Two years
passed, and no successor was found. Then the sudden death of Conrad
occurred, causing great sorrow and even dismay in the German provinces;
for he had been a good ruler, even though he had not always been
successful in securing peace.

The situation was alarming. In Lombardy, on the other side of the Alps,
the great and rich cities were struggling for absolute independence.
Each of them demanded exclusive privileges and individual freedom. They
refused to pay taxes or take commands from any one. Each sought to
dominate the others and make them tributary. At one time they formed
alliances to subjugate others, and when this was accomplished they
turned against each other. One day in alliance with the Pope, the next
with the Emperor, as soon as they were on good terms with each
other,—which was not often the case,—they would join hands against both.
Every device was employed to prevent a lasting agreement between Church
and State, and nothing gave them greater delight than the desperate
conflict between the Emperor and the representative of Christ, when
excommunications and edicts of outlawry were hurled from the respective
thrones. They favored the one who would concede the most to them, though
perhaps a few days before they had bitterly detested and harassed him.
They pretended to submit to the victor, with the secret determination to
throw off his yoke at the first opportunity. Indeed, in the very act of
making an agreement, they were often planning to break it. Many a ruler
had vainly exerted his utmost power to end this wretched business. After
the death of Conrad, Italian affairs were in almost inextricable
confusion, and the German fatherland was in almost as desperate a
condition, growing out of lust for power, and oppressive restrictions.
The grand dukes repeatedly defied the imperial power, and forcibly
extorted from weak rulers privileges and immunities which they used for
their own profit in dealing with their inferiors. Their vassals, the
knights, were humiliated, deprived of all authority, robbed of their
possessions, and even church and convent property did not escape
spoliation. Many resorted to arms to defend their rights against the
feudal lords, or indemnified themselves at the expense of the common
people. The freedom of the latter grew continually less, and their
humiliation greater. The regular taxes were increased and new ones were
levied, until at last the peasant had little left but life. The
industrious workers of the cities hardly ventured to carry their
products to the nearest market without first purchasing protection from
the nobles. Even then, they were often plundered by having to pay ransom
to save themselves from being dragged to some dungeon.

This is but a feeble description of the wretched plight of the mightiest
Empire in Christendom. To redress these evils and restore order required
almost superhuman ability, and the princes looked around in vain for a
deliverer. The haughty Henry the Lion,[5] an aggressive, ambitious
prince, had no one’s confidence. Some were only solicitous to increase
their personal power, while others lacked the ability to protect
themselves successfully against any assailant.

The dying Conrad, however, took every precaution. He had experienced the
difficulty of ruling such an Empire, and had decided upon the right man
for the place. His own son Frederick was still a boy, and Conrad knew
the Empire would not be safe in his hands. He proposed his nephew,
Frederick of Swabia, whom we have already met. In a full assembly of the
princes at Frankfort-on-the-Main, one praised the heroic courage he had
displayed in the Crusade, another his judgment and wisdom, a third his
knightly virtues, and a fourth was confident he would shortly put an end
to the long and bloody conflicts of the Guelphs and Ghibellines.[6] He
was unanimously elected, March 4, 1152. All the German provinces
voluntarily and enthusiastically endorsed the choice of the princes, and
a vast multitude of all classes and conditions exultantly greeted him
when the coronation ceremony took place at Aix-la-Chapelle, on the tenth
of the same month.

No complaint was made this time of irregularity in the election.[7] Some
slight regret was expressed that it had not been conducted publicly
instead of in the Frankfort town-hall, but this was of little moment.
The choice satisfied every one. All hoped to see the glorious old period
of Charlemagne restored, and considered it auspicious that the selection
was made in a city which, according to tradition, owed its origin to
that great hero of the olden time; for, when hard pressed by the Saxon
heathen, it was there he discovered a ford across the Main, which saved
his army, and near that spot he founded the city of Frankfort.

The coronation ceremonies at last were over, and the various popular
entertainments gradually came to an end. The tumult of the crowds about
the hall was hushed, and only two knights remained, who walked up and
down the spacious apartment engaged in earnest conversation. The one,
although only of medium stature, was strong and well made. His piercing
glance, so terrible to an enemy on the battlefield, rested quietly upon
his friend and helper. It was easy to recognize the new Emperor by his
fair complexion, which the burning sun of Asia had but little browned,
his blond hair, and his red beard.[8] The other was Conrad of
Feuchtwangen, his friend and comrade in arms at a time when deeds almost
passing belief were performed.

“I know as well as thou, my dear Conrad, the magnitude of my task,” said
the Emperor. “Whichever way I turn I find difficult problems, any one of
which will require almost superhuman ability to solve. Germany and
Italy, so widely separated from each other, are involved in desperate
complications, but I feel that I have sufficient strength and courage to
face the situation and fill my high position.”

“The princes were certain of that when they elected thee.”

“With divine help I will prove myself worthy of their confidence. The
history of our people shows that the man who is called to high duties,
and places his reliance upon God, is a safe guide and protector of the
people, and such an one often accomplishes important results in a short
time. The incomparable Charles the Great united all classes of his
people into a powerful whole, forced the most rebellious to recognize
his authority, eradicated heathenism in a single generation, reformed
the habits of the people by the glorious teachings of Christianity, and
established a well-ordered Empire. At a later period, when princes
failed to profit by what he had accomplished, when fraternal strife
swept away the best and devastated the country, they suffered many years
from the disgrace of it and bowed their necks under the yoke of the
barbarous Magyars, until the matchless Henry[9] came with all the old
authority and the old virtues, and made the barbarians tremble at the
very name of Germany.”

“How faithfully thou hast treasured in thy memory the actions of the
great!”

“Yes, I have vowed that these men, but above all that Charles, the
noble-hearted founder of German power, called ‘the Great’ by the world
and ennobled by the Church, shall be my constant exemplar. The German
authority shall again prevail, and the German Empire shall flourish
again as in the days of old.”

“And yet, how many obstacles stand in the way of this achievement!”

“Charles also encountered obstacles, and certainly as great ones as
these, but he finally overcame them. He found the most potent remedies
for the evils of his time, and we must do the same for ours.”

“But the evils now are entirely different.”

“I think they are very similar. He was forced to break the power of the
grand dukes and protect the common people, and that is what we must do.”

“The first task may be impossible, for it is extremely difficult to
decide what the dukes have rightly inherited and what they have
usurped.”

“In such cases we shall have to prevent any further increase of their
power,—the remedy which Henry attempted to apply. The great cities with
their industries and commerce, where the arts and sciences are
cultivated more assiduously than in many knightly castles, must employ
their wealth and power to curb insolence and punish offences against the
laws. This will enable them to help each other and manage their own
affairs. They certainly should know better what is for their welfare
than those at a distance, who are ignorant of their circumstances.”

“That will exercise an important influence upon the general welfare.”

“True. The Emperor will find in every city a power already organized
with which to punish those who now violate the law with impunity;
because the law-enforcing power is so distant they can escape with their
plunder behind protecting walls.”

“But how about the people in the open country?”

“They, too, must have the protection of the law, and their actions must
not be arbitrarily controlled.”

“Excuse me, noble sire. The Italian cities manage their own affairs. The
possessions claimed by the nobles were inherited from their ancestors.
They associate freely with the common people, also, and yet these cities
do not enjoy the blessings of freedom.”

“That is true, but they mistake their real position and welfare. They
dream of the glorious fame of ancient Rome, but they have not the
slightest comprehension of its exalted virtues. Where will you find a
Mucius, a Fabricius, or a Cincinnatus? But at every step you will find a
Catiline, a Nero, or a Heliogabalus. ‘Freedom for us, but none for
others,’ is the motto of the Lombardian cities, as it is of Rome. That
is the cause of their decadence.”

“And do you expect to maintain a powerful authority there?”

“With God’s help, yes. I will curb their audacity, but will concede to
them all their chartered rights. By demanding only what belongs to the
sovereign, protecting the weak against the strong, and firmly and
judiciously administering the government, there may be a successful
result.”

“But have you considered what obstacles the temporal and spiritual
powers may place in your way? Should the latter oppose you, you will
find that bans and interdicts are dangerous and far-reaching weapons.”

“All honor to the princes of the Church who administer its sacred
functions, but in all my relations with them the great Charles shall be
my exemplar. Spiritual affairs shall be respected and protected, as they
were by my great predecessor; but when unjustifiable encroachments are
made upon imperial rights and privileges, I will resist them just as
firmly as he did. Each must keep in his own place. I will take care not
to interfere in spiritual matters when I have no right to do so.”

“The union of spiritual and temporal authority has never been productive
of good.”

“For that very reason it is better for them to be separated. To the
emperor, the sword; to the bishop, the Scriptures. If God helps me, and
grants me the good fortune to win as sovereign such friends as I have as
Frederick of Swabia, I shall not be uneasy.”

Conrad knew what the Emperor meant. Honored by his confidence, he
promised him anew his unchanging love and devotion. He pressed the
extended hand of his royal friend and they separated.

Frederick had an opportunity that very year to demonstrate his
authority. Two Danish princes, who were contending for the crown left by
their father, appeared at the Diet at Merseburg and requested the
Emperor to arbitrate their claims. Frederick decided Canute should be
king and Sven should be indemnified with territorial possessions. His
decision was particularly approved by the Germans, because it made
Denmark once more a vassal of Germany.

Two years after this, in 1154, Frederick made his first journey to Rome,
and but for a pestilence which broke out among his soldiers, would have
permanently settled Italian affairs. Returning to Germany, he exercised
his authority as effectively as any of his predecessors had done. He
summoned Archbishop Arnold, of Mayence, and the Count Palatine Hermann
before him because of their bloody conflicts during his absence, through
which several provinces had been devastated. They were powerful princes,
but Frederick did not hesitate to punish them severely. A dog was
fastened to the Count Palatine and his associates, and they were
compelled to go a mile with it amid the derision of high and low. The
same penalty was pronounced against the Archbishop, but was remitted in
consideration of his position and age. Soon after this, the Emperor
mustered a strong force and destroyed the castles of the robber knights
along the Rhine, who had plundered the fertile districts in their
vicinity and rendered life insecure.

The German people joyfully listened to the accounts of these exploits.
They were proud of their Emperor, and hope now rose in many a breast
that all the burdens and misfortunes from which they had suffered would
be speedily removed. The Emperor hastened from Reichstag to Reichstag,
everywhere suggesting, reproving, and rewarding. He compelled King
Boleslaus IV of Poland to recognize him as feudal lord and to make
compensation to the children of his brother, Ladislaus; this resulted in
taking Silesia from Poland and making it a separate duchy.

The power of the Empire steadily increased. Order and quiet were
everywhere restored, the cities were prosperous and the people were
happy and contented. Feared abroad, loved and honored at home, the
Emperor was at the very summit of his power. In the Reichstag at
Würzburg (1157) representatives from Italy, France, Burgundy, Denmark,
Spain, England, and Greece were present and paid homage to the German
Emperor. The King of England was also conspicuous in displaying his good
feeling, and sent costly gifts.




                              Chapter III
                         The Italian Campaigns


There was little sincerity in the protestations of loyalty which the
Italian cities made to the Emperor; indeed their disrespect for him was
soon openly displayed. Milan defied his authority with contemptuous
arrogance. Tortoria,[10] which had been destroyed by Frederick, was
rebuilt under Milan’s protection. The Milanese also demanded homage from
Lodi[11] and when that city refused to break faith with the Emperor,
they advanced upon it in force, drove away its citizens, robbed them of
their property, and demolished the city’s walls. Complaints of these
acts of violence were made to the Reichstag at Worms, and after the
hearing it was decided to send an expedition to Italy for the punishment
of the audacious rebels.

The expedition was considered all the more necessary because the Pope
had taken sides against the Emperor, and his legate had declared before
the Reichstag that the Emperor derived his authority from the Pope. This
aroused the indignation of the German knights, who haughtily declared
that the Emperor occupied a free throne given to him by the free choice
of the German princes; that the Church was dependent upon the Empire;
and that the latter would not permit any usurpation of its authority.

An armed force more numerous and better equipped than any previous one
crossed the Alps.[12] The Milanese this time appeared to be
conciliatory, for, at the Emperor’s summons, a delegation went to him
and sought to justify their conduct. Their explanations, however, did
not satisfy either the Emperor or the knights, still less the other
Italian cities which had suffered. Milan was declared under the ban of
the Empire, promptly besieged, and forced to surrender after making a
gallant defence. It was compelled to take the oath of loyalty, give up
its plunder, and promise to let its neighbors rest in peace. The
Milanese were also ordered to build an imperial castle and send three
hundred hostages to the Emperor’s camp. The nobles and dignitaries,
barefooted and with halters about their necks, begged for clemency.
Frederick decided that it was not enough merely to punish crimes already
committed. Wisdom dictated precaution against their commission in
future. He therefore summoned four of the most experienced law
authorities and required them to investigate and settle what rights
belonged to the Empire and what to the cities. He was willing to concede
all the rights of the latter, but he demanded that the cities should
take a solemn oath to respect the rights of the Empire.

Everything now appeared settled and most of the German princes returned
home with their followers; but Frederick was anxious for the future, and
remained in Italy to watch the progress of events. His fears were
justified, for the wildest confusion soon prevailed. Milan, encouraged
by the Emperor’s complications with the Pope, secured the help of
Crema[13] and other cities, and the struggle began anew. Crema was
besieged by Frederick, but made a stout defence. The dreadful struggle
lasted seven months before Crema was forced to surrender. Abandoned by
its citizens, it was sacked and then destroyed.

After obtaining reinforcements from Germany Frederick moved against
Milan. The same barbarities which had marked the siege of Crema were
repeated, and the Emperor could not prevent his troops from retaliating
in kind. He made a vow not to wear his crown again until Milan was
destroyed. The Milanese well knew that he would carry out his pledge to
the very letter. As the year drew near to its close they saw to their
dismay that he was not withdrawing his army as was his usual custom at
the approach of winter, and that the siege was to be continued. It
lasted all winter, but on March 1, 1162, the exhausted city sent
messengers to Frederick, tendering its submission and pleading for
merciful treatment.

Frederick sternly replied, “I demand your unconditional surrender”;
whereupon the supplicants abandoned themselves to their fate. Three
hundred knights brought the keys of all the castles and gates, and
thirty-six municipal banners were laid at his feet. All persons of rank
took the oath of allegiance. The entire population of the city came
barefooted into camp with halters round their necks, ashes on their
heads, and crosses in their hands, pleading for mercy. As the long
procession was passing the Emperor, the state chariot, bearing the huge
banner of the city adorned with the portrait of Saint Ambrose, was
demolished, and the pride of Milan was humbled in the dust.

Wailing and wringing their hands, the people prostrated themselves,
begging for mercy in the name of Christ. Every one wept. Even the stern
faces of the German knights were moistened by tears; for the severity of
the penalty, richly as it was merited, touched them. The Emperor alone
remained unmoved. Milan’s repeated acts of treachery, and its lust for
power, required exemplary punishment.

“Your lives shall be spared,” he said, “but the city, with the exception
of the churches, shall be destroyed. Lodi, Cremona, Pavia, and Como
shall perform the work, and you Milanese must find homes among these
four cities.”

Remonstrances and prayers alike were of no avail. The work of
destruction began at once and the sister cities exultantly revenged
themselves upon their haughty oppressor. Soon Milan was no more, and the
other cities leagued with it voluntarily surrendered. They, too, were
destroyed.

The Italian troubles were hardly ended when the presence of the Emperor
was urgently demanded at home. There were quarrels and complications to
be settled everywhere. He travelled all over the Empire. Now he was at
Passau and Vienna, again at Cologne and Utrecht. From the Reichstags at
Ulm and Laufen he hurried to the eastern frontier and quelled the
Hungarian uprising. Soon after this he was at the Reichstags of Speier
and Nuremberg, organizing another expedition against Italy. His
representatives there unfortunately had failed to conciliate his
conquered enemies. Their passion for revenge had smouldered like a spark
in the ashes. Even without their once powerful leader, Milan, the larger
cities had leagued themselves against the Emperor. Pavia alone remained
loyal to him.

Frederick now devoted his entire attention to the restoration of order
in the refractory cities, but his customary good fortune deserted him. A
virulent pestilence quickly swept away a large part of his army, and
those who had been weakened by illness were exposed to the fierce
attacks of the Lombardians, who, emboldened by this disaster among the
Germans, seized all the mountain passes in hopes of capturing the
Emperor. Secret flight was his only hope of escape. With his true friend
Conrad and a little band[14] of knights, he fortunately reached Savoy,
and attempted to enter Germany by way of the mountains; but he was
recognized by his enemies, who planned to murder him in the night. Their
plot was discovered, however. After considering various ways of escape,
a knight, Hermann of Siebeneich, who closely resembled the Emperor,
offered to lie in his bed while Frederick made his escape. His enemies
were not so inhuman as to punish the knight for his gallant act.

Greatly depressed but not disheartened, Frederick returned to Germany,
where he found plenty to occupy his attention. Henry the Lion, Duke of
Brunswick and Saxony, the most powerful prince next to the Emperor, was
sorely oppressing his neighbors. All of them had suffered from his
depredations, the Archbishops of Magdeburg and Bremen being the special
objects of his hatred. Frederick quickly ended the trouble, however, and
made all concerned promise to keep the peace.

In 1174 Frederick undertook his fifth Italian expedition. At the outset,
fortune seemed more propitious than before, but this was only an
illusion. He realized that there was no hope of success without fresh
reinforcements from Germany, and Conrad was sent to fetch them. The
latter had often performed this errand, and knew the roads and all the
dangers attending the task. He did not delay the faithful performance of
his mission. Many of the bravest knights hastened to the assistance of
the Emperor. Conrad brought both his sons with him, that they might have
their first experience of war under the greatest princes of their time.
That powerful Prince, Henry the Lion, however, was angry with the
Emperor, although he had been his benefactor and had increased his
possessions. He pretended he was too old for service.

As soon as his reinforcements arrived, Frederick resolved to risk all in
one engagement. The Italians, who outnumbered his army, made a stand at
Legnano. The fields were decked in their loveliest attire; the sky
arched over the charming spot like a pure crystal, and was reflected in
the dancing ripples of the Ticino. It did not seem possible that deeds
of slaughter and death could be committed upon such a beautiful May
morning. The hosts on each side prepared for the fray. Frederick
carefully disposed his troops and gave the signal for attack, he
himself, as was his practice, leading the onset with desperate bravery.
Right and left he drove the enemy before him. Here he rode with levelled
spear straight against an entire troop, and there he smote with his
mighty war-club, or clove the heads of the rebels with his two-edged
sword, until blood flowed in streams. Conrad fought by his side with
equal spirit, and with him his sons, who were inspired by the great
examples before them. Notwithstanding their unflinching courage,
however, they could not force the enemy to give up an inch of ground,
although they hurled themselves again and again upon the very flower of
the Italian army and fought like desperate giants.

The Germans, with their utmost efforts, made no progress. The Emperor
and those about him seemed rooted to the spot where they stood. Where
ten fell, twenty others immediately filled their places. Frederick’s
standard-bearer was felled by a terrible blow. The standard, emblem of
victory, dropped, and the exultant shouts of the enemy followed its
capture. Frederick grimly gnashed his teeth. He put spurs to his battle
horse, and dashed forward to recover it. As the noble animal reared, its
broad breast was pierced by a spear; a stream of blood gushed from the
wound, and it fell under its master. The enemy swept over them like a
great wave. Conrad, mindful of his duty as a vassal and brother-in-arms,
rushed upon them like a lion, but he, too, disappeared as if into a
grave.

When the standard fell, the Germans wavered. When they no longer saw the
gleam of the Emperor’s helmet and heard the exultant shouts of the
enemy, they gave up all for lost. Their noblest and stoutest fighters
either had fallen or were incapacitated for further resistance. They
began to give way. The enemy charged them on all sides, and they were
soon routed. Thousands were drowned in the Ticino, and thousands more
were killed in retreat.

The Germans were in a lamentable plight, for they believed they had lost
their Emperor. His devoted spouse, when she heard the news of the
disaster, clad herself in mourning and was inconsolable over her
loss.[15] The enemy were jubilant, for their most formidable foe was no
more. Then came the news, which sounded like a romance, that the Emperor
was living, and was safe and well in his faithful Pavia, to which city
he had fought his way with his friend Conrad. Who can describe the
change of feeling on both sides when this news was confirmed? To his
faithful followers he was still their great leader and Emperor. To the
enemy he was more an object of fear than a whole army.

As Frederick could not expect any further reinforcements from Germany,
and the Lombardians feared to take part any longer in outside matters,
an agreement was made for a six years’ truce, to be followed by a treaty
of peace. Concessions were granted on both sides. Each retained its own
rights and respected those of the other. This was as satisfactory to the
Emperor as a great victory would have been, for there was a divine
spirit of compassion as well as of heroic courage in his nature. He did
not love war, but when forced to make war he was a lion.

A sorrowful duty, which he could not shirk except at the risk of the
disintegration of the Empire, awaited him at home. It will be remembered
that Henry the Lion had refused service to him on the ground of age, and
paid no heed to his earnest pleading for assistance. His excuse was a
lie. He had shown, during the Emperor’s absence, that he was not too old
for war by harrying and attacking his neighbors. It was the Duke’s
disobedience and defiance which forced the Emperor to humble this
insolent vassal. Besides this, the German princes also demanded the
punishment of this disturber of their peace. Frederick would gladly have
effected his purpose in some mild way, but it was impossible. Henry
failed to appear before the Reichstag after being thrice summoned. The
decision was then announced that he should be outlawed as a disobedient
vassal and deprived of all his rights.

Thereupon, the lion-hearted Henry unsheathed his sword. He feared not
the whole German Empire. He defeated small bodies of the army, but when
the Emperor took the field the end came speedily. Subdued by the greater
hero, he threw himself at his feet. With tears in his eyes the Emperor
was forced to execute the penalty; for they had been good friends, and
until now there had been peace between the houses of Hohenstauffen and
Welf. Henry retained only his hereditary possessions; his feudal tenure
and rights were distributed among more faithful subjects, and he was
banished from Germany for three years.

Thus, after years of warfare, the enemies of the Emperor were either
destroyed or they wisely decided to submit to the stronger power.




                               Chapter IV
                  The Mayence Festival and Tournament


Peace now prevailed both in Italy and Germany. Frederick regarded the
remarkable prosperity of the Italian cities without envy, for it
contributed greatly toward the prosperity of the German cities; and the
German people did not withhold their gratitude to the Emperor for the
good fortune they enjoyed. Frederick indeed was richly rewarded for his
great achievements both in youth and manhood.

In recognition of this great prosperity, the Emperor organized a
national festival upon a scale grander than had ever been known before.
At Whitsuntide of 1184, princes, counts, and knights from all parts of
Germany assembled by his invitation at Mayence, the seat of the highest
spiritual princes, prelates, abbots, and priests. Strangers poured into
the city in such numbers that they could hardly find accommodation. Upon
the great plain before the gates a new city of tents quickly arose,
where lodging could be obtained. The princes entered through the city
gates splendidly mounted and with large retinues. The Archbishop of
Cologne had over four thousand followers. If it was hardly possible to
count the nobles and distinguished persons, how can the number of people
who streamed in from everywhere be estimated? It was not so much the
brilliant spectacle that drew these burghers and peasants to the city,
as it was affection for the highest and most revered personage in the
Empire, who had secured peace and prosperity for them. The joy of the
Emperor was the joy of the people. It exalted the one and glorified the
other. The streets of Mayence swarmed with people of all conditions. The
fields were thronged by them, and the neighboring mountains loudly
echoed their festive songs.

The Emperor entertained all the princes and nobles, the strangers and
the people of the city for three days. An incredible amount of food was
consumed, and wine flowed in streams. All were happy and satisfied, for
every one found something that contributed to his highest pleasure. Some
regaled themselves at the abundant feasts, others admired the stately
knights, the brilliancy of their armor, the beauty and strength of their
steeds, while still others visited the various sports.

Along the tented city stretched a wide plain, surrounded by barriers,
and in the midst an elevated dais decorated with gaily colored banners,
splendid tapestries, and brilliant draperies. At early daybreak one
morning people stood in crowds by the barriers, evidently awaiting a
spectacle. As the sun rose, the crowds increased, and distinguished
guests from far and near assembled on the dais. At last the Emperor
appeared, and received an enthusiastic and long-continued welcome from
the people. In the open space, in sight of the exultant thousands, he
knighted his two sons with his own hands, and then ordered the
tournament to begin. The contestants in the feats of arms had already
been waiting long. Their powerful battle horses, seeming to know what
was impending, stamped impatiently and champed at their bits. Their
shields, embellished with their crests and arms, hung upon columns. The
heralds advanced and loudly and distinctly read the rules and
regulations of the tournament, each one of which must be strictly
observed. After sharply scrutinizing the weapons, helmets, and shields,
and inquiring the name of each knight, the heralds announced, “All are
qualified for the tournament.”

The barriers were then opened. The heralds stepped aside, two overseers
entered, carrying long white staves, and behind them followed two
knights splendidly mounted upon fiery, prancing steeds. They rode around
the grounds at a quick gallop, and as they passed the dais their steeds
stepped more proudly, the knights saluted the Emperor by lowering their
lances, and then took positions at opposite sides of the barriers. After
remaining there a short time, they couched their lances with the right
hand, and holding high their shields with the left, put spurs to their
horses and rushed at each other. They came together in the centre of the
arena. Their shields rang from the impact of the lances, but neither of
the knights was shaken. Changing positions, they rode around a second
time and then prepared for a fresh onset. It was plain that both were
greatly excited. The spectators, who had been so enthusiastic, were now
quiet, and looked on almost breathlessly as the overseers advanced near
the spot where the knights would meet. The rush was swift and impetuous.
One of the gallant knights wavered a little, but resolutely kept his
place. Furiously they came together; a lance was shattered, and its
bearer was hurled from his horse to the ground. The victor greeted the
spectators, received his prize, and withdrew. The vanquished knight
arose, and, to the delight of all, was found to be unhurt.

Two other contestants were announced with a flourish of trumpets, and
their names were loudly called. There was instant and universal
attention, for it was known that the two cherished an old grudge, and an
open encounter between them had been prevented only by the Emperor’s
command. Would they settle their quarrel now? Easily handling their
high-strung battle horses and testing their heavy lances with strong,
skilful hands, they rode to their respective positions, while a
messenger from the Emperor was conferring with the heralds and
overseers. Many were apprehensive he might forbid the contest at the
very instant the signal was given.

The knights were ready at once for the onset. The ground shook under the
hoofs of the mighty steeds, and there came a fearful crash. Both lances
struck the centres of the shields, but neither knight moved in his
saddle. With a jerk they turned their horses around and rode back to
their positions, savagely glaring at each other. Their steeds snorted as
if excited by their masters’ fury and seemed to know what was expected
from them. Like two mighty billows rushing together the knights met the
second time. The spectators eagerly watched their every movement. It was
a frightful collision: first, a shock, then a crash like a thunderbolt
tearing its way through dry branches. Both lances were shivered, the
shields clashed together, and the horses ran against each other.

The next instant the stumps of the lances were flung away and the
startled heralds and overseers sprang to one side. The broad, two-edged
swords flew from the scabbards, and blow rapidly followed blow. The
horses themselves seemed to know they were engaged in a life and death
struggle, and instantly obeyed the slightest signal of their riders. The
contest between the evenly matched combatants lasted several minutes, as
neither left himself exposed at any point or made any mistake in his
sword play. Nor did their thirst for revenge affect their presence of
mind or their caution. Blows fell with the rapidity of lightning and
were as rapidly warded off. It seemed as if the contest would never end;
but suddenly one of them dealt the other’s horse a mighty blow which
clove its head and killed the brave beast. In a trice its rider was on
his feet, the other knight dismounted, and the fight was renewed on
foot. Their shields had already crashed together and their swords were
clashing with such force that the sparks flew, when the overseers
advanced at the Emperor’s command, shouting, and interposed their white
staves as a signal that the contest must cease. The knights heard the
order with ill-concealed indignation. They looked at each other for a
moment, breathing hatred and revenge, but sheathed their swords before
they were stained with blood.

Amid loud applause for their bravery they reluctantly left the arena and
paid their homage to the Emperor. Their honorable recognition by the
first knight of his time and his mild conciliatory advice to them
exorcised the demon of hatred, and, once more reconciled, the strong,
brave men, who had just been engaged in a death-struggle, embraced one
another.




                               Chapter V
                           Life in the Castle


After the battle at Legnano, the Emperor’s old friend Conrad, who had
almost miraculously escaped every danger, returned to Castle Felseck.
Those were sad days for him and his wife, for their two young heroes had
fallen in the first battle for the Emperor. They did not complain,
however, of their sorrowful bereavement. Their children had been taken
from them in the very flower of their youth, but they made no public
show of grief. The Emperor’s companion-in-arms, formerly so active and
impetuous, spent his time quietly in the desolate halls of his castle,
and consequently had more time to look after the interests of his
dependents than when every tumult of war called him away from his home.
The fierce passion which used to flame in his eyes in camp and on the
battlefield gave place to gentleness and compassion. His wife, always a
mother to every one of their dependents, a nurse for the sick, a
consoler for the sorrowing, was now doubly eager to serve them; for that
bitter grief which only a mother can feel made her all the more
sympathetic. Every day she went down the steep road from the castle to
those lowly abodes where care and sorrow were usually the only guests.
Her servants went with her, carrying food for the hungry and delicacies
for the sick and infirm. She provided clothes for the needy, made by her
own hands in her solitary hours. The two found their highest consolation
in dispensing aid and happiness to all around them, for “it is more
blessed to give than to receive.” The tears of gratitude and the hearty
“God bless you,” from those they assisted, richly repaid them. God,
indeed, beheld their acts of mercy. He, who is all goodness and love,
was so pleased as they untiringly carried out His precepts and imitated
His example, that He filled their hearts with the highest happiness. A
few years after their bereavement He sent them two little sons, faithful
likenesses of those they had lost. The first-born brothers lived again
in them, and soon the traces of grief disappeared from Conrad’s brow as
the lovely little ones embraced him, pulled his beard in childish
wantonness, or ran their chubby little hands through his blond hair.
Sometimes he would toss them upon his knees, after they had clambered up
with a boisterousness that seemed like misbehavior, but was only their
clumsy way of showing their affection. As soon as they were old enough
it was their chief delight to play in the sunshine the livelong day, to
frolic in the castle yard and the garden, to catch the brilliant
butterflies, and pluck lovely flowers for welcome gifts to their mother.
It was their delight also to visit the stalls where their father’s
battle horses were now resting undisturbed, mount his favorite steed,
and imitate his exploits with the help of the groom.

During these years the castle grew more cheerful. Stranger knights often
arrived and met with a hospitable welcome. Indeed, it had never been
refused, but because of the family’s trouble, they had rarely visited
the knight. More and more frequently also his old friends—for he had no
enemies near him—came to see him. Every one felt the highest esteem for
this brave man who had all the knightly virtues. It was only those
barbarous marauders who could not endure goodness, lofty purpose, and
just conduct, whose strength was never used in defence of innocence but
always for oppression and plunder, who shunned Felseck. As Conrad once
more assumed the responsibilities of life he did not overlook the
welfare of his dependents. His simple manner of life enabled him to fill
his treasury with his savings, and he used them to help those who had
been unfortunate and who could not meet their taxes or other
obligations.

Conrad also looked strictly after the education of his boys. The mother
sowed the seeds of virtue in their tender hearts, and awoke their
reverence for God in their earliest youth. When they admired the beauty
and diversity of the flowers, and the lovely hues of the butterflies,
and questioned her with eager words about them, she told them of the
creative power and the wisdom and goodness of the Almighty; of His care
for all His creatures; of His boundless love for them, and of His
delight in their welfare. She told them that the bright stars, upon
which they gazed so wonderingly, and the happy life of the animals
revealed His glory and His care, and that the birds always praised Him
in their songs. In this manner she aroused in their souls the sense of
divine power and goodness.

Their father sought to cultivate their minds and impress them with the
importance of the duties of life. He enriched their knowledge of nature.
He explained to them what the relations of one human being to another
should be, and told them that every one has his duties as well as his
rights, and that while they had duties toward the animals, their highest
and most sacred duties were to their fellow-men. He did not teach them
to treat their inferiors as if they were hardly human—much less as
barely deserving a share of the abundant mercies of the Almighty—but as
divinely created and intended to rise to higher things. He taught them
in the true Christian sense that all men are brothers—all children of
God, the one Father, and that if He did not suffer all to have an equal
share in His beneficence, if it happened that one had more than another,
still each had what was necessary to his real happiness. He told them
that even where one had more, it was often the cause of bitter sorrow to
him, from which the one having less was spared. Thus there was
compensation for all. He impressed it upon them also that it was wrong
for men to make this disparity, which God permitted, still greater by
robbery, force, or oppression, and that they should seek to equalize it
so that the suffering caused by life’s various misfortunes should be
reduced as much as possible.

“We need each other in this world,” said he one day to them; “and the
poor, who have few desires, often need the rich less than the rich need
them. What might happen to us if a powerful stranger knight should
attack our castle and we were here alone? He would scale the walls with
little exertion; he would murder, plunder, and burn until nothing was
left. But suppose he should attempt it now! At one blast of the warder’s
horn my good servitors, whom I have protected when they were in trouble,
would rush to our defence, drive off the assailants and send them home
with broken heads. So it is all over the world. One is servant to the
other, from the lowest menial to the Emperor, the first and highest
person in the Empire. He cares alike for all, banishes all disturbers of
the peace, decides justly, and makes laws which all must obey if they
wish to be happy. Whoever disturbs this order or violates the laws
richly deserves punishment, for he is thereby destroying the happiness
of others. Oh, if you had only been with me in that far-off land where
force is the only law, where one obeys the will of one master to-day and
of another to-morrow, you would have seen how miserable people can be,
and have thanked God that you live in a land where all obey fixed laws,
and where every one knows what he must do and what is expected of him.
Even the Emperor himself cannot act entirely alone. He needs the help of
others. He who would be a true knight must be ever mindful of his
calling,—must protect innocence, resist enemies, and courageously
maintain justice and support the law. Above all, he must keep
untarnished the shield and escutcheon inherited from his ancestors,
whose portraits upon the castle walls look down upon him and his deeds
and judge him. By their self-sacrifice and faithful performance of duty
they earned what all enjoy, and it would be criminally ungrateful were
we to forsake the path of virtue they followed.”

Such counsels as these still more deeply impressed the boys because the
living examples of their truth were ever before them. They saw their
father impartially awarding justice, protecting innocence, and rescuing
the oppressed. When they gladly went with their mother to the homes of
the needy and the abodes of the sick, and consoled them and distributed
material comfort, the lessons of love and compassion were indelibly
impressed upon their hearts.

With like eagerness and faithfulness they devoted themselves to
exercises for the strengthening of the body, for their father once said
to them: “He who would do good must not merely know how to do it but
also be able. While one should love peace, he should also be ready for
war, for not every one is peaceful.” The boys devoted themselves with
the utmost zeal to the use of arms and practised a certain number of
hours a day under their father’s or some trusted attendant’s
supervision. They ran, exercised on the bars, stretched their limbs, and
strengthened themselves by severe tests. They travelled the woods in
light clothing, paying no heed to storms, or winds, or the heat of the
sun. They cooled themselves in a forest brook, hardened themselves for
the fatiguing exercise of the day, and returned home refreshed and
invigorated. Then they practised hurling the light javelin at a mark,
until they could use the heavy spear without straining themselves. They
wielded the battle-axe, mace, club, and broadsword, as if they were
giving the finishing blow to an adversary on the field. How delighted
they were when they were allowed to mount the war-horse and practise the
actual manœuvres of battle! They were strong and agile, hardened against
the effects of weather, capable of great endurance, afraid of no
dangers, strong in body and soul, and qualified for the performance of
knightly duty.

During this peaceful period, which lasted several years, there was
little opportunity to practise their attainments except in the pleasant
but sometimes perilous chase, but soon knight Conrad’s weapons were
taken from the armory and the castle resounded to the tramp of armed
men. Fate ordained that the old knight Barbarossa, who had spent nearly
his whole life on the battlefield, should not die peacefully at home.
From that far-distant Eastern land where in youth he and Conrad had
fought for the Holy Sepulchre, suddenly came the evil tidings that
Jerusalem, which had been in Christian possession eighty-eight years,
had again been taken by the Sultan Saladin.[16] Of all the conquests,
which had cost so many lives, only Antioch and Tyre remained to the
Christians. The Crescent was victorious everywhere, and persecutions
were renewed, as in the period before Godfrey of Bouillon had rescued
the country.

The complications between the Pope and the Emperor were settled at once.
Frederick’s old heroic spirit was aroused, and he looked forward to an
expedition to the Holy Land as a fitting close to his life’s work. At an
assembly of princes held at Mayence a crusade was decided upon.

How could Conrad help joining it? Was he not the Emperor’s
brother-in-arms? Had they not once, amid disasters of every kind, sworn
to fight together and to help each other to the last breath? Could he
remain behind and rest at ease, while the Emperor, who was no younger
than he, was in the field? No! To have stayed at home would have been a
stain upon his escutcheon. He went with a force to Regensburg, the
rendezvous of the Crusaders, and by his side rode his two stalwart sons,
barely twelve and thirteen years of age, but, notwithstanding their
youth, exultant and eager to face any danger.




                               Chapter VI
                           The Third Crusade


It will be remembered that the second Crusade, under Conrad III, was
disastrous to the Christians in the Holy Land. The discords which
everywhere prevailed and the wranglings and jealousies of Templars and
Knights of Saint John were not unwelcome to the Turks. There appeared
among the latter about that time the mighty hero, Saladin, of Kurdish
origin.

He was sent with an army by the vizier Noureddin to Egypt, where he
achieved such success as a leader that he made his preparations to
dispute the sovereignty of that country with his master, but the
latter’s sudden death rendered his plans unnecessary. He became Sultan
of Egypt and ruler of the whole country from Cairo to Aleppo, so that
his possessions inclosed the kingdom of Jerusalem in a half circle. Such
an enemy would have been dangerous to a much stronger city, and was all
the more dangerous to the weak kingdom of Jerusalem because it could not
rely upon concert of action for its defence. Individual leaders
contended with their powerful enemy and performed deeds of heroism
worthy to be compared with those of the first Crusade, but they were to
no purpose. These warriors were glad when a truce was made, but they
neglected during its continuance to prepare for the inevitable conflict.
They even went so far as to provoke the enemy. Rainald of Chatillon, a
Christian Knight, committed an audaciously violent act by robbing the
Sultan’s mother of her treasures while she was travelling through the
Christians’ possessions, and by killing her attendants; in revenge for
which Saladin attacked him. The Christian army was routed in a single
battle at Tiberias. Guy de Lusignan, King of Jerusalem[17] and Grand
Master of the Temple, and most of the knights were made prisoners, and
the whole country fell into the hands of the Sultan. The crosses were
torn from Christian churches; the emblems and vessels used in Christian
service were carried away, and Moslems assembled for prayer in the
Temple of Solomon.

The appeals of the Christians were heard in the West, and grew in
intensity as the deeds of the Turks increased in cruelty. And yet it was
Saladin’s purpose to avoid carnage. His severest demand was that each
man should pay ten gold pieces, each woman five, and each child one, for
ransom. Forty days were allowed for payment, and when the time expired
he magnanimously released two thousand Christians who could not procure
the money, as well as all the prisoners; and besides this he divided
nearly twenty thousand gold pieces among the enemy’s poor and sick.

Notwithstanding such generosity, the old war spirit was aroused in
Europe, as already related. Crusaders flocked from all sides to the army
which the Emperor was organizing. Every possible precaution was taken to
prevent another disaster. To rid the army of the rabble which had
followed it before, and which had hindered and annoyed it and plundered
at every opportunity, the Emperor ordered that no one should accompany
it who could not show at least three silver marks. He also concluded
agreements with Kilidj Arslan, Sultan of Iconium,[18] King Bela of
Hungary,[19] and Isaac Angelus,[20] the Emperor of Greece, and received
their assurances of help.

Frederick’s greatest anxiety was that peace and quiet should prevail in
the Empire during his absence. To secure this he destroyed many more of
the robber barons’ castles while on the march, and issued an order that
no one should begin hostile operations without giving three days’
notice. Henry the Lion was banished three years longer and submitted to
the penalty.

The expedition set out in imposing array for Regensburg,[21] April 23,
1189, the festival of Saint George. Whitsuntide was celebrated at
Presburg[22] and in front of Gran[23] the army awaited the arrival of
the Hungarian King with his brilliant following. The Emperor reviewed
his army before the city of Belgrade on the Hungarian frontier, and
found he had about fifty thousand knights and an equal number of
warriors of lower grades. Encouraged anew by fortune, which thus far had
been so favorable, and relying upon the great strength of his army,
Frederick prepared to lead his pilgrims to the Holy Land, confident that
he would wrest it from the infidels this time and permanently restore it
to the Christians.

We behold the Emperor Frederick seated in his tent in camp at Belgrade,
with the most famous of his princes and those leaders of his army who
were in his closest confidence. Among them is Conrad of Feuchtwangen,
whose sons Raymond and Conrad are standing at a respectful distance,
awaiting the Emperor’s orders. Owing to the Emperor’s affection for
their father they have had the good fortune to be selected as his pages.
After earnestly discussing the objects of the expedition and the best
means of securing them, they begin to talk of the assistance they might
expect from their allies.

“Let us wait,” said the Emperor, “until our messengers return, and we
learn what Isaac proposes to do.”

“Do you not fear, your Majesty, that he will violate his word?” asked
the Bishop of Mayence.

“What has happened once, or a thousand times, of course may happen now.
But it seems to me our messengers will know definitely when they
return.”

“We shall know for certain if they bring no message of peace.”

“In that case they would hurry back, I think, for that would clearly be
their duty. I suspect the Greeks will prove faithless.”

“It is almost certain,” said the Bishop of Passau. “Greeks cannot keep
faith.”

“It is not yet absolutely certain,” replied the Emperor, “and we must do
nothing rashly. Still, I confess I am not over hopeful, for, alas, too
often has the hatred between the members of the two Churches manifested
itself and brought harm to both.”

“Then let us attack at once,” cried the young Duke of Swabia,
Frederick’s second son. “Let us fall upon them like a thunderbolt out of
the clear sky, before they can make their preparations to help the
Turks.”

“Gently, my dear son,” said the Emperor. “You are carried away by
excitement. We can do nothing until we have actual proof of their
perfidy. Your ungovernable zeal would make an enemy of our ally if he
were not one already.”

“He is our enemy,” replied the Duke of Swabia. “My messenger who is at
hand will tell you so. Tired of the long delay, I despatched an alert
and trusty friend to get some news of your messengers. His speedy return
proves that my assertion is correct.”

All present turned their eyes to the door of the tent and saw a rider in
light armor dismounting from his panting steed. Coming into the tent, he
announced:

“Isaac is faithless. Our messengers are chained in dungeons because the
Emperor fears you are coming to take his empire from him. There is a
multitude of his troops in the distance, who have followed me.”

“His treachery is beyond all doubt,” exclaimed several of the princes.

“Let us act accordingly,” said the Emperor, with great seriousness. “As
we have not been notified of the dissolution of the alliance, we will go
to Constantinople and settle matters. So long as the people do not
manifest open hostility to us we will treat them as friends, but at the
same time keep in readiness to protect ourselves if we be attacked.”

“Let me lead the vanguard,” implored the Duke of Swabia.

“You are too young and hot-headed,” said the Emperor. “There is double
need for prudence and discretion in this emergency. Conrad, my old and
tried friend, you shall lead. It will not be the first time you have
been through the country, and you know the tricks which those people
play at times, while pretending to be friends. You are cautious enough
not to rush into unnecessary danger, and yet brave enough to protect
yourself against any assault. Above all, I would fain not see Christian
arrayed against Christian; but if it must be so, then we will clear the
enemies of Christendom from the way with our good swords.”

“I thank your Majesty,” replied Conrad, “for this unexpected honor,
which I hardly ventured to ask in the presence of so many noble princes,
renowned for their valor and good judgment. I will ask but one favor.
Allow my sons to go with me.”

“It is granted. And now to our work.”

The council of war was ended. The vanguard left at once, and the
remainder of the army followed at intervals.

Conrad’s belief in Isaac’s treachery was confirmed at the very outset.
He not only did not find the new bridges which should have been built,
but the old ones had been purposely destroyed. The mountain passes were
obstructed, and hordes of Bulgarians harassed the gallant little band on
all sides with poisoned arrows. Several stragglers were killed, and one
of the prisoners admitted that they had been employed and paid by Isaac
for this shameful work.

Conrad at once changed his plans. He began hostile operations, and
informed the Emperor of the condition of affairs. Philippopolis[24] was
found to be without a garrison and almost depopulated, but the Greek
troops in its vicinity made no concealment of their hostility. Frequent
encounters took place, in which the invaders were successful, and at
last Isaac was forced to submit and release the messengers he had
treacherously imprisoned; but he still remained hostile. The patriarch
of Constantinople, indeed, stated in a sermon that any one who killed a
hundred Germans should have absolution for ten murders.

The Emperor was infuriated by this. He fell upon the hypocritical knaves
and scattered them in wild flight. Adrianople[25] was easily taken, and
Demotika[26] surrendered to his son after the first assault.

Conrad, who was continually at the front, had the hardest tasks. The
Greeks harassed him in great numbers, but never ventured to meet his
little force, man to man. He and his Germans, who never seemed to weary,
performed prodigies of valor, and his young sons had plenty of
opportunity to show their knightly prowess. Upon one occasion they
rushed to the defence of their father when he was hard pressed, and at
another they hurled themselves upon the cowards and displayed the
highest type of knightly gallantry. Victory followed the Crusaders
everywhere. Isaac soon realized that he was no match for his adversary,
and that, while the Greeks were very courageous when shooting poisoned
arrows at safe distances, they dared not face German swords. He
abandoned his policy therefore, and a new agreement was made, for
Frederick was anxious not to waste his strength and lose time. Isaac
promised free passage and the necessary supplies, as well as
transportation for the Crusaders over the Hellespont, and Frederick
agreed to maintain discipline, so that none of the country people should
be harmed.

It is little wonder, however, that after so many exhibitions of
treachery the Crusaders had no confidence in the renewed alliance, and
took unusual precautions. They rested after the day’s hard exertions,
partly mailed and with their weapons close at hand. They did not think
themselves any too secure, even when surrounded by guards on all sides.
If two or three of the Crusaders discussed any matter, they made sure
that no Greeks were near, and war councils were always held in the most
secret manner. The Emperor’s confidants alone were acquainted with his
plans. No one was trusted whose faithfulness had not been proved. This
was not because there was any fear of traitors in the German army, but
because a thoughtless person might let slip a word which would arouse
the malice or excite the cunning of the enemy.

Their stay among these faithless people was a hard trial to the honest,
high-minded German knights. It galled them to have to protect themselves
against an ally as if he were an open enemy. If he only had been one or
the other, friend or foe, they would have been better pleased. Hypocrisy
was unknown wherever German speech was heard. They would rather suffer
from honesty than profit from deceit in word or act.

The Greeks, on the contrary, were so thoroughly degenerate that they
were found now on the one side, now on the other, as one or the other
seemed to offer them the greater profit. Boasting their Christian
orthodoxy, they persecuted with deadly hatred and sought to exterminate
all who differed with them, so that they were as greatly detested in
western Europe as the Turks themselves. Indeed, they were so blind as
not to see that they were precipitating their own ruin when they, too
weak by themselves to resist the enemy of Christendom, were obstructing
those who were coming to its rescue.

It was impossible to convince either these unfortunate people or their
leaders of the fate impending over them. For a long time already, indeed
for centuries, they had been controlled and held together only by the
absolute and rigorous sway of their masters. They were not content even
with those mild and wise sovereigns who ruled by law. Indeed, most of
these as well as the tyrants died violent deaths. Sons, urged on by
intriguing friends, would dethrone their fathers. Incarcerations and
cruel tortures were of common occurrence, and, as so often happens in
this world, the very agency by which an undutiful son secured his
elevation brought about his ruin.

How could any one keep faith in such a country? Craft and dishonesty
were the only protection from harm. The person in authority was
treacherously flattered so long as it was of advantage; when he could no
longer subserve personal advantage he was forsaken, and the faithless
friend became the most malignant of enemies. How could such a people,
false to each other, be honest with strangers?

Such were the reasons for the continual distrust shown by the Germans,
and their longing to leave the country. As soon as all the preparations
for the crossing were completed they started for Asia, hoping to find
more regard for honesty among the Turks, or at least to meet them as
foes in the open field. The crossing occupied six days, and was made in
Grecian vessels. Even at the last moment the Greeks did everything to
obstruct it, and it was only the fear of force that restrained them from
violating their agreement and attacking the German rear.




                              Chapter VII
                     Conrad’s Victory in the Valley


At last the Germans reached the sacred land of Asia Minor. He who
beholds it for the first time cannot fail to admire the surpassing
beauty of the country. Winter, instead of destroying its luxurious
vegetation, enriches the exceedingly fertile soil with refreshing rains.
The numerous mountain ranges, which traverse that region in all
directions, covered with majestic forests, present ever-changing
spectacles of beauty. Blooming valleys stretch between them abundantly
watered by clear and sparkling brooks. Groves of beautiful fruit-trees
cover them in some places, and in others olive-trees delight the eye
with their dark green foliage. Unusually large and brilliant poppies
grow there and the cotton and corn fields yield abundant harvests.
Between its numerous cities are pretty villages, which add to the
natural beauty of the country. The stranger is impressed by the thought
that life must be very enjoyable there; but those acquainted with the
history of the people, while admiring all this beauty, only mourn that
men should give way to their evil passions and change this paradise into
a place of wretchedness and suffering.

“This blessed land,” said the Emperor Frederick, who was well versed in
history, “has had stranger and more varied experiences than almost any
other country on earth. Here once stood mighty Troy, which excelled its
neighbor, Greece, in learning and the arts, until the folly of a
prince’s son led the outraged Greeks to destroy it. Centuries later,
there were many peoples here—among them the Mysians, Carians, Lycians,
Paphlagonians, Bithynians, and Lydians,—the last the most powerful of
all, and to whom all the rest were tributary, and whose king was the
richest person on earth.[27] But, happy? No! His wealth tempted Cyrus to
invade the country, and its effeminate people were powerless to resist
him. But Cyrus did not long enjoy his plunder; nor did Alexander, at a
later period. After the latter’s time, the country was split up into
petty kingdoms, which fell into the hands of the Romans, one after
another being subjugated more or less easily, as the King and people
were cowardly or warlike. The innumerable ruins which everywhere meet
the eye are mute witnesses of the dreadful experiences of this land.
Those wretched hovels cover the spot where once stood famous Ephesus
with its splendid temple of Diana. The ancient Nicomedia,[28] residence
of Roman emperors after Diocletian’s time, is to-day an insignificant
place. Of many other famous places hardly a trace can now be found.

“Where Christianity in its early stages enjoyed its greatest prosperity,
where the most famous and the greatest of its communities lived and
transformed the land into a garden, the Turk now rules and persecutes
Christians with fierce hatred and sharp swords, thanks to the
cowardliness and faithlessness of the Greek Emperor and his people.”

The sad story of desolation which the Emperor briefly outlined to his
listeners made a sorrowful impression upon them, but it also awakened
the sense of duty in their brave souls; and a feeling of gratitude that
they were called upon to rescue and redeem this land filled the hearts
of the brave champions of the Cross. They even hoped that the Sultan of
Iconium, as the country was then called, would prove faithless, like
Isaac, for then they could act regardless of him, and victory would be
assured. This singular wish, which was natural enough at that time, when
knights were ever eager to encounter new dangers, was soon gratified.
Kilidj Arslan proved as faithless as Isaac.

Conrad of Feuchtwangen, leader of the vanguard, encountered Turkish
troops at the very outset. As soon as he entered the mountain region he
was harassed on all sides by swift, alert horsemen. Every grove and hill
concealed them. As the Germans approached they dashed out, brandishing
their scymitars or shooting arrows at them. Strong bands suddenly
attacked them in ravines and narrow passes, and when the Germans
attempted to resist in regular battle order, they disappeared like the
wind in all directions. It was impossible for the heavily mailed knights
to follow them or to force them to make a stand. Although the attacks
were not very disastrous, as the scymitars made no impression upon the
mail and arrows glanced off from it, yet stragglers fell easy victims to
the Turks. Many were suddenly killed, and there was no one near to
avenge them. Under such circumstances the stoutest grew uneasy, even
though there were no actual hand-to-hand encounters. There was no time
to rest, for the enemy was active both day and night. Subsistence began
to fail, and hunger and thirst, the Turks’ best allies, threatened to
claim the Crusaders for their victims.

Thus matters continued day after day, and each morning brought more
enemies, weakened their own numbers, and increased the need of
subsistence. The Turks destroyed everything they could not take with
them, and filled up or polluted the wells. The scanty supplies furnished
by the Greeks were insufficient for the main army, and nothing reached
the vanguard from that source.

It was hard to believe these were the same Crusaders who presented such
a brilliant spectacle in camp at Belgrade. Wan and worn they sat upon
their emaciated steeds, which dragged themselves forward like farm
horses. The hopelessness of the situation was depicted upon every face.
Their once glittering arms were stained and rusted from lack of care,
for all their leisure was spent in searching for roots and herbs to
satisfy the cravings of hunger. Thousands succumbed to their hardships,
but the German knights made no complaint. The influence of their
training was apparent. Accustomed from boyhood to strenuous exertions
they rendered splendid service on this expedition.

From a lofty mountain ridge Conrad surveyed his little band. Hardships
troubled him little; but when he looked upon his sons, who had been so
full of hope, whose robust health was impaired, and whose rosy cheeks
were now pale, it nearly broke his heart. When they noticed the tears in
his eyes and inquired the cause, he regained composure by a strong
effort, to show them they must still keep up courage.

Indeed, there was little time for brooding over misfortunes, as the
Turks were assailing them on all sides. There lay the beautiful valley
flooded with sunshine, far as the eye could reach. The fields were
luxuriant with verdure, and a plashing brook sparkled in the sunlight.
They beheld an abundance which they could not enjoy. Suddenly the Turks
rushed up the slope like sand driven before the wind. Fear seized the
knights, but they summoned up courage and resolved either to conquer or
die. If they could only gain a half-hour in which to appease the pangs
of hunger and quench their thirst with the cool waters of the brook,
they would die, if they must, or they would fight with renewed strength,
even though the legions of hell were on the enemy’s side.

They prepared to meet the attack without command or the need of
encouragement from their leader. They raised their shields with tired
hands, grasped their lances, and stood in orderly array, awaiting the
onset. The Turks delayed, but their desperate purpose did not escape the
experienced eyes of the knights; their numbers continually increased and
still the attack was delayed. The knights grew impatient, but at a
sudden signal from Conrad the entire band swept down the slope like the
whirlwind. The front ranks of the enemy were shattered and gave way.
Steeds and their riders were piled in heaps. Nothing could withstand the
Germans. They dashed into the thickest of the fight, unmindful of dead
or dying, and exchanging their lances for the terrible battle-axe, they
rained blows upon the Turks, death following every stroke. It was a
terrible harvest of death in that small area. The Turks were appalled by
the sudden attack. They now recognized their own danger, and advanced
upon the Christians with all the bravery of their race, and the skill
and adroitness of their methods of fighting. The storm of arrows, which
struck upon the knights’ mail, unceasingly but uselessly, was
discontinued, for it injured more friends than enemies. They engaged
their foes man to man, with their sharp scymitars, and tried to
perforate the grooves of the mail; but the Christians still had the
advantage, for they mowed them down with swords and war-clubs before the
Turks could make use of their shorter weapons. Still the latter swarmed
about the little band like ants.

With the swiftness of the tiger they would leap upon their enemies,
cling to them and seek to pierce the mail where it was weakest; but with
equal swiftness the Christians drew their daggers and used them with
dreadful effectiveness. Hundreds of the enemy were killed; others, badly
wounded, sought safety in flight, and riderless steeds were rushing
about the mountain side in numbers, and yet there seemed to be no
decrease in the numbers of the enemy.

Resting for a moment, Conrad anxiously scanned his little band. He was
solicitous for the safety of his sons, who, because of their light
armor, were more exposed than the knights. He saw them in the very thick
of the fight, in turns attacking the enemy and protecting each other. A
number of fallen Turks showed that the boys were doing their duty.
Conrad noticed that Raymond was mounted on a magnificent Arab courser
and that, while he was in great danger, he was making a successful
fight. A gleam of satisfaction lit up his face, but it was only
temporary, for almost in an instant it changed to deadly apprehension.

A Turk, noticing his apparent forgetfulness of the battle, rushed
swiftly at him, seized him in his powerful arms, and held him as in a
vice. Pressing his heels against the horse’s flanks, he sought to drag
Conrad off, in hopes he would be trampled under the animal’s hoofs. But
Conrad sat as immovably as if rider and steed were one, trying to use
his dagger, for his arms were pinioned. His enemy could easily have
killed him with his own weapons, but he sought to dispose of him in
another way. Slightly unloosing his hold the Turk tried to drag him
aside, so that he might hurl him into an abyss; but, notwithstanding all
his exertions, he could not accomplish it. Though old and well-nigh
exhausted, Conrad had sufficient presence of mind to improve every
advantage and to save his strength.

The Turk now had to consider the danger to which he himself was exposed
in bringing the struggle to a close. His cries attracted the attention
of the knights. Warding off blows on every hand, a young Christian
champion made his way through the enemy, dashing over the fallen at the
imminent risk of his life. A skilfully directed blow severed one of the
Turk’s arms, and a second stretched him upon the earth, howling with
pain and rage. It was Conrad’s eldest son, whose heroic act had saved
his father’s life. They exchanged grateful looks of satisfaction, and
then side by side engaged the foe.

The Turks soon realized the hopelessness of their efforts. Half of them
lay dead or wounded, and the other half were exhausted with their
efforts to make some impression upon the knights’ mail, while the
Christians still confronted them with unimpaired strength. Soon German
reinforcements were seen approaching, which inspired hopes of victory.
The Turks were still making a furious fight, when a sudden shrill cry
from their leader changed the aspect of the situation. The Turks
instantly disengaged themselves from the enemy, and wheeling their swift
steeds about, rushed down the mountain side, and quickly disappeared.
The Christians watched them as if dazed. It was like waking from a
dreadful dream. They could hardly trust their senses or believe their
leader when he told them the battle was over and the enemy had fled; but
when he pointed to the other side of the valley and they saw the riders
vanishing away like ghosts, they were convinced of their glorious
victory.

Their first act was one of thanksgiving to God. Then they hurried to the
valley as rapidly as they could to seek refreshment. Their tired steeds
could hardly make their way, and many a knight dismounted and led his
horse by the bridle, choosing rather to suffer himself a little longer
than forsake his battle-companion.

The little band exulted when they reached the valley. The refreshing
water strengthened man and beast. The fruits of that genial climate
satisfied hunger, and the luxuriant grass was enjoyed by the exhausted
animals. Conrad advised them to exercise wise moderation, for he knew
from experience that over-indulgence after severe exertion was injurious
and might have dangerous results in that climate.

The eventful day at last drew to a close, and all felt invigorated by
food and drink. Cooling baths had revived their strength, and after a
few hours of sleep they hoped to be able to withstand anything the next
day. They now made their arrangements for rest. A comfortable spot in an
olive grove where they could easily protect themselves was picked out
and sentinels were stationed. Conrad, however, was very anxious.

“We are safe here for the time,” said he, “but the enemy will again
appear with reinforcements to drive us from this blessed valley, for
they well know that its abundant product is our only salvation. We are
too weak to hold it for ourselves and our approaching comrades, who are
now suffering from hunger and thirst, while we are relieved.”

“They ought to hurry forward as fast as their strength will allow,” said
one.

“A messenger should be despatched to inform the Emperor.”

“But whom can we afford to send? Whom would you deprive of this night’s
needed rest and send into danger?” said Conrad.

The knight made no reply.

“Send me, dear father,” implored Raymond. “I am not so weary that I
cannot make the effort.”

“Do not send the boy! The errand is more dangerous than he imagines. If
no one else will go, I will,” said the former speaker.

“Oh, no, no!” said Raymond. “I am no longer a boy. I can take care of
myself. Spare your tired bones, for you are no longer the youngest, and
my strength is sufficient.”

“I do not dispute that. Who could, after seeing the many deeds you have
performed?”

“Then assign me to the duty.”

“It is all the more dangerous because of the strength required. Even if
you had a giant’s strength it might be of no avail. You must remember
that the enemy are swarming about us on all sides. They are hovering
between us and the army, like birds of prey, seeking to swoop down upon
their victims. Foresight and skill, cunning and shrewdness, alone can
avail, and only one whose steed can equal the speed of their horses may
hope to escape unharmed.”

“That I can do better than any of the rest of you,” said Raymond. “You
are not aware that I have captured a Turkish horse, one of those
incomparable coursers. Having lighter armor than the rest of you, I can
surely go without danger.”

“That is fortunate. It almost seems as if the Divine Hand were pointing
the way to the accomplishment of our wishes,” said Conrad. “I have no
objection, and assign you to this difficult task. But be wary and alert.
Delay not a moment. Let not weariness overcome you, and be not deceived
by the quiet around you. It is only the noble lion who openly seeks his
prey; the bloodthirsty tiger lies in wait for the approach of its
unsuspecting victim. So it is with our enemies. When you reach the camp,
hasten to the Emperor’s tent, and if you have to rouse him from sleep,
do so, and urge haste upon him and the army. If that is of no avail,
then tell them of this valley. Tell them they will find an end to their
privations here and they will long for wings to fly hither. Now depart
with God’s blessing, and may He go with you.”

A hearty embrace followed these words. The boy went out, mounted his
horse, and flew across the valley like the wind. The last rays of the
setting sun gilded the mountain tops, and those in the valley saw the
young hero riding as if in a blaze of golden glory, and waving his hand
to them in greeting, as he disappeared behind the heights. The little
band were soon sleeping, all save the sentinels, who noiselessly paced
their rounds, listening and watching for any suspicious sound or object.




                              Chapter VIII
                         Raymond’s Heroic Ride


Our young hero rode with a stout heart. His steed showed itself a worthy
representative of the splendid Arab breed. The waves of a gently flowing
stream could not have borne him more easily. His horse’s hoofs hardly
disturbed the soil. It glided with the swiftness of the wind or the
swallow, rather than ran, and was so perfectly trained that it obeyed
the slightest touch upon its shoulder or pull upon the bridle. It never
needed the spur and yet the rider, as the noble animal sped along with
flying mane and distended nostrils, making the sparks and gravel fly,
knew that it could make still greater speed, should that be necessary.

Raymond rode at this speed for nearly an hour. The night was very dark
and so still that only the echoes of his horse’s hoof-beats were heard
among the neighboring hills as he flew at a swift trot through the
ravines and passes. At times he heard the cry of the hungry jackals in
the dense forest, but no other sounds reached his ears.

Thus in the silent solitude of the forest, far from friends but perhaps
close to lurking enemies, our hero said good-bye to his youthful days
almost before he had entered upon them, and boldly took up the work of
manhood. He knew nothing of that silly fear which arises from the
imagination. However or wherever he might encounter an enemy, he
determined to show his knighthood if that enemy met him manfully. The
possibility of defeat never occurred to him. He felt himself under
divine protection. He believed, as his comrades did, that this war
against the Turks was well-pleasing to God, and that all engaged in it
were under His special protection, for had not God been with them thus
far in all their troubles? Had He not already guided Conrad well-nigh to
the accomplishment of his purpose? Since the honor of bringing that
purpose to completion had been assigned to him, surely God would guide
him also and bring him to success.

With such uplifting thoughts his soul was filled as he rode rapidly on,
watching carefully all about him lest he should be surprised by some
unseen danger. His road now lay between two walls of rock, which loudly
echoed the clatter of his horse’s hoofs. The stony ground made the
slightest sound audible. It was one of those spots which the Turks had
defended so obstinately and which the Christians had taken in their
recent gallant attack. While thinking of the possibility that the enemy
might be lying in wait upon the mountain sides, if not for him then for
the army, and that the outlet of the pass might be blocked, a slight
tremor, but not of fear, seized him as he heard a sharp whiz through the
air and a sudden blow upon his armor, which he at once knew was caused
by an arrow. Like a flash he touched his steed’s flank. The Arab
bounded, gave a loud snort, and then flew like the storm-wind. Stooping
a little in his saddle, Raymond glanced up the heights. He thought he
saw dark figures gliding about who had delayed attacking him in their
uncertainty whether he was friend or foe.

There was a great difference between the hoof-beats of the Arab and
those of the Crusaders’ horses. Misled by this and by their inability to
see distinctly in the thick darkness, the Turks lost an easy victim. But
Raymond was not yet out of danger. He heard individual calls, which the
echoes repeated over and over again. It was clear they came from
outposts warning those in the distance of his approach. He still further
increased his speed, for delay now was dangerous, thinking that by
swifter flight he might reach the end of the pass before the Turks could
oppose him in force. While he was still some distance from it, the moon
rose and shed its faint lustre upon the mountain sides, making his
enemies look like ghosts. As he urged his horse to its utmost speed,
that he might not be an easy mark, the ravine was suddenly illuminated
with moonlight, and directly ahead of him a faint streak of light
appeared. It was the outlet of the pass and beyond it the open country
was flooded with the radiance of the moon. With thankful heart he looked
up to heaven, gently patted his noble horse, which, seeming to
understand the meaning of his caresses, shook its mane, tossed its head,
and bounded along exultantly.

Imagine Raymond’s feelings, however, when he espied two dark figures at
the outlet of the pass whom he instantly recognized as Turkish horsemen.
His good lance was levelled at once, ready for a strong thrust with his
right hand, while his left held his shield before his breast. He rushed
upon them at a furious gallop with the intention of running down the one
on the right, at the same time protecting himself against the other with
his shield. He had hardly formed his plan when a skilfully aimed arrow
hit his shield and fell to the earth. His practised eye saw that it came
from the right side. All that he had now to fear was the other enemy
with his keen scymitar. He must dispose of him before the archer had
time to place another arrow. In an instant he was upon him, ran his
lance into his breast and threw him from his horse. The animal struggled
and pranced about so furiously that the archer was confused and his
arrow flew wide of its mark. The prospect of victory encouraged our
young hero. Emboldened by the success of his first onset, and expecting
to be attacked at any instant by the enemy in his rear, he swiftly
turned, levelled his lance, and rushed upon his enemy. The Turk was
ready for the attack, but as he had no means of protecting himself
against the thrust of the lance, he dodged aside. The lance struck a
tree near by with such force that it was broken in two. The Turk’s eyes
glistened with fiendish delight like those of a hyena. He swung his
scymitar above Raymond’s head with the intention of severing it at a
blow. The Turk’s dexterity with this weapon made the situation extremely
dangerous for our friend. He seized his shattered lance, however, and
hurled it with such force that it averted the scymitar from its course
and knocked his enemy’s turban off. The Turk was furious with rage, but
Raymond was cool. He drew his sword and like a flash smote the Turk’s
uncovered head. A dark stream of blood gushed forth, and a muttered
“Giaour”[29] escaped from his lips, as he fell from his steed dead.

Raymond now fully realized the danger of the position he had been in,
and his victory seemed almost miraculous. Alarmed by his experience and
dreading new dangers, he urged his horse to swifter flight. Danger was
more imminent on those broad moonlit plains; for his enemies, who had
been swarming round him in the mountains, would certainly betake
themselves to the open country as a more favorable spot for their
operations and more likely to result in his capture, as their horses
were fresh and well fed. The cowardly thought of avoiding battle,
however and whenever it might come, never occurred to him; indeed, for
an instant, he was inclined to halt and face his pursuers. His better
judgment, however, told him this would be a mistake, for in that case he
might fail to accomplish his purpose of reaching the army and delivering
his message. He reflected that the lives of thousands hung upon his
success, and among these thousands was the noble Emperor and hero, the
flower of chivalry. So he still rushed on, for horse and rider were
unwearied. Two hours later they skirted a dark forest, shadowed by a
mountain range, the last he would have to cross, for upon its other side
were the army’s outposts, and thence the road led straight to the
Emperor’s camp. The road here was not so rough as that where he had made
such a fortunate escape. It wound through gently rolling foothills, and
was seldom stony, the most of it being covered with a soft, springy
turf, upon which his horse’s hoofs made but little noise. While his
progress was easier and swifter, still it was to be taken into account
that horsemen could approach him on every side and that his pursuers had
no obstacles in their way.

The nature of the locality made it more difficult to find the way in
some places than it was in the mountain region, where the wild torrents
which dashed from the rocks in the rainy season left dry beds which
could be used as pathways. The dense foliage of the trees also hardly
allowed the moonlight to penetrate it, and more than once Raymond was in
doubt whether he was on the right road. He tried other directions
several times but this invariably made his horse restless and
ungovernable. At last he decided to let it take its own way, for he was
well aware that the horse is often the surest guide. The noble animal
must have travelled that way many times while he himself was going over
it for the first time, and besides this he had but little time to study
his way. Stroking his horse, who had already become very dear to him, as
if to compensate him for the injustice done to his sagacity, he let him
choose his own way. As it no longer seemed necessary to make such great
haste he rode more quietly and found by the position of the moon, which
at times peeped through openings in the trees, that he was now riding in
the right direction to reach the end of his journey.

                    [Illustration: _Raymond’s Ride_]

As Raymond slowly climbed the heights and grew calmer, he almost forgot
all dangers, for he felt he was near his friends and supposed that his
wearied enemies would not risk a near approach to their still formidable
opponents in the camp by daylight. He actually imagined that he saw the
white tents of the Christians glistening in the moonlight, where
treeless vistas admitted an open view. His heart leaped for joy as he
reflected that he was bringing consolation and encouragement to so many
thousands, and a tear stood in his eyes as he thought of their suffering
and fancied the joyful impression his news would make. He pursued his
way almost carelessly. He was nearing the end of his journey and gave
little heed to his surroundings. It is not singular, therefore, that he
was alarmed by a sudden noise. Looking back he saw that he was followed.
He thought that three horsemen, riding furiously, were seeking to
overtake him, hoping to capture him by surprise rather than by attack.

Raymond slackened his pace an instant to ascertain the real nature of
his danger and the best means of avoiding it. It was impossible for him
to make a successful resistance, for even should he escape their arrows
he must have a hand-to-hand contest, one against three, and give up as
soon as he was surrounded by them. He was all the more helpless against
numbers as he had lost his lance and had only his sword for protection.
Flight was his only alternative, and he felt sure that once out of
arrow-shot he would escape.

Throwing his shield across his back he urged his horse to its greatest
speed. It shot away like an arrow. The hanging boughs of the trees often
brushed his face and he repeatedly crashed through thickets of dense
bushes, which snapped and broke. It was like the magic wild hunt for the
slender, swift stag of the forest, so quiet were the hoof-beats.
Notwithstanding all the efforts of his noble steed he gained no
advantage over his pursuers. In an incredibly short time they approached
him at the foot of the range. Raymond could see no trace of the camp,
not even a sentry. Had he been deceived when he thought he saw the
tents? Were his friends still farther away than he had supposed? What if
his pursuers should be taking different routes to head him off? Looking
around with hasty glance he noticed that only two were now following
him. He had been carefully instructed by his father not to act upon
guesswork but to have a fixed course always in view for an emergency. He
decided to give battle only as a last resort, but he was determined that
two of them should die before he lost his life. Saying to himself “With
God’s help, I will win,” he rode on.

He soon realized that the distance between himself and his pursuers was
lessening. One of the latter must have noticed it also, for he had taken
his bow and was holding an arrow in his right hand. Raymond felt a
terrible apprehension that he might be killed almost at the goal he was
striving to reach. The road now turned a little to the left and caution
was still more necessary. An arrow grazed his face. Had his horse made
its last step an instant sooner or an inch farther, he might have fallen
and been trampled upon. He had hardly time to realize this, however,
when a Turk with fiercely gleaming eyes rode out of the thickets.
Swinging his scymitar he confronted Raymond, who met him with his sword.
The horses came together at such furious speed that the Turk was thrown,
and Raymond’s steed came down upon his knees. He was down for an instant
only, for his rider helped him to his feet with a stout pull and he at
once dashed on, while the Turk’s horse was panting and snorting,
evidently as much enraged as his master, who sent curses after Raymond
as he rode along exultantly.

Suddenly a halberdier confronted him. His horse stopped so quickly that
Raymond was nearly thrown. It was a foot-soldier of the Emperor’s army
and at his call several others came up. How grateful that call in the
dear mother tongue sounded! His only thought was, “Saved, saved.” He
made himself known, pointed to his enemies, who shot their arrows and
shouted curses at them, and then took themselves off.

Raymond explained to the outposts the nature of his mission in a few
words. Then he inquired the shortest way to the Emperor’s tent, and as
he hurried on his way to it the warriors’ eyes beamed with joy and their
lips uttered thanksgivings. Raymond’s message was received with general
exultation. The warriors rushed up to him, caressed and kissed him, and
could hardly find words to express their joy. Weariness and despondency
vanished. The shout, “Forward, forward,” resounded everywhere. After
hearing Raymond’s report, to the great delight of all, the Emperor
issued the order to move. Tents were struck at once, and the advance,
led by Raymond, plunged into the darkness of the forest, while the rest
followed as eagerly as if on the way to some richly appointed banquet.

Though the fresh night air lessened their fatigue somewhat, it was still
very great. The tired soldiers, little refreshed by their short sleep,
dragged themselves along with much effort. It was so dark they could not
distinguish the rough places in the road. Their weary feet continually
slipped and those on foot repeatedly fell, while horses stumbled over
roots of trees and other obstacles. The farther they went the more
unmistakable were the evidences that the Turks were aware of their
movements and were on the alert themselves. Those in the advance had to
look out for themselves as best they could, but even after the utmost
precautions many horses were badly wounded and some of the poorly
protected foot-soldiers were killed.

The real fighting began when the first valley was reached. The knights
fought with all their remaining strength, and many a Turk, brought to
bay, was slain. They entered the narrow pass, where Raymond had made his
victorious fight, with grave apprehensions. The Turks in small bands
disputed every inch of the ground with dogged pertinacity, while others
concealed behind rocks and thickets, sent showers of arrows into their
ranks. The knights in the advance protected themselves with their
shields; but the arrows fell like hail into the dense mass of those
behind them, and it was only here and there that they escaped injury by
holding their halberds obliquely. Most of the arrows, however, reached
the mark only too surely. They hugged the rocky walls upon which the
enemy were standing, as closely as possible, and held up broken branches
for their protection. Many of those who neglected such precautions were
wounded.

As morning dawned, their danger increased, for now they were clearly
exposed to the assaults of the continually increasing enemy. Many of the
Christians wrung their hands in despair, bewailed their apparent fate,
and implored God to save them. Just as the last hope of rescue seemed to
vanish, a band of the enemy suddenly halted in their front and appeared
to be making a hurried inspection of the mountain sides. Almost
immediately they rode at full speed to the outlet of the pass and
disappeared. The Crusaders were astonished by this movement, and feared
some new trick on the enemy’s part; but Raymond joyfully assured them
they were nearing the end, and that assistance was certainly on the way.
His assurances revived their hopes. They advanced at a quicker pace, and
had hardly gone a hundred yards before they found the Turks in battle
with the Germans. At a sign from their leader the knights in front
levelled their lances and charged upon the enemy, who, finding
themselves assailed on two sides, gave way at the first onset. The
exhausted warriors exulted when they saw them in flight, and a moment
later father and son were in each other’s arms; for it was Conrad who
had come to the rescue. After consultation between the leaders it was
decided to keep at a safe distance until they had time to rest, after
which they would consult the Emperor and decide upon their future
operations. When told of the dangers to which the Crusaders were exposed
in that mountain region, Conrad determined to send a force, as soon as
all were rested, and clear it of the enemy.

My young readers already know the impression which that beautiful valley
made upon the vanguard. It was all the greater upon the army, whose joy
was boundless. Troop after troop poured out of the pass. The wide plain
was soon crowded with the entire German force. The banks of the stream
were densely lined with horses and men, and it was a long time before
the last of the army emerged. Finally the Emperor appeared, surrounded
by the bravest of his army. He had personally directed every movement
for the protection of his men, and refused to rest until the last one
had safely reached the valley. Enthusiastic shouts of welcome greeted
them, which the mountains reëchoed, announcing to the Turks that the
courage of the Christian host was still unbroken.

Gnashing their teeth with rage, the Turks disappeared like ghostly
shadows among the mountains which separated the two armies.




                               Chapter IX
                             Conrad’s Death


The intention of Frederick’s faithless allies to destroy his army by
hunger rather than by the sword was frustrated by the indefatigable
exertions of the Germans. Though greatly reduced in numbers, they had
thwarted every device of cunning and hatred, and though menaced by
continually increasing numbers, had reached the region they had hoped
for—a region where no German foot had ever trodden before. They found
everything there which they needed, and even more, for the enemy had not
been able to carry it away or destroy it.

Frederick, who had accurately divined the plans of the enemy, only
allowed his army to take so much rest as was absolutely needed, for his
foes behind the mountains were increasing their strength every day. All
the princes approved of the Emperor’s policy to advance at the earliest
moment and overcome the enemy, and not to take a long rest until it
became indispensable.

Conrad again led the advance, and this time the Emperor’s son, Frederick
of Swabia, like his noble father, a true type of German chivalry,
accompanied him. The army followed on foot. The advance approached the
open country on the other side of the grandly swelling hills unmolested,
and there the knights made their first stand against the Turks, who
confronted them in dense masses. It was then the German knights showed
their prowess. With levelled lances they charged into the close ranks of
the enemy, dashed them to the earth in heaps, then with lightning-like
swiftness exchanged lance for sword and battle-axe, with which they
fought so furiously that all who could make their escape fled shrieking
and howling. The onset made room for those in the rear, and the base of
the hills soon swarmed with Christians, who fiercely attacked the Turks
at a swift gallop and drove them back with broken heads.

The battle, which lasted nearly all day, showed that the Turks had been
surprised by the Christians before all their preparations were
completed; for as evening came on, the Christians beheld large dark
masses of troops coming from the distance to strengthen the enemy. Every
one realized that a great battle was impending on the following day, and
all eagerly awaited it. The Christians gradually and steadily advanced,
in accordance with the Emperor’s orders, while the enemy’s force fell
back to support their approaching reinforcements and gain more room for
their cavalry.

Frederick and the princes realized that they must meet a formidable foe.
His orders for the disposition of his forces showed great skill and
experience. The superior numbers of the enemy, which were continually
increasing, and the fact that the ground was specially favorable to the
latter, particularly to their cavalry, called for the highest skill and
most persistent courage on the part of the Christians. On the other
side, in the rear of the enemy, lay a rich fertile region, for the
protection of which they would exhaust their resources in order not to
crowd upon their neighbor, the Sultan Saladin, who might be willing
enough to help them, but who would not, under any circumstances, be
disposed to share the country with them if they were defeated. The only
alternatives for the Christians were victory or death; for behind them
was a malignant, perfidious people, who had harassed and plundered them
when they were victorious. What, then, might they expect, if they were
defeated, disarmed, and exhausted? Battle was inevitable, and all were
certain it must be a life-and-death struggle.

On the evening of May thirteen, the Emperor held another council of war;
preparations for the struggle were thoroughly discussed. Nothing was
overlooked, and every one was asked for his opinion. As soon as the
plans had been settled upon and it was decided to attack in the morning,
all betook themselves to rest.

Morning dawned after a short, cool May night. The first faint streaks of
light were barely visible when the outposts noticed a great bustle in
the enemy’s camp. As soon as Conrad was informed of it he ordered
Raymond to carry the news to the Emperor’s tent. Raymond found the
Emperor already busily making his preparations. After a hurried
observation of the enemy he ordered that attack should be made as
quickly as possible. The camp was at once astir. Noiselessly, but with
astonishing rapidity, the eagerly expected commands were executed, the
various divisions led by the princes and the nobles were massed, and
messengers hurried in all directions conveying the orders of the
Emperor, who meanwhile mounted his battle-horse in full armor and rode
to the front with Raymond. Cheers greeted the grizzled old hero faring
forth to battle as fresh and vigorous as in the days of his youthful
strength. Victory shone in his eyes and declared itself in his general
bearing. The faintest-hearted must have been emboldened by his look. The
enemy in the meantime were busily engaged with their own preparations.

The German army steadily advanced upon the Turks, who at first fell back
without striking a blow. Nevertheless, there were real encounters, for
here and there small groups of the enemy would come within arrow shot,
kill some Christians, and then swiftly retreat, and avoid pursuit. Many
believed the Turks were repeating their old game, and that either they
did not intend to make a stand or they were luring them on to some
favorable spot where they could make an attack from every side.

The leaders watched these movements very carefully, giving especial
attention to the enemy’s wings to prevent themselves from being
surrounded. These tactics lasted for some hours, and during that time
the two armies were often so near to each other that battle seemed
inevitable. The Christians were eager for it, but found no opportunity
to attack, for whenever they made anything resembling an offensive move,
the Turks scattered like chaff. The Emperor, who kept in the front,
repeatedly ordered an attack, but before a sword could be drawn the
enemy would fly in every direction and render it useless.

This style of fighting was repugnant to the Germans and the German
nature. They were accustomed to look an enemy in the eye, meet him
valiantly, and not retreat. This useless expenditure of strength, this
wearisome effort to force the Turks into an engagement enraged them, and
they determined to make an end of it. As a large body of Turks came
near, the Emperor loudly cried, “Why delay longer to purchase the
heavenly kingdom with our blood? Christ commands! Christ triumphs!” With
these words he dashed into the densest of the enemy’s ranks, taking them
by surprise. They waved their scymitars, with loud cries of “Allah!” The
battle had begun, Frederick fighting like a lion in the midst of the
constantly increasing enemy. The mailed giants hurled themselves upon
the Turks with all their force, and the fight soon raged all along the
line. Here the Turks swarmed around a troop of German knights, and there
single knights fought against superior numbers, who strove in vain to
break through their steel mail. Arrows whizzed through the air;
battle-axes and clubs crashed down. The fight was furious on both sides;
where the German foot-soldiers were engaged, the Turks were most
successful, for being unprotected by armor, the former were slain by
arrows. But when the full-armed knights, the flower of the army, were
encountered, their assailants fell, never to rise again.

The noonday sun flamed down so fiercely upon the knights that their
armor glowed with heat and their faces were bathed in perspiration. Some
were hardly able to raise their weapons. They no longer sought the
enemy, being satisfied to repel him when attacked. The German ranks were
already thinned, but their losses were not so great as the enemy’s.

The Germans, after almost endless exertions, succeeded in forcing the
enemy back, and looked upon a field covered with slain. They also heard
loud wailings and lamentations for the dead, which inspired them with
fresh courage. The Turks fiercely disputed every foot of ground, and
every step gained was dearly paid for. It was apparent that the enemy
either were unwearied or else that they were frequently reinforced, for
each fresh attack was stoutly resisted. Seemingly it would have been an
endless battle had not night stopped the slaughter. As the sun went
down, its intense heat lessened, but heated passions did not cool. The
whole field resounded with shouts of “Allah!” and “Christ!” The Germans
succeeded in driving the enemy before them. As the latter fell back they
defended themselves step by step, but as the darkness fell they suddenly
abandoned the struggle and disappeared.

The Emperor wisely and emphatically forbade pursuit. The knights stood
by their panting horses and wiped the sweat from their brows, while the
foot-soldiers gathered about their leaders. They distrusted the enemy
for a long time and held themselves in readiness to repulse one of those
subtle attacks which were so characteristic of the Turks. When the
spies, however, reported that they could find no trace of them,
Frederick gave orders to pitch the tents. Every one sought food and
drink, the first requisites after a hard battle. As soon as all were
satisfied, they searched for the wounded, of whom there were not many
thus far; partly because almost every scymitar blow had been fatal, and
partly because the heat hastened the death of the severely wounded.
Those who could rest by the side of their own friends and
comrades-in-arms were fortunate. Among these was Conrad of Feuchtwangen,
who held both his sons in his arms, while they in turn embraced him and
murmured prayers of thankfulness to God for protecting him. Then the
weary ones slumbered, gathering fresh strength for new victories, of
which their souls dreamed while their bodies rested from their strenuous
exertions.

With the first beams of the rising sun, the Turks renewed their
operations by approaching the Christians and daring them to battle. The
latter advanced more quickly than on the previous day so as not again to
waste their strength, and also to force the enemy back more speedily.
The entire plain was covered with the combatants. It seemed like some
great thoroughfare upon which one crowd was advancing and the other
retiring. Only here and there did they come together. Except in such
spots, the two movements were continuous and in a southerly direction.
The Christians imagined that the enemy made this move so as to reach the
extreme frontier of the kingdom of Iconium and meet the approaching
Egyptian troops, and then jointly attack. The Emperor himself at last
came to this opinion. He regarded it as possible, although he failed to
understand why the enemy on the day before had made such sacrifices when
there was no prospect of victory. Nevertheless, he completed his
preparations to attack the united forces, and, if God so willed, to
crush them at a blow, and thus all the more quickly accomplish the
object of the expedition.

The Turks, indeed, made little resistance all that day, and many were so
credulous as to believe they would disappear again as they did on the
preceding day; but toward evening they again rallied in force,
apparently to make a vigorous attack. The Christians were at once in
readiness to meet them. The princes headed the knights, with levelled
lances. Conrad, with his large retinue, did the same, and like a
terrible thunder storm in a dark night they hurled themselves upon the
enemy. The latter’s dense mass was riven in twain as if by a lightning
stroke, and a fearful hand-to-hand encounter ensued. Lances were soon
exchanged for battle-axes and war-clubs, and these in turn for swords.
The Christians strove to overcome the superior numbers of the enemy by
separating them so as to attack them in detached groups, and the plan
succeeded. Every knight was engaged with three or four or more of the
enemy, handjars[30] and sabres flashed in the air, and many a one, who
up to this time had escaped fatal assault, fell lifeless in sight of his
comrades, and his blood mingled with that of his foe. Conrad and his
sons, who as yet were safe, fought like lions against overpowering
numbers, but Raymond was suddenly wounded in the arm by a blow from a
scymitar. In his anxiety for him, Conrad for a moment neglected his own
safety, and as he turned to help his son, he received a terrible cut in
the neck. At the same instant Raymond’s sword descended with all the
strength of his wounded arm upon the head of the Turk, who fell dead
from his horse. Raymond’s sword, however, dropped from his hand, and he
found himself unable to protect his father or himself amid a swarm of
bloodthirsty Turks. But help was at hand, for the Emperor had led his
forces to a glorious victory. Those of the enemy who were not disabled
fled before the lions, who shook their manes in furious rage and looked
about them for more victims.

With tears in their eyes the two youths stood by the side of their dying
father. They had laid their dear one under a great oak tree, which
extended its branches over him like protecting arms, and sought to
stanch his wound. The sight bitterly grieved the Emperor as he
approached. He had found the steed and shield of his old
comrade-in-arms, and well knew what he had lost; but the spot showed
clearly what his life had cost the enemy, for the shield was covered
with blood and a wall of slain lay beside it. He at once ordered that
his brave friend should be taken to his own tent and cared for as such a
friend deserved.

“Were it possible to purchase thy life, thou faithful one, I would give
this day’s honor,” said the Emperor, with great emotion.

“Thanks, my noble sovereign, for thy true friendship, which accompanies
me even to the grave,” said Conrad; “but I feel I shall not long enjoy
it. Death steadily approaches, and my life swiftly nears its close. But
it would be a great consolation in my dying hour to know that my sons
will be cared for. I brought them here in the morning of their life that
they might see how brave knights can die for God and their Emperor. I
think I myself have set them the best example—I can do no more. Take
them when I am gone.”

“I will care for them,” said the Emperor, “as if they were my own sons,
and they shall always be near me. I pledge my life for them as freely
and as courageously as thou hast pledged thine for me.”

The dying Conrad cast a look of gratitude upon the Emperor, then turned
to his sons, pressed their hands to his heart with all his remaining
strength, and said:

“Be worthy of your ancestors your whole life long—turn not a step from
the path—of virtue—true to your Emperor to—the last breath—to innocence
a—protector—to evil-doers and blasphemers—an avenging judge—and—I die
willingly.”

Thus Conrad of Feuchtwangen passed away. All were in tears. Even the
Emperor’s eyes were moist. At last he ordered that the body should be
buried with the highest honors, and that Raymond and Conrad should
follow him to his tent and stay with him in future.




                               Chapter X
                        Capture of the Brothers


The brothers passed a sorrowful and sleepless night. Though they felt
greatly honored by the Emperor’s protection, they would rather have
grown to manhood under their father’s eyes, learned their highest duties
from his lips, and, inspired by his example, have reached his lofty
standard of honor. They fervently prayed for strength to face the
inevitable, but no rest came to their tired bodies. Raymond suffered
pain in his wounded arm, and Conrad, who was greatly overcome by his own
exertions and by the loss of his father, was even more greatly troubled
by the fear that he might lose his brother also and be left utterly
alone.

The morning found them still disturbed by their sad thoughts. There was
great activity in the camp. The Emperor had decided to move at once,
attack the enemy wherever they were found, and destroy them or force
them to make peace, whatever the cost. The army therefore quickly
advanced. The brothers remained in the camp, the elder because he was
incapacitated for active work, and the younger to look after his
brother, according to what the Emperor said, but in reality because he
did not wish to expose one so young to the possible dangers ahead of
them. An old henchman, grown gray in the Emperor’s service, was assigned
to look after the brothers and advise with them whenever necessary. As
soon as all these matters were settled, the Emperor set out in pursuit
of the enemy.

On the third day, as on previous days, the Turks adopted their customary
tactics, but the Christians by this time had gained confidence by the
success of their attacks and knew how to follow them up. The horses
which had been captured were very useful to the Christian knights, as
their own half-starved animals had a chance to rest. Thus they were in
excellent condition to execute their plan and from every point of view
were ready for battle. Shortly, they neared the capital of Iconium. They
beheld it in the distance about noon, and felt that their hardest battle
was imminent; and so it proved. The Turks occupied a better position
than on the previous days, and put forth every exertion to beat back the
Christians. By their peculiar tactics, as well as by their superiority
in numbers, they occasionally succeeded in forcing back detachments of
the knights, so that they crowded upon the camp.

At last the Turks in overwhelming force directed an attack upon the spot
where the Emperor and the bravest of his knights were fighting, for they
knew the battle must be decided there. Thousands of scymitars flashed
about the heads of the little Christian band and glanced off from
shields and mail. Hundreds fell victims to German steel, but fresh
fighters took their places as if they sprang from the earth to avenge
the slain. The slaughter was appalling, for at every blow of the
Germans’ heavy two-edged swords, death followed. But at last the
stoutest arms began to tire and the bravest hearts to weaken; for
notwithstanding all this sanguinary work the numbers of the enemy
apparently were not reduced. A brief rest was absolutely necessary and
the Emperor granted it. The knights halted for rest in vain, however,
for the enemy, elated by their seeming victory, rushed forward and the
Christians were forced back toward their camp. The brothers, unprepared
for battle, were suddenly surrounded in the _mêlée_ and were in imminent
danger of capture. Their critical position appealed to the heroic soul
of the old Barbarossa, and he determined to give battle anew. In thunder
tones he shouted to his knights: “Comrades-in-arms, help to defend my
_protégés_. Let me not be guilty of breaking faith with the dying!” The
next instant he fell upon the enemy, followed by his faithful knights.
Nothing could withstand them. They charged as the hurricane sweeps
through the forest. Again the enemy divided up and made isolated
attacks, here and there with success; but the Christians did not waver.
“No more retreating!” was the cry. “Christ commands!” they shouted, and
“Christ triumphs!” was the answering cry.

The Emperor’s bold example inspired all. They not only held their
ground, but forced the enemy to give way. As their courage rose that of
the enemy proportionately weakened. They realized more and more that all
the advantages they might secure could not compensate them for the loss
they must suffer. The irregular hordes of cavalry, which had been
harassing the Christians from motives of pure hatred, saw they had been
deceived. They expected to overcome them with ease, but for every dead
Christian there were hosts of dead Turks. The Sultan himself discovered
that his plans had come to naught, and rather than sacrifice his
subjects for the benefit of an ambitious neighbor, he decided simply to
defend his city until peace was made. Finding that the Turks were
falling back on all sides, Kilidj Arslan ordered a hasty retreat. His
warriors were so glad that they fled precipitately. Inspired afresh by
this new victory the Christians rapidly pursued them, and evening found
them at the gates of Iconium and in possession of much rich booty which
the enemy had abandoned.

The Emperor allowed but a few hours of rest, for he had decided to storm
the city while yet the hearts of the knights beat high with victory and
before the enemy could make the necessary preparations for defence.
Everything was made ready in the gray of twilight, and at break of day
the general assault began. The enemy, who imagined they alone excelled
in swift movements, found themselves outdone. Surprised by the
unexpected attack, some of them became panic-stricken, but the most of
them, who were only accustomed to fighting in the open country, could
not stand confinement within city walls. Troops of cavalry rode
helplessly up and down the streets, seeking some way of escape and
finding none. Desperate over the possibility of a Christian victory, the
foot-soldiers fought upon the walls. The Germans in the lead, bold as
lions, climbed the scaling ladders in spite of all obstacles. Descending
the walls, they plunged into the very thick of the enemy, shouting,
“Christ triumphs!” and piled the streets with Turkish dead. A terrible
panic seized the Moslems, and they fled helter-skelter, hotly pursued by
the Christians. No resistance was attempted; flight was their only
thought. They dared not surrender to an enemy whom they had so greatly
incensed and for whom they had shown so little consideration. Indeed,
the Christians would have made them no offer of peace, so intense was
their indignation. From the Emperor down to the lowest man in the ranks
they fought so continuously and so unweariedly that they had no time to
think of making such an offer, to say nothing of negotiating a treaty.

The Turks at last opened the gates to secure their liberty and life, and
out they poured, with the Sultan at their head, eager to escape. When
they reached the camp of the Christians they gave vent to their rage by
slaying the sick and non-combatants. Our young friends suddenly found
themselves surrounded by furious Moslems swinging their scymitars over
their unprotected heads. Faithful to his trust their care-taker sought
to defend them, but fell in the unequal contest, and the same fate
seemed to threaten them. A muscular, sun-browned hand was already
directing a blow at Raymond’s head with a blood-stained scymitar, but
the blow was averted by a sudden order. The enemies conversed in a
language the brothers did not understand, with the result that their
lives were spared, although they were dragged away in spite of all
resistance. They were placed upon light, fleet horses, and, guarded by a
strong band of the enemy, left the camp, fleeing afar with the wind’s
speed, they knew not whither.

They soon discovered that they had fallen into the hands of the Sultan,
and that it was he who had rescued them from instant death. But alas!
they feared that they had only been spared to gratify his revenge by
some painful mode of torture. At the same time it did not escape their
notice how carefully they were guarded from any possibility of danger,
and that great consideration was paid to the wounded brother. They could
not account for this, nor could they reconcile such solicitude with the
malicious expression of the Sultan’s face whenever he looked at them.
After a short halt, during which the prisoners got some rest, they went
on. Though the night was very dark, Raymond noticed that their way led
through ravines and narrow defiles like those in which the Christians
had suffered so many disasters. He had hoped to return that way after
the war was over, but, alas! how cruelly was he disappointed! They were
defenceless prisoners in the hands of an enemy who knew no pity, who
blindly followed his relentless rage, and was preparing to take their
lives in the most barbarous manner as an expiation for the thousands who
had been slain by the Christians.

Ready as he was to sacrifice his life for Christ and His holy religion,
Raymond would rather have fallen, weapons in hand, fighting with the
infidels, the arch-enemies of Christianity, than perish by torture. How
he lamented the fatality of his wounded arm! His effort to protect his
father’s life had been in vain, and now he was a helpless prisoner. His
mind was filled with sad reflections in the stillness of the night,
broken only by the hoof-beats of the horses.

The increasing coolness and light gray streaks in the sky announced the
approach of morning, and as it gradually dawned he felt somewhat less
anxious. The same horde surrounded him, the same browned faces scowled
at him; but he could see the dear face of his brother, and he felt
cheered by his unwavering reliance upon the will of God. This was a
great consolation, and they enjoyed it with all the ardor of innocent
souls. God’s glorious nature lay spread out before them, bathed in the
morning radiance. Millions of dewdrops glistened on the grass. The
flowers, refreshed by the moisture, exhaled delicious fragrance, and
thousands of the gentle singers of the wood proclaimed their joy in
song. When tears of sadness came to their eyes at times, as they
reflected that the birds could enjoy a happiness denied to them, they
found consolation in the thought that God cared for all his creatures,
and that He would not forget them. “Not a sparrow falls from the roof
without the will of the Heavenly Father,” say the Scriptures.[31] “It is
God’s will that we suffer. It is in accordance with His plans, and we
must submit. When His wise purpose is accomplished, He will send us
help.” Thus Raymond consoled his beloved brother.

The cool morning wind, which hardly stirred the tree boughs,
occasionally brought a peculiar roar to their ears. Now it sounded
strong, again weak; at times it entirely ceased, and then was loud
again. The brothers thought it must come from some distant spot at the
end of their journey. They strained their eyes to find it, but as soon
as their guards saw them doing this, they bandaged their eyes. During
the brief delay occasioned by this, they noticed that the leader gave
one of his attendants an order, and that the latter hastily left in the
opposite direction.

The march was at once resumed. It was not long before the roar grew
stronger. The brothers were convinced it was the noise of waves breaking
right and left along their way. “The sea,” thought Raymond; “we are by
the sea, and no longer in the interior of the enemy’s country.”

Soon the horses clattered over a bridge and halted in a spacious
courtyard. The bandages were removed, and the brothers found themselves
in a narrow space inclosed by high walls. Nothing could be seen around
them, but the beautiful clear blue sky seemed to say, “Despair not! God
is watching over you.” They embraced each other and heart to heart wept
tears of sorrow and joy—of sorrow over the death of their beloved
father, of joy that they still had each other and loved each other so
faithfully. Their joy was short-lived, however, for they were soon led
into a solitary room and confined securely like ordinary prisoners.

They saw nothing of their enemy that day. A grinning slave silently
brought their simple food, and after a time as silently carried away the
dishes. It seemed to the brothers that he was a mute, he manifested so
little interest in their conversation.

The prisoners naturally talked much about their unfortunate plight,—what
the Emperor would think, and what great anxiety their absence would
cause him. At one moment they hoped he would rescue them, but at the
next they feared he might be so occupied with his great undertaking that
he would find neither time nor opportunity to come to their help.
Possibly he might even forget them in the wild tumult of war raging
about him. How could he be expected to think of their lives when the
lives of so many thousands depended upon his activity? If their father
were only living, he would either attempt their rescue himself or induce
the Emperor to undertake it. The sad thought brought tears to their eyes
again.

After considering their situation from every point of view, they
continued to repose their trust in God, who has so many agencies for the
accomplishment of His purposes. This reconciled them to the thought of
dying for the religion of Christ. Indeed, it seemed to them now as
glorious to sacrifice their lives within prison walls as upon the
battlefield. They shed tears less often; their lips no longer uttered
laments.

Thus the time passed for several days, but at length the Sultan suddenly
entered the room. They instantly realized that they were not regarded as
ordinary prisoners. The Sultan inquired if there was anything they
needed, but they made no complaints. He expected to see them at his
feet, deploring their situation, but he heard no request for mitigation
of their imprisonment, for better food, or for the enjoyment of fresh
air. They were quiet and calm in his presence. Every trace of sorrow had
disappeared from their faces, and confidence and courage shone in their
eyes. The Sultan stood before them, astonished at their bearing. At
last, with scornful look and menacing voice, he said:

“Your death will follow the slightest attempt you make to escape, or
which your Emperor shall make to rescue you.”

“We shall make no attempt to escape, for it is impossible,” said
Raymond, “but we cannot prevent the Emperor from doing what he thinks is
right. If you kill us, we will die joyfully.”

“But that will not be necessary, if your protector, the Emperor, keeps
his word as faithfully as they say he does.”

“He always keeps his word, whatever malicious tongues may say to the
contrary.”

“Why, then, does he delay keeping it in your case?”

“How do you know he has given his word to us?”

“Oho! you innocent doves! On the very spot where your father died, and
where you (pointing to Raymond) killed one of my bravest, I heard him
say, ‘I will care for thy sons as if they were my own, and I will pledge
my life for them.’”

“And he will do what he said. He will keep his word, but he has hardly
had time to hear of our capture.”

“He knows it well enough, but he will not keep his word.”

“That is false.”

“Don’t be so hasty! Listen. I have sent word to him by one of my most
trusty messengers that you are in my hands and that I will kill you if
he attacks my castle. In addition to this, I offered to release you if
he would make peace and quit the country. And what was his reply?”

“He has considered your proposition, and rejects it.”

“You have guessed right; and yet by doing as he has done, he has put
your lives in danger. He has been faithless.”

“He esteems honor—without which one cannot be a knight—higher than life.
Will he, the greatest sovereign on earth, whose long life is one series
of heroic acts such as have rarely been performed in this world, before
whom Europe and Asia tremble, will he forget his imperial duty and prove
himself guilty in his old age of such a cowardly act as you expect from
him? No, never! The world would point its finger of scorn at him, and
those who were slain in executing his designs would rise up and say,
‘Thou hast deliberately sacrificed us at the close of thy victorious
career; thou hast thrown away all that thou hast purchased with our
blood.’”

The Sultan, astonished at these words, replied: “It is true the Emperor
promised to free Palestine; but he also promised to protect you, and his
obstinacy consigns you to death.”

“We will die willingly when the time comes. What we expected in battle
we will not fly from in prison, if God so wills. The Emperor knows our
feelings, and if he shall leave us to our fate, that will be because he
is engaged in carrying out a higher purpose.”

“Perhaps if you remind him of his pledge he will recall the services of
your father and accede to my demands. Write to him, and a trusty
messenger shall take your letter to him.”

“Never! It would be disgraceful for us to do it. We would rather die a
thousand times.”

Seeing that his efforts were fruitless, the Sultan contemptuously left
the apartment. The brothers now realized their importance in the eyes of
the enemy, and were satisfied that their noble father would have
approved what they had done.




                               Chapter XI
                          The Brothers’ Ordeal


Evening had hardly fallen when the Sultan again suddenly appeared in the
brothers’ room. He entered noiselessly and regarded the two with a
malicious expression, as they stood arm in arm at the window gazing at
the glorious sunset, which seemed to them a reflection of the infinite
father-love of God and awakened filial devotion for Him in their hearts.

Their fearlessness surprised the Sultan. He had hoped to find them
downcast, and expected they would tremble before him and prostrate
themselves at his feet. But nothing of this kind occurred. They merely
glanced at the intruder, then turned their heads away and resumed their
contemplation of the sunset, as if he were some insignificant person.

“Look at the brilliant red which illuminates half the sky,” said
Raymond, gently.

“We see this every day and yet every day it gives us the same delight,”
replied his brother. “How many times we have seen it with father and
mother from the windows of our castle! And it was just as beautiful
there as here.”

“That is because it is the work of the almighty and all-gracious God,
who has the same love for all His earthly children. He overlooks none of
them. He cares alike for all, and although the needs of His creatures
are so different, yet He knows what each one wants, and from His endless
bounty He can satisfy all.”

“And does He also think of us?” asked Conrad.

“How canst thou ask such a question? Certainly He does, foolish boy! He
is everywhere, and of course He is here. As He watches over all He of
course sees our condition and will help us in His own good time.”

“Why, Raymond, you do not actually believe I doubt what you say! I was
only eager that this imprisonment might soon end, so that thy wounded
arm might heal more quickly under the care of our Christian brethren.”

“Your liberty is in your own hands,” interposed the Sultan. “Like two
young fools, you have rejected my proposal. Now I will renew it—write to
the Emperor.”

“Not one word,” replied Raymond. “We have given you our answer, and we
do not change our minds like smooth-tongued Greeks and Turks.”

The Sultan restrained his anger at the reproach hurled at him, and
addressed Conrad:

“Be more reasonable than your insolent brother. You are young yet, but
you know it is a sin against God to shorten life. The Emperor will be
forced to free you. Write to him yourself.”

“I well know it is a crime to take one’s own life, but it is also a
crime to preserve that life by a shameful deed. It would be the grossest
offence to induce the Emperor to abandon his high purposes by my appeals
for liberty. I refuse your request, as my brother has done.”

Wild rage flamed in the Sultan’s eye, and his face was distorted with
unrestrained anger.

“Well,” he roared, “be it so! You shall now feel my power. I have
foolishly been considerate of your youth, but shall be so no longer. You
must die,—that is a matter of course. But death will be too mild a
punishment for you. You have dared to defy me, me whom millions obey!
You shall now suffer all that your brethren, the Christian dogs, have
suffered. I will inflict hunger, thirst, punishments of every kind. I
will devise tortures more painful than any one before has ever imagined.
While you are enduring them your cries of agony will sound like heavenly
music in my ears. When you supplicate for mercy there shall be no
respite. The time will have passed then for securing what I offer now.”

With trembling voice—but not from fear—Conrad replied: “We have hitherto
considered you an honorable enemy. We do not complain because you
securely imprison us, but to treat us as you have threatened to do
lowers you to the level of the savage beast.”

The Sultan somewhat regained his composure, and left the room speechless
from amazement at their boldness.

The brothers again embraced, unmoved by his horrible threat, and
determined with God’s help to remain steadfast and not to deviate a
finger’s breadth from the path of right and duty.

Their conversation was now disturbed by a swarthy visaged person looking
in at the door and grimacing. He was a gigantic Turk, who signified by
gesture rather than by speech that they were to follow him. They were a
little alarmed at first, but a glance at each other and a mutual grasp
of the hand reassured them, and they courageously followed him. Their
apprehensions, however, were not realized. They were simply changing the
place of their confinement. A low, dark room with small iron-grated
windows and bare walls, and destitute of the customary furniture it was,
where they were now to spend their time. The slave left some wretched
food, and so slight an allowance of it that it barely sufficed to
relieve the pangs of hunger. They realized by his conduct that he was
their new keeper.

The change in their situation made little impression upon them. The
slave had hardly left the room before they fell upon their knees,
thanked God that so far He had kept them from yielding, and fervently
prayed that He would continue to aid them and save them from any severer
trials.

Several days passed without affording them a sight of their enemies. The
miserable food did not allay the cravings of hunger. The moisture
trickling down the walls, the damp, sticky atmosphere, and the lack of
refreshing rest nearly made them ill. The slave’s face manifested not a
sign of pity. On the contrary, the brothers thought they noticed an
expression of malicious satisfaction whenever their eyes met his; but
they made no complaint.

One day, to their great astonishment, their keeper, who seemed to have
forgotten them, entered the room bringing dainty food instead of the
usual prison fare. A hot rice soup steamed from a clean dish, regaling
the senses and tempting the appetite. The slave’s conduct was also
different. A look of sympathy had taken the place of his scornful smile.
He invited them to partake of the food, and placed it before them
himself, in the most friendly manner, for they were afraid to take it,
suspecting that it was only offered to them in malicious mockery. But
when he went out and returned with a pair of roasted fowls, they no
longer distrusted him or hesitated to accept his repeated invitations.

The slave waited upon the table with as much ceremony as if he were
serving distinguished company, now helping one, then the other, and
urging both to take more. They ate with gratitude to God for making such
a change in their master’s heart, but made no conversation with the
servant, though he evidently was expecting them to do so. Indeed, the
meal closed without a word from them, though the Turk coughed and hemmed
and made every sort of hint to them, hoping they would speak. At last he
withdrew, but speedily returned with a tankard. “Here is something to
warm Christian hearts,” he said with a smile, as if confident they would
at last break their silence.

“Wine?” said Conrad. “I thought the Turks did not drink wine. What does
the Sultan mean?”

Though Conrad was only speaking to his brother, the servant answered:
“The Sultan? This wine is not from him. It is from Rustan, your servant,
young gentlemen.”

“Do you mean you have done this without the Sultan’s knowledge?”

“As sure as I am Rustan. But, by Allah, the Sultan does not and must not
know a word of it.”

The boys looked at each other in amazement.

“Do not be alarmed, dear young gentlemen,” said Rustan. “You shall know
all. Look you! old Rustan loves the Christians though he is a Mussulman.
When I was a young man I bravely fought them, for I was incited by the
dervishes, the bloodthirsty enemies of your faith. I was wounded, taken
prisoner, and nursed by a Christian in his home. I have never forgotten
it. I have never fought against them since. Fate brought me to this
castle and made me your keeper. The Sultan forced me to treat you
harshly. It broke my heart to see you suffering, and I have improved the
first opportunity to make you some amends.”

Both the brothers were greatly moved by his story, and believed they
were doing right to accept his proffer.

“Now, drink,” said the Turk. “It is pure Cyprus, which, as I have heard,
is much esteemed by the Franks.”

After considerable persuasion the prisoners drank, and the excellent,
strong wine refreshed them. Rustan urged them to take some more, but
they declined. They restrained their desires as usual, for they well
knew that much wine was not wholesome for those so young. They were
satisfied with what was reasonable, and this had always been the habit
of their lives.

                       [Illustration: _The Test_]

Rustan improved his opportunity, and while repeatedly lamenting their
hard lot, he informed them they must attempt to free themselves, for
they could expect no mercy from the Sultan, who had sworn by the beard
of the Prophet to punish their insolence. “No Mussulman, least of all
Kilidj Arslan, ever breaks this oath,” said he; “therefore, fly!”

“That is easier said than done,” replied Raymond, “and you, Rustan, know
even better than we do how impossible it is to escape from here.”

“I will find the way for you. Like you, I suffered greatly before you
came. Then, as your keeper, I was forced to be cruel to you. My old head
cannot invent cruelties, and my back has to suffer for it. I have had
enough of cruelty; I will escape with you. Come and see.”

Rustan took the boys by the hands and led them quietly down a long
corridor. They followed him involuntarily, but without a tremor. At last
they came to a door opening upon a handsome apartment with a gorgeous
tapestry dividing it in the centre. Behind it the Sultan was soundly
sleeping upon silken cushions with curtains undrawn.

“You see escape is possible. The tyrant who tortures you and me is fast
asleep. He will not be awakened, for woe to him who disturbs his rest.
The castle garrison is an insignificant one. I know all the passages and
have the keys of the gate leading to the causeway. Put on Turkish
costumes, and in a trice you will be out, and we will fly to the
Emperor’s camp.”

The temptation to escape came so suddenly that the boys were inclined to
yield to it.

“And yet,” said Rustan, “we are not absolutely safe even when the tyrant
sleeps. When he wakes, his first question will be about you, for even in
sleep he dreams of you and is busy devising new tortures. So, if you
would be absolutely safe, take this dagger and thrust it into the heart
of your torturer.”

With these words he placed a sharp, polished dagger into the hand of
each of the boys in spite of their resistance. All at once they felt
these glittering but fearful weapons in their hands. To secure their
liberty they must make no noise, scarce venture a word of reply, to say
nothing of dropping the daggers. Their dangerous situation alarmed them.
They would rather have remained in their gloomy prison. Rustan, however,
was both deaf and blind to their evident signs of abhorrence of such a
shameful deed. They attempted to leave the apartment but he prevented
them.

“You shall not leave here until you have disposed of that tyrant’s
accursed life. I supposed you were brave sons of a brave father,” he
craftily whispered, “but you are cowards, and incapable of bold deeds.
As I will not return to the yoke of the slave or die a miserable death
with you, when we are discovered, I will risk it alone.” Drawing a
dagger, he advanced upon the sleeping Sultan with the intention of
stabbing him, but Raymond rushed between them and said:

“It is not the custom of knights to kill a sleeping, defenceless enemy.
We will fight for our liberty with the same weapons, man to man. You
shall reach him only over our dead bodies.”

“Awake!” cried Conrad, vigorously shaking the Sultan. “Awake! your life
is in danger. An assassin threatens you. Take this dagger and protect
yourself.”

The Sultan roused up. Raymond was still holding Rustan’s dagger arm and
with his wounded arm holding his own dagger at his heart, while Conrad
was standing in a threatening attitude by the side of the Sultan and
looking at the assassin with blazing eyes.

“Keep these daggers as souvenirs from me,” said the awakened Sultan. “I
shall not forget this hour. I have heard and seen all. You are brave and
honest boys, and have well stood the test I arranged. From now on you
will be released from prison; but I cannot give you your liberty,
because I must avail myself of every agency to make a lasting peace with
your Emperor. But I will treat you as my sons.”

The Sultan then left the apartment, which was next to his own, so that
it might be put in order for them, and that they should be near him.
Rustan, who had played his role so masterfully, was again the Sultan’s
old faithful servant, and as such was doubly dear to the boys.

Life was now far different. Many would have highly enjoyed it, and felt
happy amid such good living, handsome surroundings, and abundance of
everything, and have soon forgotten their old conditions. But it was not
so with the brothers. They could hardly forget the Emperor for a moment,
and they nearly always spoke of him when they were alone. Their desire
for liberty was still strong, and though they scorned to secure it by
such a horrible deed as murder, yet they would have followed Rustan’s
lead if he could have freed them in any way but that. They were
convinced that their steadfastness in the right course would result in
greater advantage to them, as well as to the Christian army, than an act
of murder when they were still too young and inexperienced to unravel
the web of the cunning Turk and see through his plans. They had earned
his respect—the respect of an enemy second to none in the world. Since
he respected them, he certainly would respect the knights and, above
all, the Emperor, for he was the ideal of all knightly virtues. What
might have been their fate if, urged on by the unchristian thirst for
revenge, and forgetful of their duty, they had attempted to use the
murderous steel? Both Rustan and the Sultan would have confronted them,
and against two such foes two weak boys would have been powerless. Even
if they had overcome them and secured their liberty, the deed would not
have been approved in the camp, and they would have been held in
contempt all their lives. Though their noble course was unknown to the
Emperor and Christendom, though it dissipated their hope of rescue, and
they might have to pass their young lives in a lonesome castle, there
was One who had seen their act and had tested their hearts. God would
not let it pass unrequited.




                              Chapter XII
                       The Emperor to the Rescue


We left the Emperor fighting furiously in the streets of Iconium. Where
the danger was greatest he fought with the bravery always characteristic
of him. None could withstand him. They either fell before his vigorous
attacks, or fled as fast and far as their feet could take them. The
Christians were equally bold even when the Turks assailed them with the
fierceness of lions. Their bitter resentment over broken faith, their
remembrance of the sufferings they had undergone, the thought of so many
fallen comrades, and their unwavering belief that the destruction of the
enemies of Christianity was pleasing to God, inflamed them to a pitch of
fury that extinguished every spark of humanity. They did not desist
until every turban-wearer was killed or, like the Sultan, fortunate
enough to make his escape. The Emperor was one of the last to sheathe
his reddened sword. Many fell utterly exhausted, for in the excitement
of the battle they had not noticed their waning strength. The
foot-soldiers, who had driven stakes into the ground to protect
themselves from the enemy’s cavalry charges, were hardly able to move.
In addition to an immense amount of spoils and the wealth of the city,
they secured an abundance of subsistence. All who were able procured
enough for themselves and for the needs of their exhausted comrades.

After the Emperor’s work was complete, and in the midst of his
exultation over his victory and the fruits of his conquest of the city,
he first learned what he had lost in the meantime. He could hardly trust
his ears when he was informed of the capture of his wards. After
repeated assurances that the news was true, and that their faithful
caretaker had been found dead, the Emperor’s cheeks paled and his
flashing eyes dimmed, for he realized at once the impending fate of the
unfortunate lads.

“You could not have struck me a harder blow than this, cruel Sultan,” he
said, grimly. “You were cunning enough to know how dear those boys are
to me. A fine proof of your courage this is, you coward, who shun open
battle face to face, who can only succeed with overwhelming numbers, who
lie in wait and strike your foeman in the back!”

The glory of his victory was dimmed for him. The spoils he had won lost
all their value in his eyes. This was no more than he had often done.
But how should he redeem his knightly word, which never yet had been
broken? He had allowed himself to be deceived by a subtle enemy, to whom
he had exposed the boys, fancying them secure even when not under his
watchful eye, and the result might be fatal to those who had trusted to
his protection.

His associates vainly tried to convince him he had not been guilty of
any neglect of duty. Empty words could not comfort him. “It has all
happened because of my negligence,” he replied. His first move was to
order immediate pursuit of the enemy, in the hope of rescuing the boys.

The most devoted of his knights mounted steeds they had captured, and
set off in pursuit of the fugitives, believing that the latter, after
the long day’s battle, could not have gone any considerable distance.
They returned shortly, however, bringing with them a messenger sent by
the Sultan to the Emperor. He was at once taken before him, and
announced that the two boys were in the Sultan’s power, and that the
latter well knew how dear the sons of the Emperor’s old friend were to
him, as well as the promise he had made to that friend in his dying
moments. He further announced that the Sultan would engage to return
them if the Emperor would give up the spoils he had captured, as well as
the Sultan’s possessions. If the Emperor refused the proposal, the boys
should die in the strong castle by the sea the moment he attacked it.

The messenger’s announcement caused general astonishment. When the first
shock of the blow had passed, however, the Emperor’s eyes gleamed with
exultant determination. His very soul revolted against such a proposal,
and his anger against the Sultan for expecting him to accede to it was
furious.

“Tell your prince,” he exclaimed in thunder tones, “tell your prince I
spurn his proposal. My imperial honor will not allow me to release my
wards in such a manner. By God’s grace, I will keep my word, but I will
not surrender the fruits of a victory purchased with the blood of
thousands. No! with God’s help, I will find some way to redeem my
promise becoming to a hero and an Emperor. Tell the Sultan I will hold
him responsible with his head for the safety of my boys.”

With these words the Emperor turned his back upon the messenger. All
present applauded the reply of the old hero. Though none had believed he
would accept the Sultan’s terms, they had thought it possible that the
Emperor might open negotiations, and, if possible, reach a settlement
without bloodshed. They feared any such arrangement, as it would only
secure them a fickle-minded and unreliable friend; and should conditions
arise at any time like those they had found in their dealings with the
Greeks, they would never be certain whether he was their friend or their
enemy. Every step they took would be hindered, and their plans might be
entirely frustrated. But since the Emperor had replied in such a
decisive manner, and the messenger’s departure from the city would end
all negotiations, they knew to a certainty that they now had to deal
with an enemy.

The Germans remained in Iconium an entire week. The houses were filled
with wounded who had to be cared for, and this duty was all the more
imperative because of the lack of doctors. The knights and their
attendants were so well skilled in the treatment of wounds that they
were of great service; but in the cases of those who had been overcome
by their strenuous exertions, and weakened for want of proper food, the
wounds were exceedingly dangerous; and, besides, the danger was
aggravated by the heat. The natives could not be trusted; hence every
one had to depend upon the love of his Christian neighbor; and if ever
this most beautiful doctrine of Christianity was practised, it was
there. Proud knights who governed hundreds at home, cared for all their
faithful attendants, even for the sons of the lowest of their vassals;
and sometimes those who had been accustomed to wealth and splendor, and
perhaps had been hard rulers, waited upon the meanly born. Again, some
knight nursed another of equal station who, before they espoused the
cause of the Cross, had been his mortal enemy and might then have been
attacking him or burning his castle, had they not ceased their strife to
go to the rescue of Christians in the Orient. Such were the
extraordinary scenes among these warriors whose swords were still red
with Turkish blood. But a moment ago they were fierce as lions and
tigers; now they were as gentle as lambs.

The Emperor was omnipresent. He had room in his heart for every one in
his service. He consoled many an old comrade lying on his bed of pain.
He closed many an eye which had watched for him and with him. He held
many a cold hand which had wielded the sword for him, and tears of
sympathy often came to his eyes. Then he turned to the well who were
enjoying rest in the plazas and streets of the city, and cleaning their
weapons and armor; or he visited the sentinels on the walls to see if
they were faithful to their duties. While there, his eyes involuntarily
turned to the spot where he thought the castle stood in which his boys
were prisoners. Notwithstanding they were far away, he strained his eyes
as if to find out their condition and to read in their faces whether
they still confided in him, or whether, like their present master, they
doubted his word.

The Emperor gave long consideration to the means at his command for
effecting their rescue, but none of them appeared practicable. One thing
was certain. If an attack were made upon his really impregnable castle
the Sultan would carry out his threat. Then again of what use would it
be to capture the castle, even if it were possible? They could not catch
the Sultan and bring him to account so long as they could not cut off
his escape by sea. As for negotiation, the Emperor gave it no thought.
He was certain that the Sultan would not make a second offer; and even
if he found that the Emperor was willing to listen, he felt sure that he
not only would repeat the old demands but probably would add new and not
less ignominious ones.

From every point of view the deed was almost superhuman. The castle
could be approached only by land, over a narrow causeway, which was in
plain sight and could be easily defended. But even if they crossed it
without resistance, they would come to portcullises which could be
easily lowered so as to cut them off and ensure their destruction.
Seawards a large inclosure was filled with most trustworthy guards—a
number of huge and powerful lions, tigers, and panthers, whose loud
roars were terrible enough to prevent any one from attempting to scale
the wall on that side. But even supposing a knight were found ready to
attempt this rash exploit, what could be accomplished? Could he rescue
the boys from the Sultan and escape with them past the castle garrison?
And if he failed what would become of the Emperor’s promise? Would he
have risked his life for them as he agreed? He would have done no more
than any other might have done and the faithless Turk would have laughed
at him for his pains. Frederick’s honor had thus far been unquestioned.
His word was of more worth than gold. He could not escape the conclusion
that to uphold his honor to the last he must undertake the deed alone.

This thought flashed through his mind like the lightning. A knight in
every sense of the word, as his whole life had shown, Frederick had all
the virtues of true knighthood in their highest development. In his time
knighthood was not satisfied with ordinary dangers. It sought for daring
exploits, and purposely invited and magnified them that victory might be
all the more glorious. It was regarded as a misfortune that the world no
longer swarmed with dragons and serpents, with which, according to the
legends, the heroes of the olden time contended. Giants and goblins had
also disappeared, and the knightly heroes therefore eagerly seized the
opportunity to encounter dangers in the Orient they had never faced
before, and to overcome them and thereby display their knighthood as
well as their religious enthusiasm.

No exploit more dangerous than that which Frederick decided to perform
could have been conceived. He industriously made plans to reach the
Sultan, rejecting this and that, until but one remained. He must risk
that, and no other. But in the meantime how could he attend to his other
duties? His army certainly was safe from any immediate attack by the
Turks. But did the Sultan actually expect that his proposal would be
accepted? Probably, otherwise he would have been more actively engaged.
But what would happen in case he, the Emperor, failed in this dangerous
undertaking? In that case, if his army were attacked, his name would no
longer be a terror to the enemy, and still, with so many valiant knights
in the army, it would not lack for a leader. His son, inheritor of his
name and his virtues, now in the very flower of youthful strength and
courage, would lead it to victory, with God’s help, as he had done.

The evening star was shining serenely on the horizon when the Emperor
completed his plans. He determined there should be no further delay.
What was to be done must be done quickly. He went to his son, Frederick
of Swabia, frankly laid his plans before him, assigned him to the chief
command of the army, and requested him to keep his absence a secret, so
that it should not have a disquieting effect upon the army. If he did
not return in three days he instructed him to attack the Turkish castle
by the sea with all his strength, and look for him there.

Night had enveloped the city in thick darkness when the Emperor,
disguised in plain costume, passed through the gate leading to the
south. With his armor and cloak securely packed upon his horse, he rode
through the ranks of the sleeping army. Now and then a sentinel
challenged him, but he was not halted as he well knew the watchword. He
had very wisely selected one of those horses which could be relied upon
to cover a long distance in a short time, and which in battle were
accustomed to carry heavy armor in case their riders were exhausted.

Reaching the open country, the noble animal flew along with the ease and
speed characteristic of Oriental steeds. There was no obstruction in his
way, no enemy in sight. They seemed to have vanished as completely as if
the wind had swept them away. His way now stretched over luxurious
grassy plains, now through gloomy mountain forests. Many miles lay
behind him, but his steed seemed as fresh as at the start, and the
Emperor himself was but little wearied. The fresh night air, the
pleasure of the ride, and the thought that at last he would redeem his
word inspired him with more enthusiasm than he had felt at any time
since the loss of the boys. He rode to face danger as exultantly as if
he were faring to a tournament.

In the early gray of the morning the Emperor came to a solitary
fisherman’s hut, which showed no sign of life within. Evidently it was
either deserted or its owner was sleeping. He was now sure he was in the
vicinity of the castle. He knocked at the door and waited long for
admission. He soon grew impatient and had just decided to break down the
weak door and wait inside until daylight; or if he found the occupant
had been afraid to open it, to take him along as a guide. A person
looked out of the little window, but instantly drew back as if in fear
when he saw the knight. Frederick espied him and demanded admission.

After considerable delay the fisherman opened the door. He suddenly
appeared to have recovered from his fright, for he received the knight
very hospitably, brought him food, placed it upon the table, and begged
his guest to partake. “I would gladly offer you more, brave knight; but
I am poor, and this is all I have.”

“Make no excuses, my good man,” replied Frederick. “I am not so satiated
that I need to have luxuries. I have been living on simple fare for
several days, and have become quite accustomed to it.”

“Are the Christians reduced to their old straits again?” asked the
fisherman.

“Yes, thanks to the Greeks and Turks. They have proved alike unfaithful.
Your Greek Christians have broken their word again, and would have been
open enemies had they not been afraid of the brave Germans. Your master,
the Sultan, has been worse than any of them.”

“But his subjects ought not to be held responsible for his offences.
They say your Emperor is a powerful sovereign, but mild and conciliatory
also.”

“If you had been with him daily you could not have described him more
accurately, but neither your people nor your Sultan should presume upon
his gentle disposition too far. It has bounds. The entire country is now
subdued. The enemy has fled, and the Sultan has taken refuge in his
castle by the sea. Tell me, do you know anything about that place?”

“Oh, yes, Sir Knight, I can inform you about it if you wish to know.
Come here! Look! there are its walls with towers overtopping them. You
can recognize them though it is not yet day. The Sultan is staying there
now.”

“Alone?”

“No, oh, no! The garrison is not strong, but the castle is by no means
empty. I will tell you, but in confidence, that the Sultan keeps two
boy-prisoners there who are very dear to the Emperor.”

“Have you seen them?” said the Emperor, with much excitement.

“Not yet; but I heard of them when I was there selling fish.”

“Ah!” said the Emperor, with an air of indifference, not wishing to
betray himself, for he observed that the fisherman was watching him
curiously. “Does the Sultan keep no guards about him because he has no
fear that the Emperor will attack him?”

“Oh, sir, he is safe against all the armies in the world! I ought not to
reveal this to you, for the Sultan is my master; but believe me, I have
so much respect for your Emperor that I am willing to do him or one of
his knights a service. The castle is strongly protected. It cannot be
taken from the land side, and seawards it is skirted by an inclosure
filled with savage beasts. Oh, sir! I have now and then seen those cruel
animals from a distance, and been terribly frightened by their dreadful
roars. When I have seen them spring upon one another in mighty leaps,
though they were only in sport, it has scared me so that I have seized
my oars and rowed far from the spot.”

“You timorous hare! Do you suppose a German knight fears to go among
those beasts?”

The fisherman stared at the knight in astonishment. “For God’s sake, Sir
Knight, do not think of going there. No prisoner who has tried to escape
that way has ever come out alive. They could hardly find his bones in
the morning, and sometimes only a few blood spots told the story of his
awful death.”

“But how can a prisoner get in there?”

“Near the centre of the enclosure there is a door which remains closed,
but unlocked, day and night. A passage from it leads to the lion tower
where the prisoners are. You can see it rising from the centre of the
castle. They say that the guards sometimes pay no attention to their
prisoners, because they know that if they seek to escape through this
passage they will meet an awful death.”

The Emperor’s blood ran cold as the thought occurred to him that the
Sultan might take the same course with the boys, but he quickly regained
his composure.

“Promise me, Sir Knight, not to throw away your life there.”

“Fool, where did you get that idea? If I wished to go there I should not
hesitate, for I should expect to succeed; but I don’t know that I have
any interest over there. Find me a quiet little place where I can sleep
a few hours.”

The fisherman promptly replied: “No one will disturb you here, for no
one else lives here. Lie down anywhere and rest. I am going to look for
firewood, and shall not be back until it is time to get dinner.”

“Many thanks to you, but go as soon as you can, so that I can sleep.”




                              Chapter XIII
                     Barbarossa’s Victory and Death


The Emperor thoroughly understood the friendly solicitude of his host.
He had had large experience with Greek treachery in little as well as in
great affairs. He was well aware that their greed and their hatred of
the Western Christians would lead them to work against him at every
opportunity. It was easy enough to protect himself against the
fisherman’s hostile designs by killing him or by putting him in safe
custody until his work was accomplished, but he regarded such action as
ungrateful, cowardly, and vile. He knew also that he could purchase the
man’s faithfulness, but he would not debase himself so far as to redeem
his pledge by the use of gold. He must rely, therefore, upon his own
resources. He decided to make no further concealment of his purpose, but
at the same time to be cautious about revealing his identity. He would
defeat any treacherous act the fisherman might be contemplating, by
prompt action, and at the same time astonish his enemy by the boldness
of his exploit, whether he succeeded or perished in the attempt. He
quickly made his plan and lost no time in putting it into execution, for
the moment was favorable.

Quickly donning his armor, helmet, and cloak, he stepped out of the hut.
A little boat was dancing on the gentle waves, and a light wind was
blowing toward the castle. “Everything is propitious,” he said to
himself, delightedly; “now to my work with God’s help.” He sprang into
the boat, seized the oar, and rowed as deftly as if he were an oarsman
by occupation.

The sun was already high and beat down upon our seaman scorchingly.
Great drops of perspiration ran down his face, for he was unused to the
work, and his armor made it all the more laborious; but he did not
lessen his efforts. Now and then he would let the boat glide along of
its own motion, and then, resuming the oar, send it ahead with still
more vigorous strokes.

Gradually he neared the castle, which seemed to emerge from the waves of
the sea in all its hugeness of outline. Looking up, he surveyed the
imposing and colossal work of human industry. With practised eye he
estimated the strength and height of towers and walls, as well as the
size of the enclosure, and tried to ascertain the exact locality of the
door leading from it. The sight before him and the magnitude of the
task, which seemed to transcend human ability, might well have induced
him to abandon his attempt; but a voice within him said: “Thy pledged
word is sacred. Duty calls thee. It is no time for fear or doubt.
Courage and presence of mind alone will aid thee.” He studied the
situation and planned out his method of attack with the same coolness
and composure that characterized him when laying out his movements on
the battlefield. His hand had not trembled, his heart had not wavered in
a hundred battles. It beat undauntedly when all seemed lost at Legnano,
and in many a desperate battle with the Turks. Why, then, should it beat
less resolutely in a contest which must decide in a moment whether
victory or death was to be his fate?

It was a little past midday when our hero reached the castle. The beasts
at that time should have been in deep sleep, but to his astonishment
they were restlessly moving about. From time to time they ran growling
toward the centre of the enclosure as if pursued by some stronger
animal. Then they would go back to their resting-places, but without
showing any disposition to sleep. Then, yawning frightfully and eagerly
licking their lips, they would spring up and rush about again with
wildly gleaming eyes.

The Emperor had not expected such conduct from the beasts, and the
thought occurred to him, Is it due to something besides mere chance? Has
the fisherman actually carried out his treacherous design? It seemed
likely to him. He had to admit to himself that the danger arising from
such a consideration might prove fatal; but even were it so, he decided
to carry out the plan which he had fixed upon, as the best under the
circumstances.

He approached the sea-washed wall as noiselessly as he could, so as not
to attract the attention of the beasts. Bending low, he drove the boat
ahead with short, quick strokes until he reached it; then, laying down
his oar, he examined his sword and dagger, fastened his cloak loosely
about his broad shoulders, clutched the rail running along the wall: a
step, a spring, and he was up.

Not an instant elapsed before he was in the enclosure, confronting the
savage beasts. He realized at the first glance the full extent of his
danger, and decided what to do. He discerned the trap-door at once and
with drawn sword in his right hand rushed to it. At the same instant the
beasts noticed him. The lithe, bloodthirsty monsters emerged from their
lairs at once and advanced upon him in swift leaps. A large panther
outstripped them all. He reached the Emperor from the left side in two
bounds, followed closely by a huge lion from the right. Being still
three paces away from the trap-door, a fearful struggle was unavoidable,
for either of those terrible animals would have been a formidable foe
for one man.

                [Illustration: _Redbeard and the Lion._]

With the quickness of lightning the Emperor plunged his sword into the
lion’s breast, at the same time tearing his cloak from his shoulders
with his left hand and throwing it over the panther’s head. The hope of
victory shone in the Emperor’s face; his most cruel enemy was harmless
for the moment. Unopposed by him he advanced to the trap-door in the
midst of numerous smaller but hardly less dangerous beasts seeking to
pounce upon him, each in his own way. As the Emperor stooped to raise
the trap-door, a leopard sprang over him and another was thrown back by
the lifting of the trap-door, the panther still being enveloped in the
cloak. All this took but an instant, but in that instant the Emperor
sprang into a dark passage and the door closed down behind him.

Our hero waited only long enough to make sure that he had securely
fastened the door on the inside, for overhead there was a bedlam of
roars and growls as if all the beasts of Asia and Africa were loose
there. The shrieks and snarls of the smaller mingled with the heavy
roars of the larger beasts. Sharp claws scratched on the door, and the
animals tore at it and hurled themselves against it so furiously that it
seemed as if they would burst it open, and the whole cruel pack fall
upon the bold hero.

Victor over the wild animals, he must now prove himself victor over
human ones. The Emperor proceeded steadily but cautiously. With sword in
hand he tested the floor of the passage lest he should stumble into some
pitfall. He also carefully felt the walls to see if there were any side
passages from which he might be attacked in the rear. He found none, and
at last came to a door. There were several cracks in this door, but not
a gleam of daylight penetrated through them. The passage also grew
wider. Fearing it might lead under the castle and thence out into the
open air again, he calculated the distance from the door in the
enclosure to the castle. He was now sure that the second door must open
directly into the castle, and the masonry on the right and left
confirmed his judgment. With the help of his sword he forced the door
open. He advanced a few steps and, to his infinite astonishment, saw the
Sultan sitting immediately before him with a numerous and brilliant
suite, and the two boys, Raymond and Conrad, on either side of him.
Amazement and defiance were visible on every face. The Emperor was
overcome with surprise. The silence grew so intense and painful that
every one could hear his own heart beat.

The Sultan at last broke the silence:

“I bid thee welcome to my castle, thou great hero.”

A heavy burden was lifted from every heart. Anxiety gave way to pleasant
anticipation as the Sultan continued:

“Have no fear that I shall abuse the power which thy boldness has given
me. I am disarmed, not by terror of thy name, which has made my bravest
tremble, but by thine indomitable courage of arm and lofty magnanimity
of soul. I will henceforth be thine ally; and as a pledge of my faith I
give thee thy dear ones. They are worthy of thee.”

Frederick was deeply moved. His beloved boys fervently embraced him.
They called him their rescuer and second father, and then turned and
warmly expressed their gratitude to the Sultan. Frederick cordially
extended his hand to the generous Turk and the alliance was made.

Thereupon the Sultan joyfully conducted his noble guest to magnificent
apartments on the upper floor of the castle, where everything conducive
to his comfort was provided. The servants were ordered to bring the best
of food and drink at once. The great rooms of the castle, which had been
so empty and desolate, were now full of good cheer. Frederick listened
with lively satisfaction to the story of the chivalrous action of the
boys; and the Sultan in telling it did not omit to mention his threats
and promises and cruel tests. The Emperor closely embraced the boys, and
when the Sultan had finished his story, said to them:

“With God’s help you have accomplished one of the hardest of tasks. You
have secured more respect for the Christian name than I have done with
the sword. Henceforth Turks will have a different opinion of us, and
this is due to your noble achievement with the simple weapons of
Christianity—love of virtue, love of your enemy. God’s blessing will
rest upon such Christian warriors.”

The details of the alliance were soon settled. The Emperor willingly
gave up the spoils he had captured, and the Sultan promised to be a
faithful ally in the future, to assist the Emperor with troops against
Saladin, and to furnish plenty of subsistence. Rustan was ordered to
take his swiftest horse, ride to Iconium and carry the joyful news to
the army and the citizens. He accomplished his errand with an alacrity
which proved how overjoyed he was himself at the happy outcome of the
situation.

After a few days the Emperor took leave of his friendly host. Before he
left he went to look at the animal enclosure. Holding his boys by the
hand, he looked down upon the spot of the terrible encounter, where his
first assailant, the huge panther, was now king of the savage pack, for
the Emperor had disposed of his predecessor, the lion. The boys looked
down apprehensively from their secure position, but the Emperor was
exultant over the memories of victory. They repeatedly expressed their
gratitude to him, but he only pointed upward, saying that their thanks
were due to Him who controls all human destinies.

The three now left the castle upon the fleetest horses in the Sultan’s
stables, gifts from him to his new friends. Their steeds flew over the
long, narrow causeway toward the spot where the army awaited them.
Escorted by a strong guard, they took a shorter route, known to the
natives, and were at their journey’s end in an incredibly short time.

The towers of Iconium were hardly in sight before the roads were crowded
with those who could not wait to welcome the Emperor and tender him
their joyful congratulations. The nearer they came to the city the
greater was the rejoicing. Shouts and cries of welcome from Christians
and Turks alike followed him to his quarters in the city; and when in
sight of the army and the whole city he conferred the honor of
knighthood upon the two boys, it seemed as if the enthusiastic shouts
would never cease, for every one had heard their story from the lips of
Rustan.

The Emperor at once resumed his duties. Astonishment mingled with
admiration was everywhere aroused as the news of his heroic achievement
and the new alliance spread through the country. It also made a deep
impression upon Saladin and his army. Frederick decided to secure
victory or peace before the enthusiasm of his army and the astonishment
of the enemy had subsided. He hoped to win over Saladin also, for he
knew he was a nobler enemy than Kilidj Arslan had been. But he was
deceived in the expectation that he could accomplish it without a
battle. Saladin, perhaps the noblest sovereign in the East since
Mohammed’s time, besides being high-minded, noble-hearted, and a lover
of justice and humanity, was also a very brave and warlike ruler and a
devoted follower of the Prophets. He was called the Eastern Barbarossa.
Thus far he had fought only against Christians, whom he despised because
of their conduct and their faithlessness with each other. He had openly
expressed his contempt for the weak Guido of Lusignan, King of
Jerusalem, and especially for the Templars and Knights of St. John, who
had been treacherous to each other in violation of their vows[32].

The struggle began as soon as the Christian army entered Syria. They
were in position on one side of the insignificant Kalykadnos or Saleph
River; on the other side the enemy was awaiting attack. The Christians
at once began building a bridge. They were continually harassed by the
arrows and javelins of the enemy, but they did not desist. On the
contrary they worked persistently hours at a time.

The old Emperor, however, became impatient. As boldly as if the blood of
youth were still coursing in his veins, he plunged into the river and
tried to swim to the other shore. But he who had overcome so many
dangers, many of them far greater than this, now met his doom. A stroke
of apoplexy ended that life so rich in glorious deeds. He had escaped
the sharp Lombard dagger, the poisoned Saracen arrow, and the tiger’s
cruel tooth, to lose his life in the sluggish waters of the river
Saleph, the name of which was hardly known beyond its banks.

Words cannot describe the sorrow of the Christian host. With Frederick,
an army perished. The world had trembled at his name and the Orient had
been terrified by it. Now he who bore this name was a corpse. His once
strong arm was powerless. His once bold heart was still. They took him
from the water, stark and cold. He would no longer terrify those
enemies, who exulted as if they and not the cold waves of the river had
killed their great adversary.

After the first shock of sorrow the Christians attacked the enemy with
all their power. Frederick of Swabia, the Emperor’s son, led them, but
after some minor successes, the greater part of them succumbed to the
superior numbers of this foe, and the effects of the climate. Of that
well-equipped army of ninety-five thousand men only about five thousand
were left. Starvation swept away many of those who escaped the Turkish
scymitars, and those who escaped both fell victims to strange malignant
diseases and lack of care. The Templars and the Knights of St. John had
many hospitals, which they had built and which were maintained by
contributions from all over Europe; but they never asked the sick if
they were Christians, but if they were Englishmen or Frenchmen. The
Germans were not received. Many a German heart at home was touched with
pity at the unspeakable suffering of so many of their people, and was
filled with indignation, at such unchristian conduct; others busily
engaged themselves in plans for relief. The merchants of Bremen gave the
sails of their vessels to be made into tents for the sick Germans.
Knights who had been in life-long struggle with the Saracens closed
their glorious careers by imitating the example of the merciful
Samaritan. They organized an order for the care of the sick, similar to
those of the Templars and the Knights of St. John.[33] were permitted to
become members, but its charitable ministrations were offered to all
nationalities. Frederick of Swabia gladly gave his assent to the pious
work and did his utmost to secure its recognition by the Pope, as well
as by his brother, King Henry of Germany; but he did not live to see the
work completed. He was a victim of that deadly pestilence which swept
away so many thousands.

Our young friends, who survived all the perils of that unfortunate
crusade and had wept at the grave of the heroic Emperor, now mourned for
his great-hearted son. They deemed it their highest honor to enter the
Teutonic order and in its service to perform the two great Christian
duties:

To strive for the doctrines of Christ; and

To obey his highest command, “Love one another.”




                                APPENDIX


The following is a chronological statement of the most important events
in the life of Barbarossa:

    1123       Birth.
    1147       Married Adelaide; succeeded his father as Duke of Swabia;
               accompanied the second Crusade.
    1152       Received the Crown of Germany.
    1153       Divorced Adelaide.
    1154       First Italian Campaign.
    1155       Crowned Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire.
    1156       Restored the Duchy of Bavaria to Henry the Lion;
               married Beatrice, daughter of the Count of Burgundy.
    1157       Secured allegiance of Poland and Hungary.
    1158       Second Italian Campaign.
    1160       Excommunicated by Pope Alexander III.
    1164-1174     Italian Campaigns.
    1176       Defeated at Legnano.
    1177       Made truce for six years with the Italian cities.
    1183       Treaty of Constance.
    1183       Led the third Crusade with Richard the Lion-Hearted of
               England and Philip Augustus of France.
    1190       Death in Asia Minor by drowning.




                               Footnotes


[1]The first Crusade for the recovery of the Holy Land from the
   infidels, as they were called, was led by Godfrey of Bouillon
   (1096-1099), and resulted in the capture of Jerusalem. The second
   (1147-1149), advocated by Saint Bernard, was unsuccessful. The third
   (1189-1192), in which Frederick Barbarossa of Germany, Richard the
   Lion-hearted of England, and Phillip Augustus of France were
   associated, failed in the reconquest of Jerusalem, which the
   Musssulmans had retaken in 1187. The fourth (1202-1204) resulted in
   the establishment of a Latin Empire at Constantinople, under Count
   Baldwin of Flanders. The fifth, under Frederick II (1228-1229), the
   sixth (1248-1250) and the seventh (1270-1271), under St. Louis of
   France, were unsuccessful.

[2]Godfrey of Bouillon was born in Brabant in 1061, and died in
   Jerusalem in 1100. He was made Duke of Lower Lotharingia, Germany, in
   1088, and joined the Crusade in 1096. He was the leader in the
   capture of Jerusalem and was made its King, but preferred to be known
   as Protector of the Holy Sepulchre. He completed the conquest of the
   Holy Land by defeating the Sultan at Ascalon, 1099.

[3]Saint Bernard, a French ecclesiastic, was born in Burgundy in 1091,
   and died at Clairvaux in 1153. He became abbot of Clairvaux in 1115,
   and held that position until his death. He had great influence in
   ecclesiastical politics, and preached the second Crusade in 1146.

[4]The succession about this period was as follows: The Saxon dynasty
   (Henry I, Otto I, Otto II, and Otto III) reigned from 919 to 1002. At
   the death of Otto III, no representative of that dynasty was left. He
   was succeeded by Henry II, who reigned from 1002 to 1024. After his
   death the Franconian dynasty (Conrad II, Henry III, Henry IV, and
   Henry V) occupied the throne from 1024 to 1125, the dynasty ending
   with the death of Henry V. The latter was succeeded by Lothair, Duke
   of Saxony, who reigned from 1125 to 1137. At his death, Conrad III of
   the Hohenstaufen dynasty was elected. He reigned from 1137 to 1152,
   and was succeeded by Frederick Barbarossa, his nephew, and son of
   Frederick, Duke of Swabia, who reigned from 1152 to 1190.

[5]Henry the Lion was the son of Henry the Proud. He was of such haughty
   disposition and so ambitious that he was generally disliked, but
   Frederick succeeded in making him Duke of Bavaria and Saxony. He did
   much for these duchies by building new towns and colonizing them, and
   by founding bishoprics.

[6]The Guelphs, or Welfs, as they were called in Germany, were the papal
   party in Italy in the Middle Ages. They were the founders of the
   house of Brunswick and Hanover to which the present English royal
   family belongs. The Ghibellines were the imperial and aristocratic
   party in Italy who derived their name from Waiblingen, an estate in
   Franconia. The conflict between the two parties was begun in Germany
   and transferred to Italy, where it raged until the end of the
   fifteenth century.

[7]Conrad’s election had been called hasty and irregular.

[8]Frederick’s appellation, “Barbarossa” in Italian, “Rothbart” in
   German, came from his red beard.

[9]This refers to Henry I (919-936) who subdued the Magyars and the
   Slavs (including the Bohemians), recovered German territory from
   Denmark, and rid Germany of all its enemies.

[10]Tortoria, in the province of Alessandria, Italy, was a conspicuous
   sufferer in many wars. It was destroyed by Frederick Barbarossa in
   1155, again by the Ghibellines in 1163, and was several times
   captured in the War of the Spanish Succession.

[11]Lodi, in the province of Milan, was founded by Barbarossa in place
   of the Lodi destroyed in 1158. It is the locality of the great
   victory won by the French under Napoleon over the Austrians under
   Beaulieu, May 10, 1796. It is now principally famous for its Parmesan
   cheese and Majolica ware.

[12]Frederick’s army was composed of 100,000 foot and 15,000 horse.

[13]Crema is in the Province of Cremona and about twenty-four miles from
   Milan.

[14]Frederick set out for Germany attended by thirty horsemen, and at
   Susa only saved himself by escaping on foot at night with two
   followers.

[15]Frederick’s first wife was Adelaide, whom he married in 1147 and
   divorced in 1153, upon the pretext of kinship. In 1156 he married
   Beatrice, mentioned above, daughter of the Count of Burgundy.

[16]Saladin, the Egyptian Sultan, was born at Tekrit in 1137, and died
   at Damascus in 1193. He was made Sultan in 1173, and conquered
   Damascus and Syria. He defeated the Christians at Tiberias in 1187,
   and also captured Acre, Jerusalem, and Ascalon. The fall of Jerusalem
   led to the third Crusade, in which Frederick Barbarossa, Richard the
   Lion-hearted of England, and Philip II of France took part. In 1192
   Richard forced Saladin to make a three years’ truce. Saladin died
   before its expiration.

[17]Guy de Lusignan succeeded to the throne of Jerusalem in 1186, on the
   death of Baldwin V. After his capture by Saladin he was released on
   renouncing his claims to the throne; but he disregarded his
   agreement, and in 1192 transferred his claim to Richard I of England,
   in exchange for Cyprus.

[18]Iconium is the ancient name of Konièh, a vilayet in Turkish Asia
   Minor. It was captured by Barbarossa in 1190, and was incorporated
   with the Turkish Empire at the close of the fourteenth century.

[19]Bela II succeeded Stephen II, and reigned from 1131 to 1141.

[20]Isaac Angelus was one of the early Grecian tyrants. His reign was so
   oppressive that some of his subjects rose in revolt, and, uniting
   with the Bulgarians, formed what is called the Bulgaro-Wallachian
   Kingdom. It existed until the Turks established sovereignty in
   Greece.

[21]The German name for Ratisbon, capital of the upper palatinate of
   Bavaria.

[22]Capital of the County of Presburg, Hungary.

[23]Capital of the County of Gran, and famous for its fine Cathedral.

[24]Philippopolis is now the capital of Eastern Rumelia, which is a part
   of Bulgaria. It was named after Philip II of Macedon.

[25]A town in Rumelia, a few miles south of Adrianople.

[26]Adrianople was founded by the Emperor Hadrian, A. D. 125, and has
   been the scene of many assaults. It has been stormed and taken by
   Bulgarians, Turks, Crusaders, and Russians.

[27]In ancient geography, Mysia was bounded on the north by the
   Propontis, south by Lydia, east by Bithynia, and Phrygia, and west by
   the Ægean; Caria, north by Lydia, south and west by the Ægean, east
   by Phygia; Lycia, west by the Mediterranean, north, south, and east
   by Caria, Phrygia, and Pamphylia; Paphlagonia, north by the Black
   Sea, south by Galatia, east by Pontus, and west by Bithynia;
   Bithynia, north by the Propontis, Bosphorus, and Euxine, south by
   Phrygia and Galatia, east by Paphlagonia, and west by Mysia. Lydia,
   on the west coast of Asia Minor, was the mightiest of all these
   provinces. Its King, referred to above, was Crœsus, who was captured
   by the Persians, under Cyrus, 546 B. C.

[28]Nicomedia was the capital of Bithynia. It was the residence of
   Diocletian, Constantine, and other Roman emperors.

[29]“Giaour,” a Turkish word, meaning “infidel.” It has also an added
   signification of contempt and hate, and was applied by the Turks to
   designate adherents of other religions than Mohammedanism.

[30]The handjar, an obsolete weapon, was a sword with very broad blade,
   and leaf-shaped. It was sometimes used as a projectile.

[31]“Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not
   fall on the ground without your Father.” _Matthew_ x, 29.

[32]The Templars were a military order, taking their name from the
   temple of Solomon, where they had their early headquarters in
   Jerusalem. The order was founded in 1118, and its object was to
   protect pilgrims on the way to the shrines in the Holy Land. They
   spread rapidly and rose to great power; but after being charged with
   heresy, immorality, and other offences, the order was suppressed by
   the Council of Vienne in 1312.

   The Knights of the Order of Saint John of Jerusalem were organized
   early in the twelfth century. The order was a religious and
   charitable body, and was also semi-military in character.
   Associations which trace their origin to this order are still in
   existence, among them the “Johannites” in Germany, and the Knights of
   St. John in England.

[33]This was the Teutonic Order, or Teutonic Knights of St. Mary’s
   Hospital at Jerusalem. Its name is derived from a German hospital
   founded at Jerusalem in 1128. It at one time played an important part
   in the political history of northern Europe and it had much to do
   with the spread of Christianity and German national life. About all
   left of the order now is a semi-religious knighthood in Austria
   presided over by an archduke, which was restored in 1840, after
   Napoleon suppressed the whole order (1809).




                    LIFE STORIES FOR _YOUNG PEOPLE_


                         _BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCES
                     TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY_
                            GEORGE P. UPTON

_A new, interesting, and very useful series that will be found especially
      suitable for school libraries and for supplementary reading_

The books in this series are translated from the German, because in that
country a specialty is made of really desirable reading for the young.
Eight titles are now ready and more will follow.

Their simplicity and accuracy make them very useful for every school
library in the grades.

For parents who feel disposed to give their children books that provide
a mild element of historical information, as well as first-class
entertainment, the little books will prove a veritable find.

The “life-stories” retain the story form throughout, and embody in each
chapter a stirring event in the life of the hero or the action of the
time. The dramatis personæ are actual characters, and the facts in the
main are historically correct. They are therefore both entertaining and
instructive, and present biography in its most attractive form for the
young.

          A FULL LIST OF THE TITLES IS GIVEN ON THE NEXT PAGE

The work of translation has been done by Mr. George P. Upton, whose
“Memories” and Lives of Beethoven, Haydn, and Liszt, from the German of
Max Mueller and Dr. Nohl, have been so successful.

       _Each is a small square 16mo in uniform binding, with four
                   illustrations. Each 60 cents net._


                         _FULL LIST OF TITLES_


  Barbarossa
  William of Orange
  Beethoven
  Mozart
  Johann Sebastian Bach
  Maria Theresa
  Gudrun
  The Nibelungs
  The Maid of Orleans
  William Tell
  Frederick the Great
  The Little Dauphin

“These narratives have been well calculated for youthful minds past
infancy, and Mr. Upton’s version is easy and idiomatic.”—_The Nation._

“He is a delightful writer, clearness, strength, and sincerity marking
everything to which he puts his hand. He has translated these little
histories from the German in a way that the reader knows has conserved
all the strength of the original.”—_Chicago Evening Post._

“They are written in simple, graphic style, handsomely illustrated, and
will be read with delight by the young people for whose benefit they
have been prepared.”—_Chicago Tribune._

“The work of translation seems to have been well done, and these little
biographies are very well fitted for the use of young people.... The
volumes are compact and neat, and are illustrated sufficiently but not
too elaborately.”—_Springfield Republican._

“These books are most entertaining and vastly more wholesome than the
story books with which the appetites of young readers are for the most
part satisfied.”—_Indianapolis Journal._

               _OF ALL BOOKSELLERS OR OF THE PUBLISHERS_
                      A. C. McCLURG & CO., CHICAGO


                     LIFE STORIES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE

                     _Translated from the German by
                            GEORGE P. UPTON_

                             12 Vols. Ready

  Beethoven
  Mozart
  Bach
  Maid of Orleans
  William Tell
  The Little Dauphin
  Frederick the Great
  Maria Theresa
  Barbarossa
  William of Orange
  Gudrun
  The Nibelungs

                    _Illustrated, each 60 cents net_
                      A. C. McCLURG & CO., Chicago




                          Transcriber’s Notes


--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
  domain in the country of publication.

--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the
  HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)

--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
  dialect unchanged.