  It was a beautiful summer morning, and the hills and valleys of Brittany were flooded with sunlight. All Nature seemed exultant, and all living things were sharing her transports. The beauty of the fields and green woods concealed alike all traces of the last winter’s storms and the ravages so often occasioned by men when they sow the earth with fire and blood. As if still more to enhance the beauty of the scene, a cavalcade was seen approaching from the adjacent wooded heights. The riders followed the winding road, now in groups, now singly, and sometimes were entirely hidden from view. Clear, ringing voices, joyous laughter, and now and then deep manly voices mingled with the neighing of horses. The travellers were the Duchess of Brittany, her son, and attendants. The seneschal rode in advance with two heralds, followed by Constance in a riding-habit of green silk, mounted upon a beautiful palfrey. HÖel rode by her side, his fiery bay taking the lead whenever the road narrowed, to make room for the Duchess’s horse. Then came Duke Arthur and Alan on prancing black steeds. Arthur sat jauntily yet securely in his saddle, his slight figure being a trifling burden for the noble animal, which seemed to take pride in carrying him. He looked boyish yet distinguished. His unusual beauty was a sufficient mark of his high birth even if his costume had not proclaimed it. He wore a cloak of brown silk embroidered with gold, and over it a short, dark satin mantle tipped with ermine. From his cap waved a heron plume, fastened with jewels. He was a figure of beauty as he rode through the charming world about him, engaged in earnest talk with Alan. Behind the youths followed the squires and troopers, next the Duchess’s ladies, and in the rear the servants with the sumpter horses. It was an imposing though not a warlike train. Their destination was Rouen, where King Richard had arrived, not, as Constance had hoped, to settle her affairs, but to consult with Philip Augustus about the Crusade. “Is this true?” asked Arthur. The old man looked up and said: “Listen, most gracious Prince, for, although I know you not, I can see the reflection of the crown upon your brow. Yes, it is true. The great King Philip Augustus, although he has long allowed our race to live in his kingdom, has now set his face against us. He has said, ‘Take the staff and leave the country; any one of you found in France after the day which I set shall die.’ The King’s servants have hounded us. They have plundered our homes; they have driven off our poor and wretched people. I was on my way to Holland, where our people have freedom to live, but I was so overcome by grief and hunger that I had to stay in the city until to-day—and now they have caught me.” “It looks bad for you, Jew,” said HÖel, shrugging his shoulders. The bailiffs were again about to seize their prisoner, but Arthur cried: “Stop! Let him go free. It is my wish that he shall accompany us.” “We are the King’s servants,” demurred the bailiffs, “and must obey his orders.” “I am in command here, not King Philip,” said Arthur boldly and proudly. “I am the Duke of Brittany. Take yourselves off, or my men shall bind you.” The bailiffs, astonished at the delicate boy, who spoke with such dignity, lost no time in getting away. The Jew, when he realized that he was free, bowed to the earth before Arthur and kissed his feet. The old man was so tattered, befouled, and ill-favored that Arthur had some scruples about addressing him, but at last he said, “If I protect you as far as Rouen will you then take ship to Holland?” The old man consented, saying, “God will help me on.” Arthur gave him one of the packhorses, whose load was distributed among the other animals, and ordered the servants to let him ride with them. More quickly than might have been expected of one so weak, the Jew swung himself into the saddle and joined the little band, which once more resumed its march. Constance took no part in the occurrence, and when Arthur rode up and entreated her approval of his act she said to him with some anxiety, “When the bailiffs complain to Philip he may be angry with you, my son.” Arthur became thoughtful as HÖel added, “The life of this Jew is of little consequence to Philip, for whatever he has of value the King will be sure to get.” “How is that?” asked Arthur. “The dispersal of the Jews was ordered to please the Pope,” said HÖel, “and out of their wealth King Philip will raise the means for arming the Crusaders.” “That is not kingly,” said Arthur indignantly. “All the same they are Jews, and their treasures will be taken for the King’s service. How can it harm them anyway? They exude gold as these pines do pitch.” Arthur reflected upon HÖel’s words with considerable surprise and almost regretted his display of sympathy. But when he looked back and saw the bent figure of the Jew following the others, who shunned him, he thought to himself, “Still, I could not let him perish.” That evening the Duchess and her most distinguished companions stopped at one of the stately abbeys of that region, and Arthur arranged that the Jew should spend the night with the servants who looked after the horses outside. They had soon become accustomed to their silent fellow-traveller, who served them for a laughing-stock. After the fourth day the travellers at last approached their destination. They met crowds along the country road—haughty knights, warriors, and pilgrims intending to take part in the expedition to Palestine, besides ecclesiastics and monks, traders and shopkeepers. It was a good-natured crowd, but it often obstructed our travellers, and at times they were separated from each other. Arthur and Alan were frequently delayed by a group going in the opposite direction; then, laughing and shouting, they rejoined their party. But toward evening HÖel decided to ride faster, so that they might reach the city before the gates closed. The party got more closely together, and HÖel rode along the line, urging on both people and horses. While thus engaged he discovered that the Jew was no longer with them, and that the horse he had been riding was quietly following the others. HÖel caught it by the bridle and looked about him to see if he were not mistaken. As he was doing so he noticed a piece of paper tied to the saddle, with a ring attached to it. He untied it and hastened to the Duke. “Your ward has flown,” began HÖel. “So? Then he is both false and ungrateful,” said the Duke, in some confusion. “Not this time,” replied HÖel. “He has left the horse and this—see here.” He handed his find to Arthur, who took the ring from the paper with much surprise. Upon the billet was written in Latin: “To the Duke of Brittany, in gratitude for saving his life.—Abraham of Paris.” The ring was a heavy gold one with a magnificent emerald set in it. Arthur twirled it about, delighted with its brilliancy, then put it on his finger and placed the paper in his cloak. “Abraham of Paris,” repeated the Duchess thoughtfully. “I well remember that name. He is called the richest of the Paris Jews. The King often bade him come to the court, and purchased jewels of him, and when he needed money Abraham furnished it; but I wish nothing to be said about our meeting him.” |
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