the Cross. The great ones of the kingdom,
haughty holders of ducal fiefs, mailed barons
and belted knights are summoned to Paris,
and the King paints to them, in colours as
vivid as he may, of the Christian woes in
Palestine—of the perils of the Sepulchre and
of the Holy Places. And not only of the
dolours of Palestine, but of the Christians of
that Egypt and of that Alexandria of which
St. Cyril once was pastor—of that Africa in
whose burning deserts good Saint Jerome
awed the savage lions with the Word. And
he declares his fixed resolution to go, armed,
to succour his afflicted brethren in the East,
and to slaughter (parenthetically) those other
brethren of his who wear turbans and scimitars.
They are to be remorselessly extirpated
—for the greater glory of Heaven. So
saying, he takes the cross from the hands
of the Pope's legate, and gives it to his two
sons.

The ducal fioffers, mailed barons, and
belted knights take the cross also in great
numbers, directly their lord the King has set
the example. Piety becomes fashionable.
Takes the cross a brother-king and king-
brother of Louis, to wit, Charles of Sicily.
Takes it furthermore Edward Longshanks,
Prince Royal of England, with as little
scruple as he will take Wales and Scotland
some of these days. Takes it Gaston of
Bearn, and the Kings of Navarre and Aragon.
The fair dames of Europe, undaunted by the
grim reports of Paynim fevers and Paynim
swords, prepare to follow their lords. The
lady of Poitiers, the Countess of Brittanny,
Jolande of Burgundy, Jeanne of Toulouse,
Isabella of France, Amicia de Courtenay;
youth and beauty of blood-royal—these quit
the distaff—which queens are not too proud to
handle in 1269—and follow their husbands
beyond the salt sea. Their white hands are
not satisfied with buckling on the armour, or
lacing the morions, or knotting the scarves of
their true knights. The taper fingers long
to be unbuckling the armour-straps after
victory—albeit, perchance, there shall be
other work found, ere long, for the pretty
digits: unguents and bandages to be prepared
for the wounded; orisons to be said, with
clasped hands, for the souls of the dying.

Saint Louis makes his will. To Agnes,
his youngest daughter, he leaves ten thousand
francs as her wedding portion. To his Queen
Margaret, he leaves four thousand francs.
Then he appoints two Regents to rule over
the kingdom during his absence: Mathew,
Abbot of St. Denis, and Simon, Sire of
Nesle. After which he will go take the
oriflamme.

Now the oriflamme, as you should know,
is a standard of silk, attached to the end of
a lance. Now its colours are "Samite
vermillion, cut to the guise of a pennon, with
three peaks, and having round it hoops of
green silk." In times of peace, over the
high altar in the abbey of Saint Denis,
sheltering the tombs of the Kings of France;
in times of war it is borne before them in the
front of the battle, where the King's place
should be. From the hands of Abbot Mathew
Louis receives the sacred standard. At the
same time they gird his loins with the
escarcelle (a girdle), and put into his hand the
bourdon (a stick), which are called the
consolation and sign of journey. And the
delivery of these is so ancient in the Frankish
monarchy, that it is patent that Charlemagne
sits on his throne in his tomb beneath the
dome of Aix-la-Chapelle, girt with the golden
girdle, and armed with the jewelled staff he
was wont to carry in Italy.

The morrow, after praying at the tombs of
the martyrs, and placing his kingdom beneath
the protection of the patron of France, he
proceeds in great state and ceremony, but
with bare feet (as also his two sons), from the
Palais de Justice to the church of Notre
Dame. The evening of the same day he
leaves for Vincennes, where he bids adieu to
his Queen Margaret, "gentle, good queen,
full of great simplicity," says Robert of
Sainceriaux; afterwards he quits for ever the
old oaks of the forest of Vincennes, the
venerable witnesses of his justice and of his
virtue.

"Many and many a time," writes the good
Sire de Joinville, "have I seen the holy king-
man (saint homme roy) sitting at the foot of
an oak in the wood of Vincennes, and making
us all sit down over against him on the green
grass; and all who had matters concerning
which they desired speech with him, were
suffered to address him without any sergeant
or usher offering them hindrance. Many
times, so, in the time that is gone, have I
seen the good king come to his garden that is
in Paris, vestured in a coat of camlet, a
surcoat of tiretaine without sleeves, a mantle
above of black sandalette; and there have
his carpet spread for us and for him to sit
round about among the flowers, and there did
despatch for his people, both high and low,
as he did in the bygone at Vincennes."

There is a gloomy, gothic, silent, fever-
stricken seaport down in the dusky South of
France, called Aigues-mortes; and from here,
on the 1st July in God's year 1270, Saint
Louis sets sail—he and his warriors, on his
last crusade. Three schemes had been mooted
in the King's councils: to disembark at Saint
Jean-d'Acre; to attack Egypt; or to make a
descent on Tunis; there being Paynims to be
slaughtered, and Christian laurels to be won,
at each of these three points. Unhappily,
Saint Louis takes the last of the three courses,
for a reason you are to hear.

Tunis is now governed by a prince whom
Geoffrey of Boileau and William of Nangis
call Omar-el-Muley-Moztanca. The historians
of the period do not state why this prince
should have feigned a desire to embrace the
Christian creed; but it is probable enough
that having heard of the strong crusading