The grand master looked
with repining at Moorish banners and weapons, which decorated his
castle hall, trophies of the exploits of his predecessors; and repined
at his fate to exist in a period of such inglorious tranquillity.
At length his impatience broke through all bounds, and seeing that
he could find no public war in which to engage, he resolved to carve
out a little war for himself. Such at least is the account given by
some ancient chronicles, though others give the following as the
motive for this sudden resolution to go campaigning.
As the grand master was one day seated at table with several of
his cavaliers, a man suddenly entered the hall; tall, meagre and bony,
with haggard countenance and fiery eye. All recognized him for a
hermit, who had been a soldier in his youth, but now led a life of
penitence in a cave. He advanced to the table and struck upon it
with a fist that seemed of iron. "Cavaliers," said he, "why sit ye
here idly, with your weapons resting against the wall, while the
enemies of the faith lord it over the fairest portion of the land?"
"Holy father, what wouldst thou have us do," asked the grand master,
"seeing the wars are over and our swords bound up by treaties of
peace?"
"Listen to my words," replied the hermit. "As I was seated late at
night at the entrance of my cave, contemplating the heavens, I fell
into a reverie, and a wonderful vision was presented to me.
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