Ivanhoe by Walter Scott

can resist no longer!"
"The bridge---the bridge which communicates with the castle
---have they won that pass?" exclaimed Ivanhoe.
"No," replied Rebecca, "The Templar has destroyed the plank on
which they crossed---few of the defenders escaped with him into
the castle--- the shrieks and cries which you hear tell the fate
of the others---Alas!---I see it is still more difficult to look
upon victory than upon battle."
"What do they now, maiden?" said Ivanhoe; "look forth yet again
---this is no time to faint at bloodshed."
"It is over for the time," answered Rebecca; "our friends
strengthen themselves within the outwork which they have
mastered, and it affords them so good a shelter from the foemen's
shot, that the garrison only bestow a few bolts on it from
interval to interval, as if rather to disquiet than effectually
to injure them."
"Our friends," said Wilfred, "will surely not abandon an
enterprise so gloriously begun and so happily attained.---O no!
I will put my faith in the good knight whose axe hath rent
heart-of-oak and bars of iron.---Singular," he again muttered to
himself, "if there be two who can do a deed of such derring-do!*
* "Derring-do"---desperate courage.
---a fetterlock, and a shacklebolt on a field sable---what may
that mean?---seest thou nought else, Rebecca, by which the Black
Knight may be distinguished?"
"Nothing," said the Jewess; "all about him is black as the wing
of the night raven. Nothing can I spy that can mark him further
---but having once seen him put forth his strength in battle,
methinks I could know him again among a thousand warriors. He
rushes to the fray as if he were summoned to a banquet. There is
more than mere strength, there seems as if the whole soul and
spirit of the champion were given to every blow which he deals
upon his enemies. God assoilize him of the sin of bloodshed!
---it is fearful, yet magnificent, to behold how the arm and
heart of one man can triumph over hundreds."
"Rebecca," said Ivanhoe, "thou hast painted a hero; surely they
rest but to refresh their force, or to provide the means of
crossing the moat---Under such a leader as thou hast spoken this
knight to be, there are no craven fears, no cold-blooded delays,
no yielding up a gallant emprize; since the difficulties which
render it arduous render it also glorious. I swear by the honour
of my house---I vow by the name of my bright lady-love, I would
endure ten years' captivity to fight one day by that good
knight's side in such a quarrel as this!"
"Alas," said Rebecca, leaving her station at the window, and
approaching the couch of the wounded knight, "this impatient
yearning after action---this struggling with and repining at your
present weakness, will not fail to injure your returning health
---How couldst thou hope to inflict wounds on others, ere that be
healed which thou thyself hast received?"
"Rebecca," he replied, "thou knowest not how impossible it is for
one trained to actions of chivalry to remain passive as a priest,
or a woman, when they are acting deeds of honour around him. The
love of battle is the food upon which we live---the dust of the
'melee' is the breath of our nostrils! We live not---we wish not
to live---longer than while we are victorious and renowned
---Such, maiden, are the laws of chivalry to which we are sworn,
and to which we offer all that we hold dear."
"Alas!" said the fair Jewess, "and what is it, valiant knight,
save an offering of sacrifice to a demon of vain glory, and a
passing through the fire to Moloch?---What remains to you as the
prize of all the blood you have spilled---of all the travail and
pain you have endured---of all the tears which your deeds have
caused, when death hath broken the strong man's spear, and
overtaken the speed of his war-horse?"
"What remains?" cried Ivanhoe; "Glory, maiden, glory! which gilds
our sepulchre and embalms our name."
"Glory?" continued Rebecca; "alas, is the rusted mail which hangs
as a hatchment over the champion's dim and mouldering tomb---is
the defaced sculpture of the inscription which the ignorant monk
can hardly read to the enquiring pilgrim---are these sufficient
rewards for the sacrifice of every kindly affection, for a life
spent miserably that ye may make others miserable? Or is there
such virtue in the rude rhymes of a wandering bard, that domestic
love, kindly affection, peace and happiness, are so wildly
bartered, to become the hero of those ballads which vagabond
minstrels sing to drunken churls over their evening ale?"
"By the soul of Hereward?" replied the knight impatiently, "thou
speakest, maiden, of thou knowest not what. Thou wouldst quench
the pure light of chivalry, which alone distinguishes the noble
from the base, the gentle knight from the churl and the savage;
which rates our life far, far beneath the pitch of our honour;
raises us victorious over pain, toil, and suffering, and teaches
us to fear no evil but disgrace. Thou art no Christian, Rebecca;
and to thee are unknown those high feelings which swell the bosom
of a noble maiden when her lover hath done some deed of emprize
which sanctions his flame. Chivalry!---why, maiden, she is the
nurse of pure and high affection---the stay of the oppressed, the
redresser of grievances, the curb of the power of the tyrant
---Nobility were but an empty name without her, and liberty finds
the best protection in her lance and her sword."
"I am, indeed," said Rebecca, "sprung from a race whose courage
was distinguished in the defence of their own land, but who
warred not, even while yet a nation, save at the command of the
Deity, or in defending their country from oppression. The sound
of the trumpet wakes Judah no longer, and her despised children
are now but the unresisting victims of hostile and military
oppression. Well hast thou spoken, Sir Knight,---until the God
of Jacob shall raise up for his chosen people a second Gideon, or
a new Maccabeus, it ill beseemeth the Jewish damsel to speak of
battle or of war."
The high-minded maiden concluded the argument in a tone of
sorrow, which deeply expressed her sense of the degradation of
her people, embittered perhaps by the idea that Ivanhoe
considered her as one not entitled to interfere in a case of
honour, and incapable of entertaining or expressing sentiments of
honour and generosity.
"How little he knows this bosom," she said, "to imagine that
cowardice or meanness of soul must needs be its guests, because I
have censured the fantastic chivalry of the Nazarenes! Would to
heaven that the shedding of mine own blood, drop by drop, could
redeem the captivity of Judah! Nay, would to God it could avail
to set free my father, and this his benefactor, from the chains
of the oppressor! The proud Christian should then see whether
the daughter of God's chosen people dared not to die as bravely
as the vainest Nazarene maiden, that boasts her descent from some
petty chieftain of the rude and frozen north!"
She then looked towards the couch of the wounded knight.
"He sleeps," she said; "nature exhausted by sufferance and the
waste of spirits, his wearied frame embraces the first moment of
temporary relaxation to sink into slumber. Alas! is it a crime
that I should look upon him, when it may be for the last time?
---When yet but a short space, and those fair features will be no
longer animated by the bold and buoyant spirit which forsakes
them not even in sleep!---When the nostril shall be distended,
the mouth agape, the eyes fixed and bloodshot; and when the proud
and noble knight may be trodden on by the lowest caitiff of this
accursed castle, yet stir not when the heel is lifted up against
him!---And my father!---oh, my father! evil is it with his
daughter, when his grey hairs are not remembered because of the
golden locks of youth!---What know I but that these evils are the
messengers of Jehovah's wrath to the unnatural child, who thinks
of a stranger's captivity before a parent's? who forgets the
desolation of Judah, and looks upon the comeliness of a Gentile
and a stranger?---But I will tear this folly from my heart,
though every fibre bleed as I rend it away!"
She wrapped herself closely in her veil, and sat down at a
distance from the couch of the wounded knight, with her back
turned towards it, fortifying, or endeavouring to fortify her
mind, not only against the impending evils from without, but also
against those treacherous feelings which assailed her from
within.
CHAPTER XXX
Approach the chamber, look upon his bed.
His is the passing of no peaceful ghost,
Which, as the lark arises to the sky,
'Mid morning's sweetest breeze and softest dew,
Is wing'd to heaven by good men's sighs and tears!---
Anselm parts otherwise.
Old Play
During the interval of quiet which followed the first success of
the besiegers, while the one party was preparing to pursue their
advantage, and the other to strengthen their means of defence,
the Templar and De Bracy held brief council together in the hall
of the castle.
"Where is Front-de-Boeuf?" said the latter, who had superintended
the defence of the fortress on the other side; "men say he hath
been slain."
"He lives," said the Templar, coolly, "lives as yet; but had he
worn the bull's head of which he bears the name, and ten plates
of iron to fence it withal, he must have gone down before yonder
fatal axe. Yet a few hours, and Front-de-Boeuf is with his
fathers---a powerful limb lopped off Prince John's enterprise."
"And a brave addition to the kingdom of Satan," said De Bracy;
"this comes of reviling saints and angels, and ordering images of
holy things and holy men to be flung down on the heads of these
rascaille yeomen."
"Go to---thou art a fool," said the Templar; "thy superstition is
upon a level with Front-de-Boeuf's want of faith; neither of you
can render a reason for your belief or unbelief."
"Benedicite, Sir Templar," replied De Bracy, "pray you to keep
better rule with your tongue when I am the theme of it. By the
Mother of Heaven, I am a better Christian man than thou and thy
fellowship; for the 'bruit' goeth shrewdly out, that the most
holy Order of the Temple of Zion nurseth not a few heretics
within its bosom, and that Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert is of the
number."
"Care not thou for such reports," said the Templar; "but let us
think of making good the castle.---How fought these villain
yeomen on thy side?"
"Like fiends incarnate," said De Bracy. "They swarmed close up to
the walls, headed, as I think, by the knave who won the prize at
the archery, for I knew his horn and baldric. And this is old
Fitzurse's boasted policy, encouraging these malapert knaves to
rebel against us! Had I not been armed in proof, the villain had
marked me down seven times with as little remorse as if I had
been a buck in season. He told every rivet on my armour with a
cloth-yard shaft, that rapped against my ribs with as little
compunction as if my bones had been of iron---But that I wore a
shirt of Spanish mail under my plate-coat, I had been fairly
sped."
"But you maintained your post?" said the Templar. "We lost the
outwork on our part."
"That is a shrewd loss," said De Bracy; "the knaves will find
cover there to assault the castle more closely, and may, if not
well watched, gain some unguarded corner of a tower, or some
forgotten window, and so break in upon us. Our numbers are too
few for the defence of every point, and the men complain that
they can nowhere show themselves, but they are the mark for as
many arrows as a parish-butt on a holyday even. Front-de-Boeuf
is dying too, so we shall receive no more aid from his bull's
head and brutal strength. How think you, Sir Brian, were we not
better make a virtue of necessity, and compound with the rogues
by delivering up our prisoners?"
"How?" exclaimed the Templar; "deliver up our prisoners, and
stand an object alike of ridicule and execration, as the doughty
warriors who dared by a night-attack to possess themselves of the
persons of a party of defenceless travellers, yet could not make
good a strong castle against a vagabond troop of outlaws, led by
swineherds, jesters, and the very refuse of mankind?---Shame on
thy counsel, Maurice de Bracy!---The ruins of this castle shall
bury both my body and my shame, ere I consent to such base and
dishonourable composition."
"Let us to the walls, then," said De Bracy, carelessly; "that man
never breathed, be he Turk or Templar, who held life at lighter
rate than I do. But I trust there is no dishonour in wishing I
had here some two scores of my gallant troop of Free Companions?
---Oh, my brave lances! if ye knew but how hard your captain were
this day bested, how soon should I see my banner at the head of
your clump of spears! And how short while would these rabble
villains stand to endure your encounter!"
"Wish for whom thou wilt," said the Templar, "but let us make
what defence we can with the soldiers who remain---They are
chiefly Front-de-Boeuf's followers, hated by the English for a
thousand acts of insolence and oppression."
"The better," said De Bracy; "the rugged slaves will defend
themselves to the last drop of their blood, ere they encounter
the revenge of the peasants without. Let us up and be doing,
then, Brian de Bois-Guilbert; and, live or die, thou shalt see
Maurice de Bracy bear himself this day as a gentleman of blood
and lineage."
"To the walls!" answered the Templar; and they both ascended the
battlements to do all that skill could dictate, and manhood
accomplish, in defence of the place. They readily agreed that
the point of greatest danger was that opposite to the outwork of
which the assailants had possessed themselves. The castle,
indeed, was divided from that barbican by the moat, and it was
impossible that the besiegers could assail the postern-door, with
which the outwork corresponded, without surmounting that
obstacle; but it was the opinion both of the Templar and De
Bracy, that the besiegers, if governed by the same policy their
leader had already displayed, would endeavour, by a formidable
assault, to draw the chief part of the defenders' observation to
this point, and take measures to avail themselves of every
negligence which might take place in the defence elsewhere. To
guard against such an evil, their numbers only permitted the
knights to place sentinels from space to space along the walls in
communication with each other, who might give the alarm whenever
danger was threatened. Meanwhile, they agreed that De Bracy
should command the defence at the postern, and the Templar should
keep with him a score of men or thereabouts as a body of reserve,
ready to hasten to any other point which might be suddenly
threatened. The loss of the barbican had also this unfortunate
effect, that, notwithstanding the superior height of the castle
walls, the besieged could not see from them, with the same
precision as before, the operations of the enemy; for some
straggling underwood approached so near the sallyport of the
outwork, that the assailants might introduce into it whatever
force they thought proper, not only under cover, but even
without the knowledge of the defenders. Utterly uncertain,
therefore, upon what point the storm was to burst, De Bracy and
his companion were under the necessity of providing against every
possible contingency, and their followers, however brave,
experienced the anxious dejection of mind incident to men
enclosed by enemies, who possessed the power of choosing their
time and mode of attack.
Meanwhile, the lord of the beleaguered and endangered castle lay
upon a bed of bodily pain and mental agony. He had not the usual
resource of bigots in that superstitious period, most of whom
were wont to atone for the crimes they were guilty of by
liberality to the church, stupefying by this means their terrors
by the idea of atonement and forgiveness; and although the refuge
which success thus purchased, was no more like to the peace of
mind which follows on sincere repentance, than the turbid
stupefaction procured by opium resembles healthy and natural
slumbers, it was still a state of mind preferable to the agonies
of awakened remorse. But among the vices of Front-de-Boeuf, a
hard and griping man, avarice was predominant; and he preferred
setting church and churchmen at defiance, to purchasing from them
pardon and absolution at the price of treasure and of manors.
Nor did the Templar, an infidel of another stamp, justly
characterise his associate, when he said Front-de-Boeuf could
assign no cause for his unbelief and contempt for the established
faith; for the Baron would have alleged that the Church sold her
wares too dear, that the spiritual freedom which she put up to
sale was only to be bought like that of the chief captain of
Jerusalem, "with a great sum," and Front-de-Boeuf preferred
denying the virtue of the medicine, to paying the expense of the
physician.
But the moment had now arrived when earth and all his treasures
were gliding from before his eyes, and when the savage Baron's
heart, though hard as a nether millstone, became appalled as he
gazed forward into the waste darkness of futurity. The fever of
his body aided the impatience and agony of his mind, and his
death-bed exhibited a mixture of the newly awakened feelings of
horror, combating with the fixed and inveterate obstinacy of his
disposition;---a fearful state of mind, only to be equalled in
those tremendous regions, where there are complaints without
hope, remorse without repentance, a dreadful sense of present
agony, and a presentiment that it cannot cease or be diminished!
"Where be these dog-priests now," growled the Baron, "who set
such price on their ghostly mummery?---where be all those unshod
Carmelites, for whom old Front-de-Boeuf founded the convent of St
Anne, robbing his heir of many a fair rood of meadow, and many a
fat field and close---where be the greedy hounds now?---Swilling,
I warrant me, at the ale, or playing their juggling tricks at the
bedside of some miserly churl.---Me, the heir of their founder
---me, whom their foundation binds them to pray for---me
---ungrateful villains as they are!---they suffer to die like the
houseless dog on yonder common, unshriven and unhouseled!---Tell
the Templar to come hither---he is a priest, and may do something
---But no!---as well confess myself to the devil as to Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, who recks neither of heaven nor of hell.---I have
heard old men talk of prayer---prayer by their own voice---Such
need not to court or to bribe the false priest---But I---I dare
not!"
"Lives Reginald Front-de-Boeuf," said a broken and shrill voice
close by his bedside, "to say there is that which he dares not!"
The evil conscience and the shaken nerves of Front-de-Boeuf
heard, in this strange interruption to his soliloquy, the voice
of one of those demons, who, as the superstition of the times
believed, beset the beds of dying men to distract their thoughts,
and turn them from the meditations which concerned their eternal
welfare. He shuddered and drew himself together; but, instantly
summoning up his wonted resolution, he exclaimed, "Who is there?
---what art thou, that darest to echo my words in a tone like
that of the night-raven?---Come before my couch that I may see
thee."
"I am thine evil angel, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf," replied the
voice.
"Let me behold thee then in thy bodily shape, if thou best indeed
a fiend," replied the dying knight; "think not that I will blench
from thee.---By the eternal dungeon, could I but grapple with
these horrors that hover round me, as I have done with mortal
dangers, heaven or hell should never say that I shrunk from the
conflict!"
"Think on thy sins, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf," said the almost
unearthly voice, "on rebellion, on rapine, on murder!---Who
stirred up the licentious John to war against his grey-headed
father---against his generous brother?"
"Be thou fiend, priest, or devil," replied Front-de-Boeuf, "thou
liest in thy throat!---Not I stirred John to rebellion---not I
alone---there were fifty knights and barons, the flower of the
midland counties---better men never laid lance in rest---And
must I answer for the fault done by fifty?---False fiend, I defy
thee! Depart, and haunt my couch no more---let me die in peace
if thou be mortal---if thou be a demon, thy time is not yet
come."
"In peace thou shalt NOT die," repeated the voice; "even in death
shalt thou think on thy murders---on the groans which this castle
has echoed--- on the blood that is engrained in its floors!"
"Thou canst not shake me by thy petty malice," answered
Front-de-Boeuf, with a ghastly and constrained laugh. "The
infidel Jew---it was merit with heaven to deal with him as I did,
else wherefore are men canonized who dip their hands in the blood
of Saracens?---The Saxon porkers, whom I have slain, they were
the foes of my country, and of my lineage, and of my liege lord.
---Ho! ho! thou seest there is no crevice in my coat of plate
---Art thou fled?---art thou silenced?"
"No, foul parricide!" replied the voice; "think of thy father!
---think of his death!---think of his banquet-room flooded with
his gore, and that poured forth by the hand of a son!"
"Ha!" answered the Baron, after a long pause, "an thou knowest
that, thou art indeed the author of evil, and as omniscient as
the monks call thee!---That secret I deemed locked in my own
breast, and in that of one besides---the temptress, the partaker
of my guilt.---Go, leave me, fiend! and seek the Saxon witch
Ulrica, who alone could tell thee what she and I alone witnessed.
---Go, I say, to her, who washed the wounds, and straighted the
corpse, and gave to the slain man the outward show of one parted
in time and in the course of nature---Go to her, she was my
temptress, the foul provoker, the more foul rewarder, of the deed
---let her, as well as I, taste of the tortures which anticipate
hell!"
"She already tastes them," said Ulrica, stepping before the couch
of Front-de-Boeuf; "she hath long drunken of this cup, and its
bitterness is now sweetened to see that thou dost partake it.
---Grind not thy teeth, Front-de-Boeuf---roll not thine eyes
---clench not thine hand, nor shake it at me with that gesture of
menace!---The hand which, like that of thy renowned ancestor who
gained thy name, could have broken with one stroke the skull of a
mountain-bull, is now unnerved and powerless as mine own!"
"Vile murderous hag!" replied Front-de-Boeuf; "detestable
screech-owl! it is then thou who art come to exult over the ruins
thou hast assisted to lay low?"
"Ay, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf," answered she, "it is Ulrica!---it
is the daughter of the murdered Torquil Wolfganger!---it is the
sister of his slaughtered sons!---it is she who demands of thee,
and of thy father's house, father and kindred, name and fame
---all that she has lost by the name of Front-de-Boeuf!---Think
of my wrongs, Front-de-Boeuf, and answer me if I speak not truth.
Thou hast been my evil angel, and I will be thine---I will dog
thee till the very instant of dissolution!"
"Detestable fury!" exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, "that moment shalt
thou never witness---Ho! Giles, Clement, and Eustace! Saint Maur,
and Stephen! seize this damned witch, and hurl her from the
battlements headlong---she has betrayed us to the Saxon!---Ho!
Saint Maur! Clement! false-hearted, knaves, where tarry ye?"
"Call on them again, valiant Baron," said the hag, with a smile
of grisly mockery; "summon thy vassals around thee, doom them
that loiter to the scourge and the dungeon---But know, mighty
chief," she continued, suddenly changing her tone, "thou shalt
have neither answer, nor aid, nor obedience at their hands.
---Listen to these horrid sounds," for the din of the
recommenced assault and defence now rung fearfully loud from the
battlements of the castle; "in that war-cry is the downfall of
thy house---The blood-cemented fabric of Front-de-Boeuf's power
totters to the foundation, and before the foes he most despised!
---The Saxon, Reginald!---the scorned Saxon assails thy walls!
---Why liest thou here, like a worn-out hind, when the Saxon
storms thy place of strength?"
"Gods and fiends!" exclaimed the wounded knight; "O, for one
moment's strength, to drag myself to the 'melee', and perish as
becomes my name!"
"Think not of it, valiant warrior!" replied she; "thou shalt die
no soldier's death, but perish like the fox in his den, when the
peasants have set fire to the cover around it."
"Hateful hag! thou liest!" exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf; "my
followers bear them bravely---my walls are strong and high---my
comrades in arms fear not a whole host of Saxons, were they
headed by Hengist and Horsa!---The war-cry of the Templar and of
the Free Companions rises high over the conflict! And by mine
honour, when we kindle the blazing beacon, for joy of our
defence, it shall consume thee, body and bones; and I shall live
to hear thou art gone from earthly fires to those of that hell,
which never sent forth an incarnate fiend more utterly
diabolical!"
"Hold thy belief," replied Ulrica, "till the proof reach thee
---But, no!" she said, interrupting herself, "thou shalt know,
even now, the doom, which all thy power, strength, and courage,
is unable to avoid, though it is prepared for thee by this feeble
band. Markest thou the smouldering and suffocating vapour which
already eddies in sable folds through the chamber?---Didst thou
think it was but the darkening of thy bursting eyes---the
difficulty of thy cumbered breathing?---No! Front-de-Boeuf, there
is another cause---Rememberest thou the magazine of fuel that is
stored beneath these apartments?"
"Woman!" he exclaimed with fury, "thou hast not set fire to it?
---By heaven, thou hast, and the castle is in flames!"
"They are fast rising at least," said Ulrica, with frightful
composure; "and a signal shall soon wave to warn the besiegers to
press hard upon those who would extinguish them.---Farewell,
Front-de-Boeuf!---May Mista, Skogula, and Zernebock, gods of the
ancient Saxons---fiends, as the priests now call them---supply
the place of comforters at your dying bed, which Ulrica now
relinquishes!---But know, if it will give thee comfort to know
it, that Ulrica is bound to the same dark coast with thyself, the
companion of thy punishment as the companion of thy guilt.---And
now, parricide, farewell for ever!---May each stone of this
vaulted roof find a tongue to echo that title into thine ear!"
So saying, she left the apartment; and Front-de-Boeuf could hear
the crash of the ponderous key, as she locked and double-locked
the door behind her, thus cutting off the most slender chance of
escape. In the extremity of agony he shouted upon his servants
and allies--"Stephen and Saint Maur!---Clement and Giles!---I
burn here unaided!---To the rescue---to the rescue, brave
Bois-Guilbert, valiant De Bracy!---It is Front-de-Boeuf who
calls!---It is your master, ye traitor squires!---Your ally
---your brother in arms, ye perjured and faithless knights!---all
the curses due to traitors upon your recreant heads, do you
abandon me to perish thus miserably!---They hear me not---they
cannot hear me---my voice is lost in the din of battle.---The
smoke rolls thicker and thicker---the fire has caught upon the
floor below---O, for one drought of the air of heaven, were it to
be purchased by instant annihilation!" And in the mad frenzy of
despair, the wretch now shouted with the shouts of the fighters,
now muttered curses on himself, on mankind, and on Heaven itself.
---"The red fire flashes through the thick smoke!" he exclaimed;
"the demon marches against me under the banner of his own element
---Foul spirit, avoid!---I go not with thee without my comrades
---all, all are thine, that garrison these walls---Thinkest thou
Front-de-Boeuf will be singled out to go alone?---No---the
infidel Templar---the licentious De Bracy---Ulrica, the foul
murdering strumpet---the men who aided my enterprises---the dog
Saxons and accursed Jews, who are my prisoners---all, all shall
attend me---a goodly fellowship as ever took the downward road
---Ha, ha, ha!" and he laughed in his frenzy till the vaulted
roof rang again. "Who laughed there?" exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf,
in altered mood, for the noise of the conflict did not prevent
the echoes of his own mad laughter from returning upon his ear
---"who laughed there?---Ulrica, was it thou?---Speak, witch, and
I forgive thee---for, only thou or the fiend of hell himself
could have laughed at such a moment. Avaunt---avaunt!------"
But it were impious to trace any farther the picture of the
blasphemer and parricide's deathbed.
CHAPTER XXXI
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,
Or, close the wall up with our English dead.
--------------- And you, good yeomen,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture---let us swear
That you are worth your breeding.
King Henry V
Cedric, although not greatly confident in Ulrica's message,
omitted not to communicate her promise to the Black Knight and
Locksley. They were well pleased to find they had a friend
within the place, who might, in the moment of need, be able to
facilitate their entrance, and readily agreed with the Saxon that
a storm, under whatever disadvantages, ought to be attempted, as
the only means of liberating the prisoners now in the hands of
the cruel Front-de-Boeuf.
"The royal blood of Alfred is endangered," said Cedric.
"The honour of a noble lady is in peril," said the Black Knight.
"And, by the Saint Christopher at my baldric," said the good
yeoman, "were there no other cause than the safety of that poor
faithful knave, Wamba, I would jeopard a joint ere a hair of his
head were hurt."
"And so would I," said the Friar; "what, sirs! I trust well that
a fool---I mean, d'ye see me, sirs, a fool that is free of his
guild and master of his craft, and can give as much relish and
flavour to a cup of wine as ever a flitch of bacon can---I say,
brethren, such a fool shall never want a wise clerk to pray for
or fight for him at a strait, while I can say a mass or flourish
a partisan." And with that he made his heavy halberd to play
around his head as a shepherd boy flourishes his light crook.
"True, Holy Clerk," said the Black Knight, "true as if Saint
Dunstan himself had said it.---And now, good Locksley, were it
not well that noble Cedric should assume the direction of this
assault?"
"Not a jot I," returned Cedric; "I have never been wont to study
either how to take or how to hold out those abodes of tyrannic
power, which the Normans have erected in this groaning land. I
will fight among the foremost; but my honest neighbours well know
I am not a trained soldier in the discipline of wars, or the
attack of strongholds."
"Since it stands thus with noble Cedric," said Locksley, "I am
most willing to take on me the direction of the archery; and ye
shall hang me up on my own Trysting-tree, an the defenders be
permitted to show themselves over the walls without being stuck
with as many shafts as there are cloves in a gammon of bacon at
Christmas."
"Well said, stout yeoman," answered the Black Knight; "and if I
be thought worthy to have a charge in these matters, and can find
among these brave men as many as are willing to follow a true
English knight, for so I may surely call myself, I am ready, with
such skill as my experience has taught me, to lead them to the
attack of these walls."
The parts being thus distributed to the leaders, they commenced
the first assault, of which the reader has already heard the
issue.
When the barbican was carried, the Sable Knight sent notice of
the happy event to Locksley, requesting him at the same time, to
keep such a strict observation on the castle as might prevent the
defenders from combining their force for a sudden sally, and
recovering the outwork which they had lost. This the knight was
chiefly desirous of avoiding, conscious that the men whom he led,
being hasty and untrained volunteers, imperfectly armed and
unaccustomed to discipline, must, upon any sudden attack, fight
at great disadvantage with the veteran soldiers of the Norman
knights, who were well provided with arms both defensive and
offensive; and who, to match the zeal and high spirit of the
besiegers, had all the confidence which arises from perfect
discipline and the habitual use of weapons.
The knight employed the interval in causing to be constructed a
sort of floating bridge, or long raft, by means of which he hoped
to cross the moat in despite of the resistance of the enemy.
This was a work of some time, which the leaders the less
regretted, as it gave Ulrica leisure to execute her plan of
diversion in their favour, whatever that might be.
When the raft was completed, the Black Knight addressed the
besiegers:---"It avails not waiting here longer, my friends; the
sun is descending to the west---and I have that upon my hands
which will not permit me to tarry with you another day. Besides,
it will be a marvel if the horsemen come not upon us from York,
unless we speedily accomplish our purpose. Wherefore, one of ye
go to Locksley, and bid him commence a discharge of arrows on the
opposite side of the castle, and move forward as if about to
assault it; and you, true English hearts, stand by me, and be
ready to thrust the raft endlong over the moat whenever the
postern on our side is thrown open. Follow me boldly across, and
aid me to burst yon sallyport in the main wall of the castle. As
many of you as like not this service, or are but ill armed to
meet it, do you man the top of the outwork, draw your bow-strings
to your ears, and mind you quell with your shot whatever shall
appear to man the rampart---Noble Cedric, wilt thou take the
direction of those which remain?"
"Not so, by the soul of Hereward!" said the Saxon; "lead I
cannot; but may posterity curse me in my grave, if I follow not
with the foremost wherever thou shalt point the way---The quarrel
is mine, and well it becomes me to be in the van of the battle."
"Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon," said the knight, "thou hast
neither hauberk, nor corslet, nor aught but that light helmet,
target, and sword."
"The better!" answered Cedric; "I shall be the lighter to climb
these walls. And,---forgive the boast, Sir Knight,---thou shalt
this day see the naked breast of a Saxon as boldly presented to
the battle as ever ye beheld the steel corslet of a Norman."
"In the name of God, then," said the knight, "fling open the
door, and launch the floating bridge."
The portal, which led from the inner-wall of the barbican to the
moat, and which corresponded with a sallyport in the main wall of
the castle, was now suddenly opened; the temporary bridge was
then thrust forward, and soon flashed in the waters, extending
its length between the castle and outwork, and forming a slippery
and precarious passage for two men abreast to cross the moat.
Well aware of the importance of taking the foe by surprise, the
Black Knight, closely followed by Cedric, threw himself upon the
bridge, and reached the opposite side. Here he began to thunder
with his axe upon the gate of the castle, protected in part from
the shot and stones cast by the defenders by the ruins of the
former drawbridge, which the Templar had demolished in his
retreat from the barbican, leaving the counterpoise still
attached to the upper part of the portal. The followers of the
knight had no such shelter; two were instantly shot with
cross-bow bolts, and two more fell into the moat; the others
retreated back into the barbican.
The situation of Cedric and of the Black Knight was now truly
dangerous, and would have been still more so, but for the
constancy of the archers in the barbican, who ceased not to
shower their arrows upon the battlements, distracting the
attention of those by whom they were manned, and thus affording
a respite to their two chiefs from the storm of missiles which
must otherwise have overwhelmed them. But their situation was
eminently perilous, and was becoming more so with every moment.
"Shame on ye all!" cried De Bracy to the soldiers around him; "do
ye call yourselves cross-bowmen, and let these two dogs keep
their station under the walls of the castle?---Heave over the
coping stones from the battlements, an better may not be---Get
pick-axe and levers, and down with that huge pinnacle!" pointing
to a heavy piece of stone carved-work that projected from the
parapet.
At this moment the besiegers caught sight of the red flag upon
the angle of the tower which Ulrica had described to Cedric. The
stout yeoman Locksley was the first who was aware of it, as he
was hasting to the outwork, impatient to see the progress of the
assault.
"Saint George!" he cried, "Merry Saint George for England!---To
the charge, bold yeomen!---why leave ye the good knight and noble
Cedric to storm the pass alone?---make in, mad priest, show thou
canst fight for thy rosary,---make in, brave yeomen!---the castle
is ours, we have friends within---See yonder flag, it is the
appointed signal---Torquilstone is ours!---Think of honour, think
of spoil---One effort, and the place is ours!"
With that he bent his good bow, and sent a shaft right through
the breast of one of the men-at-arms, who, under De Bracy's
direction, was loosening a fragment from one of the battlements
to precipitate on the heads of Cedric and the Black Knight. A
second soldier caught from the hands of the dying man the iron
crow, with which he heaved at and had loosened the stone
pinnacle, when, receiving an arrow through his head-piece, he
dropped from the battlements into the moat a dead man. The
men-at-arms were daunted, for no armour seemed proof against the
shot of this tremendous archer.
"Do you give ground, base knaves!" said De Bracy; "'Mount joye
Saint Dennis!'---Give me the lever!"
And, snatching it up, he again assailed the loosened pinnacle,
which was of weight enough, if thrown down, not only to have
destroyed the remnant of the drawbridge, which sheltered the two
foremost assailants, but also to have sunk the rude float of
planks over which they had crossed. All saw the danger, and the
boldest, even the stout Friar himself, avoided setting foot on
the raft. Thrice did Locksley bend his shaft against De Bracy,
and thrice did his arrow bound back from the knight's armour of
proof.
"Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat!" said Locksley, "had English
smith forged it, these arrows had gone through, an as if it had
been silk or sendal." He then began to call out, "Comrades!
friends! noble Cedric! bear back, and let the ruin fall."
His warning voice was unheard, for the din which the knight
himself occasioned by his strokes upon the postern would have
drowned twenty war-trumpets. The faithful Gurth indeed sprung
forward on the planked bridge, to warn Cedric of his impending
fate, or to share it with him. But his warning would have come
too late; the massive pinnacle already tottered, and De Bracy,
who still heaved at his task, would have accomplished it, had not
the voice of the Templar sounded close in his ears:---
"All is lost, De Bracy, the castle burns."
"Thou art mad to say so!" replied the knight.
"It is all in a light flame on the western side. I have striven
in vain to extinguish it."
With the stern coolness which formed the basis of his character,
Brian de Bois-Guilbert communicated this hideous intelligence,
which was not so calmly received by his astonished comrade.
"Saints of Paradise!" said De Bracy; "what is to be done? I vow
to Saint Nicholas of Limoges a candlestick of pure gold---"
"Spare thy vow," said the Templar, "and mark me. Lead thy men
down, as if to a sally; throw the postern-gate open---There are
but two men who occupy the float, fling them into the moat, and
push across for the barbican. I will charge from the main gate,
and attack the barbican on the outside; and if we can regain that
post, be assured we shall defend ourselves until we are relieved,
or at least till they grant us fair quarter."
"It is well thought upon," said De Bracy; "I will play my part
---Templar, thou wilt not fail me?"
"Hand and glove, I will not!" said Bois-Guilbert. "But haste
thee, in the name of God!"
De Bracy hastily drew his men together, and rushed down to the
postern-gate, which he caused instantly to be thrown open. But
scarce was this done ere the portentous strength of the Black
Knight forced his way inward in despite of De Bracy and his
followers. Two of the foremost instantly fell, and the rest gave
way notwithstanding all their leader's efforts to stop them.
"Dogs!" said De Bracy, "will ye let TWO men win our only pass for
safety?"
"He is the devil!" said a veteran man-at-arms, bearing back from
the blows of their sable antagonist.
"And if he be the devil," replied De Bracy, "would you fly from
him into the mouth of hell?---the castle burns behind us,
villains!---let despair give you courage, or let me forward! I
will cope with this champion myself"
And well and chivalrous did De Bracy that day maintain the fame
he had acquired in the civil wars of that dreadful period. The
vaulted passage to which the postern gave entrance, and in which
these two redoubted champions were now fighting hand to hand,
rung with the furious blows which they dealt each other, De Bracy
with his sword, the Black Knight with his ponderous axe. At
length the Norman received a blow, which, though its force was
partly parried by his shield, for otherwise never more would De
Bracy have again moved limb, descended yet with such violence on
his crest, that he measured his length on the paved floor.
"Yield thee, De Bracy," said the Black Champion, stooping over
him, and holding against the bars of his helmet the fatal poniard
with which the knights dispatched their enemies, (and which was
called the dagger of mercy,)---"yield thee, Maurice de Bracy,
rescue or no rescue, or thou art but a dead man."
"I will not yield," replied De Bracy faintly, "to an unknown
conqueror. Tell me thy name, or work thy pleasure on me---it
shall never be said that Maurice de Bracy was prisoner to a
nameless churl."
The Black Knight whispered something into the ear of the
vanquished.
"I yield me to be true prisoner, rescue or no rescue," answered
the Norman, exchanging his tone of stern and determined obstinacy
for one of deep though sullen submission.
"Go to the barbican," said the victor, in a tone of authority,
"and there wait my further orders."
"Yet first, let me say," said De Bracy, "what it imports thee to
know. Wilfred of Ivanhoe is wounded and a prisoner, and will
perish in the burning castle without present help."
"Wilfred of Ivanhoe!" exclaimed the Black Knight---"prisoner, and
perish!---The life of every man in the castle shall answer it if
a hair of his head be singed---Show me his chamber!"
"Ascend yonder winding stair," said De Bracy; "it leads to his
apartment---Wilt thou not accept my guidance?" he added, in a
submissive voice.
"No. To the barbican, and there wait my orders. I trust thee
not, De Bracy."
During this combat and the brief conversation which ensued,
Cedric, at the head of a body of men, among whom the Friar was
conspicuous, had pushed across the bridge as soon as they saw the
postern open, and drove back the dispirited and despairing
followers of De Bracy, of whom some asked quarter, some offered
vain resistance, and the greater part fled towards the
court-yard. De Bracy himself arose from the ground, and cast a
sorrowful glance after his conqueror. "He trusts me not!" he
repeated; "but have I deserved his trust?" He then lifted his
sword from the floor, took off his helmet in token of submission,
and, going to the barbican, gave up his sword to Locksley, whom
he met by the way.
As the fire augmented, symptoms of it became soon apparent in the
chamber, where Ivanhoe was watched and tended by the Jewess
Rebecca. He had been awakened from his brief slumber by the
noise of the battle; and his attendant, who had, at his anxious
desire, again placed herself at the window to watch and report to
him the fate of the attack, was for some time prevented from
observing either, by the increase of the smouldering and stifling
vapour. At length the volumes of smoke which rolled into the
apartment---the cries for water, which were heard even above the
din of the battle made them sensible of the progress of this new
danger.
"The castle burns," said Rebecca; "it burns!---What can we do to
save ourselves?"
"Fly, Rebecca, and save thine own life," said Ivanhoe, "for no
human aid can avail me."
"I will not fly," answered Rebecca; "we will be saved or perish
together---And yet, great God!---my father, my father---what will
be his fate!"
At this moment the door of the apartment flew open, and the
Templar presented himself,---a ghastly figure, for his gilded
armour was broken and bloody, and the plume was partly shorn
away, partly burnt from his casque. "I have found thee," said he
to Rebecca; "thou shalt prove I will keep my word to share weal
and woe with thee---There is but one path to safety, I have cut
my way through fifty dangers to point it to thee---up, and
instantly follow me!"*
* The author has some idea that this passage is imitated
* from the appearance of Philidaspes, before the divine
* Mandane, when the city of Babylon is on fire, and he
* proposes to carry her from the flames. But the theft,
* if there be one, would be rather too severely punished
* by the penance of searching for the original passage
* through the interminable volumes of the Grand Cyrus.
"Alone," answered Rebecca, "I will not follow thee. If thou wert
born of woman---if thou hast but a touch of human charity in thee
---if thy heart be not hard as thy breastplate---save my aged
father---save this wounded knight!"
"A knight," answered the Templar, with his characteristic
calmness, "a knight, Rebecca, must encounter his fate, whether it
meet him in the shape of sword or flame---and who recks how or
where a Jew meets with his?"
"Savage warrior," said Rebecca, "rather will I perish in the
flames than accept safety from thee!"
"Thou shalt not choose, Rebecca---once didst thou foil me, but
never mortal did so twice."
So saying, he seized on the terrified maiden, who filled the air
with her shrieks, and bore her out of the room in his arms in
spite of her cries, and without regarding the menaces and
defiance which Ivanhoe thundered against him. "Hound of the
Temple---stain to thine Order---set free the damsel! Traitor of
Bois-Guilbert, it is Ivanhoe commands thee!---Villain, I will
have thy heart's blood!"
"I had not found thee, Wilfred," said the Black Knight, who at
that instant entered the apartment, "but for thy shouts."
"If thou best true knight," said Wilfred, "think not of me
---pursue yon ravisher---save the Lady Rowena---look to the noble
Cedric!"
"In their turn," answered he of the Fetterlock, "but thine is
first."
And seizing upon Ivanhoe, he bore him off with as much ease as
the Templar had carried off Rebecca, rushed with him to the
postern, and having there delivered his burden to the care of two
yeomen, he again entered the castle to assist in the rescue of
the other prisoners.
One turret was now in bright flames, which flashed out furiously
from window and shot-hole. But in other parts, the great
thickness of the walls and the vaulted roofs of the apartments,
resisted the progress of the flames, and there the rage of man
still triumphed, as the scarce more dreadful element held mastery
elsewhere; for the besiegers pursued the defenders of the castle
from chamber to chamber, and satiated in their blood the
vengeance which had long animated them against the soldiers of
the tyrant Front-de-Boeuf. Most of the garrison resisted to the
uttermost---few of them asked quarter---none received it. The
air was filled with groans and clashing of arms---the floors were
slippery with the blood of despairing and expiring wretches.
Through this scene of confusion, Cedric rushed in quest of
Rowena, while the faithful Gurth, following him closely through
the "melee", neglected his own safety while he strove to avert
the blows that were aimed at his master. The noble Saxon was so
fortunate as to reach his ward's apartment just as she had
abandoned all hope of safety, and, with a crucifix clasped in
agony to her bosom, sat in expectation of instant death. He
committed her to the charge of Gurth, to be conducted in safety
to the barbican, the road to which was now cleared of the enemy,
and not yet interrupted by the flames. This accomplished, the
loyal Cedric hastened in quest of his friend Athelstane,
determined, at every risk to himself, to save that last scion of
Saxon royalty. But ere Cedric penetrated as far as the old hall
in which he had himself been a prisoner, the inventive genius of
Wamba had procured liberation for himself and his companion in
adversity.
When the noise of the conflict announced that it was at the
hottest, the Jester began to shout, with the utmost power of his
lungs, "Saint George and the dragon!---Bonny Saint George for
merry England!---The castle is won!" And these sounds he rendered
yet more fearful, by banging against each other two or three
pieces of rusty armour which lay scattered around the hall.
A guard, which had been stationed in the outer, or anteroom, and
whose spirits were already in a state of alarm, took fright at
Wamba's clamour, and, leaving the door open behind them, ran to
tell the Templar that foemen had entered the old hall. Meantime
the prisoners found no difficulty in making their escape into the
anteroom, and from thence into the court of the castle, which was
now the last scene of contest. Here sat the fierce Templar,
mounted on horseback, surrounded by several of the garrison both
on horse and foot, who had united their strength to that of this
renowned leader, in order to secure the last chance of safety and
retreat which remained to them. The drawbridge had been lowered
by his orders, but the passage was beset; for the archers, who
had hitherto only annoyed the castle on that side by their
missiles, no sooner saw the flames breaking out, and the bridge
lowered, than they thronged to the entrance, as well to prevent
the escape of the garrison, as to secure their own share of booty
ere the castle should be burnt down. On the other hand, a party
of the besiegers who had entered by the postern were now issuing
out into the court-yard, and attacking with fury the remnant of
the defenders who were thus assaulted on both sides at once.
Animated, however, by despair, and supported by the example of
their indomitable leader, the remaining soldiers of the castle
fought with the utmost valour; and, being well-armed, succeeded
more than once in driving back the assailants, though much
inferior in numbers. Rebecca, placed on horseback before one of
the Templar's Saracen slaves, was in the midst of the little
party; and Bois-Guilbert, notwithstanding the confusion of the
bloody fray, showed every attention to her safety. Repeatedly he
was by her side, and, neglecting his own defence, held before her
the fence of his triangular steel-plated shield; and anon
starting from his position by her, he cried his war-cry, dashed
forward, struck to earth the most forward of the assailants, and
was on the same instant once more at her bridle rein.
Athelstane, who, as the reader knows, was slothful, but not
cowardly, beheld the female form whom the Templar protected thus
sedulously, and doubted not that it was Rowena whom the knight
was carrying off, in despite of all resistance which could be
offered.
"By the soul of Saint Edward," he said, "I will rescue her from
yonder over-proud knight, and he shall die by my hand!"
"Think what you do!" cried Wamba; "hasty hand catches frog for
fish---by my bauble, yonder is none of my Lady Rowena---see but
her long dark locks!---Nay, an ye will not know black from white,
ye may be leader, but I will be no follower---no bones of mine
shall be broken unless I know for whom.---And you without armour
too!---Bethink you, silk bonnet never kept out steel blade.
---Nay, then, if wilful will to water, wilful must drench.
---'Deus vobiscum', most doughty Athelstane!"---he concluded,
loosening the hold which he had hitherto kept upon the Saxon's
tunic.
To snatch a mace from the pavement, on which it lay beside one
whose dying grasp had just relinquished it---to rush on the
Templar's band, and to strike in quick succession to the right
and left, levelling a warrior at each blow, was, for Athelstane's
great strength, now animated with unusual fury, but the work of a
single moment; he was soon within two yards of Bois-Guilbert,
whom he defied in his loudest tone.
"Turn, false-hearted Templar! let go her whom thou art unworthy
to touch---turn, limb of a hand of murdering and hypocritical
robbers!"
"Dog!" said the Templar, grinding his teeth, "I will teach thee
to blaspheme the holy Order of the Temple of Zion;" and with
these words, half-wheeling his steed, he made a demi-courbette
towards the Saxon, and rising in the stirrups, so as to take full
advantage of the descent of the horse, he discharged a fearful
blow upon the head of Athelstane.
Well said Wamba, that silken bonnet keeps out no steel blade. So
trenchant was the Templar's weapon, that it shore asunder, as it
had been a willow twig, the tough and plaited handle of the mace,
which the ill-fated Saxon reared to parry the blow, and,
descending on his head, levelled him with the earth.
"'Ha! Beau-seant!'" exclaimed Bois-Guilbert, "thus be it to the
maligners of the Temple-knights!" Taking advantage of the dismay
which was spread by the fall of Athelstane, and calling aloud,
"Those who would save themselves, follow me!" he pushed across
the drawbridge, dispersing the archers who would have intercepted
them. He was followed by his Saracens, and some five or six
men-at-arms, who had mounted their horses. The Templar's retreat
was rendered perilous by the numbers of arrows shot off at him
and his party; but this did not prevent him from galloping round
to the barbican, of which, according to his previous plan, he
supposed it possible De Bracy might have been in possession.
"De Bracy! De Bracy!" he shouted, "art thou there?"
"I am here," replied De Bracy, "but I am a prisoner."
"Can I rescue thee?" cried Bois-Guilbert.
"No," replied De Bracy; "I have rendered me, rescue or no rescue.
I will be true prisoner. Save thyself---there are hawks abroad
---put the seas betwixt you and England---I dare not say more."
"Well," answered the Templar, "an thou wilt tarry there, remember
I have redeemed word and glove. Be the hawks where they will,
methinks the walls of the Preceptory of Templestowe will be cover
sufficient, and thither will I, like heron to her haunt."
Having thus spoken, he galloped off with his followers.
Those of the castle who had not gotten to horse, still continued
to fight desperately with the besiegers, after the departure of
the Templar, but rather in despair of quarter than that they
entertained any hope of escape. The fire was spreading rapidly
through all parts of the castle, when Ulrica, who had first
kindled it, appeared on a turret, in the guise of one of the
ancient furies, yelling forth a war-song, such as was of yore
raised on the field of battle by the scalds of the yet heathen
Saxons. Her long dishevelled grey hair flew back from her
uncovered head; the inebriating delight of gratified vengeance
contended in her eyes with the fire of insanity; and she
brandished the distaff which she held in her hand, as if she had
been one of the Fatal Sisters, who spin and abridge the thread of
human life. Tradition has preserved some wild strophes of the
barbarous hymn which she chanted wildly amid that scene of fire
and of slaughter:---
1.
Whet the bright steel,
Sons of the White Dragon!
Kindle the torch,
Daughter of Hengist!
The steel glimmers not for the carving of the banquet,
It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed;
The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber,
It steams and glitters blue with sulphur.
Whet the steel, the raven croaks!
Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling!
Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon!
Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist!
2.
The black cloud is low over the thane's castle
The eagle screams--he rides on its bosom.
Scream not, grey rider of the sable cloud,
Thy banquet is prepared!
The maidens of Valhalla look forth,
The race of Hengist will send them guests.
Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla!
And strike your loud timbrels for joy!
Many a haughty step bends to your halls,
Many a helmed head.
3.
Dark sits the evening upon the thanes castle,
The black clouds gather round;
Soon shall they be red as the blood of the valiant!
The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest against
them.
He, the bright consumer of palaces,
Broad waves he his blazing banner,
Red, wide and dusky,
Over the strife of the valiant:
His joy is in the clashing swords and broken bucklers;
He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts warm from the
wound!
4.
All must perish!
The sword cleaveth the helmet;
The strong armour is pierced by the lance;
Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes,
Engines break down the fences of the battle.
All must perish!
The race of Hengist is gone---
The name of Horsa is no more!
Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword!
Let your blades drink blood like wine;
Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter,
By the light of the blazing halls!
Strong be your swords while your blood is warm,
And spare neither for pity nor fear,
For vengeance hath but an hour;
Strong hate itself shall expire
I also must perish! *
* Note G. Ulrica's Death Song
The towering flames had now surmounted every obstruction, and
rose to the evening skies one huge and burning beacon, seen far
and wide through the adjacent country. Tower after tower crashed
down, with blazing roof and rafter; and the combatants were
driven from the court-yard. The vanquished, of whom very few
remained, scattered and escaped into the neighbouring wood. The
victors, assembling in large bands, gazed with wonder, not
unmixed with fear, upon the flames, in which their own ranks and
arms glanced dusky red. The maniac figure of the Saxon Ulrica
was for a long time visible on the lofty stand she had chosen,
tossing her arms abroad with wild exultation, as if she reined
empress of the conflagration which she had raised. At length,
with a terrific crash, the whole turret gave way, and she
perished in the flames which had consumed her tyrant. An awful
pause of horror silenced each murmur of the armed spectators,
who, for the space of several minutes, stirred not a finger, save
to sign the cross. The voice of Locksley was then heard, "Shout,
yeomen!---the den of tyrants is no more! Let each bring his
spoil to our chosen place of rendezvous at the Trysting-tree in
the Harthill-walk; for there at break of day will we make just
partition among our own bands, together with our worthy allies in
this great deed of vengeance."
CHAPTER XXXII.
Trust me each state must have its policies:
Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their charters;
Even the wild outlaw, in his forest-walk,
Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline;
For not since Adam wore his verdant apron,
Hath man with man in social union dwelt,
But laws were made to draw that union closer.
Old Play
The daylight had dawned upon the glades of the oak forest. The
green boughs glittered with all their pearls of dew. The hind
led her fawn from the covert of high fern to the more open walks
of the greenwood, and no huntsman was there to watch or intercept
the stately hart, as he paced at the head of the antler'd herd.
The outlaws were all assembled around the Trysting-tree in the
Harthill-walk, where they had spent the night in refreshing
themselves after the fatigues of the siege, some with wine, some
with slumber, many with hearing and recounting the events of the
day, and computing the heaps of plunder which their success had
placed at the disposal of their Chief.
The spoils were indeed very large; for, notwithstanding that much
was consumed, a great deal of plate, rich armour, and splendid
clothing, had been secured by the exertions of the dauntless
outlaws, who could be appalled by no danger when such rewards
were in view. Yet so strict were the laws of their society, that
no one ventured to appropriate any part of the booty, which was
brought into one common mass, to be at the disposal of their
leader.
The place of rendezvous was an aged oak; not however the same to
which Locksley had conducted Gurth and Wamba in the earlier part
of the story, but one which was the centre of a silvan
amphitheatre, within half a mile of the demolished castle of
Torquilstone. Here Locksley assumed his seat---a throne of turf
erected under the twisted branches of the huge oak, and the
silvan followers were gathered around him. He assigned to the
Black Knight a seat at his right hand, and to Cedric a place upon
his left.
"Pardon my freedom, noble sirs," he said, "but in these glades I
am monarch---they are my kingdom; and these my wild subjects
would reck but little of my power, were I, within my own
dominions, to yield place to mortal man.---Now, sirs, who hath
seen our chaplain? where is our curtal Friar? A mass amongst
Christian men best begins a busy morning."---No one had seen the
Clerk of Copmanhurst. "Over gods forbode!" said the outlaw
chief, "I trust the jolly priest hath but abidden by the wine-pot
a thought too late. Who saw him since the castle was ta'en?"
"I," quoth the Miller, "marked him busy about the door of a
cellar, swearing by each saint in the calendar he would taste the
smack of Front-de-Boeuf's Gascoigne wine."
"Now, the saints, as many as there be of them," said the Captain,
"forefend, lest he has drunk too deep of the wine-butts, and
perished by the fall of the castle!---Away, Miller!---take with
you enow of men, seek the place where you last saw him---throw
water from the moat on the scorching ruins ---I will have them
removed stone by stone ere I lose my curtal Friar."
The numbers who hastened to execute this duty, considering that
an interesting division of spoil was about to take place, showed
how much the troop had at heart the safety of their spiritual
father.
"Meanwhile, let us proceed," said Locksley; "for when this bold
deed shall be sounded abroad, the bands of De Bracy, of
Malvoisin, and other allies of Front-de-Boeuf, will be in motion
against us, and it were well for our safety that we retreat from
the vicinity.---Noble Cedric," he said, turning to the Saxon,
"that spoil is divided into two portions; do thou make choice of
that which best suits thee, to recompense thy people who were
partakers with us in this adventure."
"Good yeoman," said Cedric, "my heart is oppressed with sadness.
The noble Athelstane of Coningsburgh is no more---the last
sprout of the sainted Confessor! Hopes have perished with him
which can never return!---A sparkle hath been quenched by his
blood, which no human breath can again rekindle! My people, save
the few who are now with me, do but tarry my presence to
transport his honoured remains to their last mansion. The Lady
Rowena is desirous to return to Rotherwood, and must be escorted
by a sufficient force. I should, therefore, ere now, have left
this place; and I waited---not to share the booty, for, so help
me God and Saint Withold! as neither I nor any of mine will touch
the value of a liard,---I waited but to render my thanks to thee
and to thy bold yeomen, for the life and honour ye have saved."
"Nay, but," said the chief Outlaw, "we did but half the work at
most---take of the spoil what may reward your own neighbours and
followers."
"I am rich enough to reward them from mine own wealth," answered
Cedric.
"And some," said Wamba, "have been wise enough to reward
themselves; they do not march off empty-handed altogether. We do
not all wear motley."
"They are welcome," said Locksley; "our laws bind none but
ourselves."
"But, thou, my poor knave," said Cedric, turning about and
embracing his Jester, "how shall I reward thee, who feared not to
give thy body to chains and death instead of mine!---All forsook
me, when the poor fool was faithful!"
A tear stood in the eye of the rough Thane as he spoke---a mark
of feeling which even the death of Athelstane had not extracted;
but there was something in the half-instinctive attachment of his
clown, that waked his nature more keenly than even grief itself.
"Nay," said the Jester, extricating himself from master's
caress, "if you pay my service with the water of your eye, the
Jester must weep for company, and then what becomes of his
vocation?---But, uncle, if you would indeed pleasure me, I pray
you to pardon my playfellow Gurth, who stole a week from your
service to bestow it on your son."
"Pardon him!" exclaimed Cedric; "I will both pardon and reward
him.---Kneel down, Gurth."---The swineherd was in an instant at
his master's feet---"THEOW and ESNE*
* Thrall and bondsman.
art thou no longer," said Cedric touching him with a wand;
"FOLKFREE and SACLESS*
* A lawful freeman.
art thou in town and from town, in the forest as in the field.
A hide of land I give to thee in my steads of Walbrugham, from me
and mine to thee and thine aye and for ever; and God's malison on
his head who this gainsays!"
No longer a serf, but a freeman and a landholder, Gurth sprung
upon his feet, and twice bounded aloft to almost his own height
from the ground. "A smith and a file," he cried, "to do away the
collar from the neck of a freeman!---Noble master! doubled is my
strength by your gift, and doubly will I fight for you!---There
is a free spirit in my breast---I am a man changed to myself and
all around.---Ha, Fangs!" he continued,---for that faithful cur,
seeing his master thus transported, began to jump upon him, to
express his sympathy,---"knowest thou thy master still?"
"Ay," said Wamba, "Fangs and I still know thee, Gurth, though we
must needs abide by the collar; it is only thou art likely to
forget both us and thyself."
"I shall forget myself indeed ere I forget thee, true comrade,"
said Gurth; "and were freedom fit for thee, Wamba, the master
would not let thee want it."
"Nay," said Wamba, "never think I envy thee, brother Gurth; the
serf sits by the hall-fire when the freeman must forth to the
field of battle---And what saith Oldhelm of Malmsbury---Better a
fool at a feast than a wise man at a fray."
The tramp of horses was now heard, and the Lady Rowena appeared,
surrounded by several riders, and a much stronger party of
footmen, who joyfully shook their pikes and clashed their
brown-bills for joy of her freedom. She herself, richly attired,
and mounted on a dark chestnut palfrey, had recovered all the
dignity of her manner, and only an unwonted degree of paleness
showed the sufferings she had undergone. Her lovely brow, though
sorrowful, bore on it a cast of reviving hope for the future, as
well as of grateful thankfulness for the past deliverance---She
knew that Ivanhoe was safe, and she knew that Athelstane was
dead. The former assurance filled her with the most sincere
delight; and if she did not absolutely rejoice at the latter, she
might be pardoned for feeling the full advantage of being freed
from further persecution on the only subject in which she had
ever been contradicted by her guardian Cedric.
As Rowena bent her steed towards Locksley's seat, that bold
yeoman, with all his followers, rose to receive her, as if by a
general instinct of courtesy. The blood rose to her cheeks, as,
courteously waving her hand, and bending so low that her
beautiful and loose tresses were for an instant mixed with the
flowing mane of her palfrey, she expressed in few but apt words
her obligations and her gratitude to Locksley and her other
deliverers.---"God bless you, brave men," she concluded, "God and
Our Lady bless you and requite you for gallantly perilling
yourselves in the cause of the oppressed!---If any of you should
hunger, remember Rowena has food---if you should thirst, she has
many a butt of wine and brown ale---and if the Normans drive ye
from these walks, Rowena has forests of her own, where her
gallant deliverers may range at full freedom, and never ranger
ask whose arrow hath struck down the deer."
"Thanks, gentle lady," said Locksley; "thanks from my company and
myself. But, to have saved you requites itself. We who walk the
greenwood do many a wild deed, and the Lady Rowena's deliverance
may be received as an atonement."
Again bowing from her palfrey, Rowena turned to depart; but
pausing a moment, while Cedric, who was to attend her, was also
taking his leave, she found herself unexpectedly close by the
prisoner De Bracy. He stood under a tree in deep meditation, his
arms crossed upon his breast, and Rowena was in hopes she might
pass him unobserved. He looked up, however, and, when aware of
her presence, a deep flush of shame suffused his handsome
countenance. He stood a moment most irresolute; then, stepping
forward, took her palfrey by the rein, and bent his knee before
her.
"Will the Lady Rowena deign to cast an eye---on a captive knight
---on a dishonoured soldier?"
"Sir Knight," answered Rowena, "in enterprises such as yours, the
real dishonour lies not in failure, but in success."
"Conquest, lady, should soften the heart," answered De Bracy;
"let me but know that the Lady Rowena forgives the violence
occasioned by an ill-fated passion, and she shall soon learn that
De Bracy knows how to serve her in nobler ways."
"I forgive you, Sir Knight," said Rowena, "as a Christian."
"That means," said Wamba, "that she does not forgive him at all."
"But I can never forgive the misery and desolation your madness
has occasioned," continued Rowena.
"Unloose your hold on the lady's rein," said Cedric, coming up.
"By the bright sun above us, but it were shame, I would pin thee
to the earth with my javelin---but be well assured, thou shalt
smart, Maurice de Bracy, for thy share in this foul deed."
"He threatens safely who threatens a prisoner," said De Bracy;
"but when had a Saxon any touch of courtesy?"
Then retiring two steps backward, he permitted the lady to move
on.
Cedric, ere they departed, expressed his peculiar gratitude to
the Black Champion, and earnestly entreated him to accompany him
to Rotherwood.
"I know," he said, "that ye errant knights desire to carry your
fortunes on the point of your lance, and reck not of land or
goods; but war is a changeful mistress, and a home is sometimes
desirable even to the champion whose trade is wandering. Thou
hast earned one in the halls of Rotherwood, noble knight. Cedric
has wealth enough to repair the injuries of fortune, and all he
has is his deliverer's---Come, therefore, to Rotherwood, not as
a guest, but as a son or brother."
"Cedric has already made me rich," said the Knight,---"he has
taught me the value of Saxon virtue. To Rotherwood will I come,
brave Saxon, and that speedily; but, as now, pressing matters of
moment detain me from your halls. Peradventure when I come
hither, I will ask such a boon as will put even thy generosity to
the test."
"It is granted ere spoken out," said Cedric, striking his ready
hand into the gauntleted palm of the Black Knight,---"it is
granted already, were it to affect half my fortune."
"Gage not thy promise so lightly," said the Knight of the
Fetterlock; "yet well I hope to gain the boon I shall ask.
Meanwhile, adieu."
"I have but to say," added the Saxon, "that, during the funeral
rites of the noble Athelstane, I shall be an inhabitant of the
halls of his castle of Coningsburgh---They will be open to all
who choose to partake of the funeral banqueting; and, I speak in
name of the noble Edith, mother of the fallen prince, they will
never be shut against him who laboured so bravely, though
unsuccessfully, to save Athelstane from Norman chains and Norman
steel."
"Ay, ay," said Wamba, who had resumed his attendance on his
master, "rare feeding there will be---pity that the noble
Athelstane cannot banquet at his own funeral.---But he,"
continued the Jester, lifting up his eyes gravely, "is supping in
Paradise, and doubtless does honour to the cheer."
"Peace, and move on," said Cedric, his anger at this untimely
jest being checked by the recollection of Wamba's recent
services. Rowena waved a graceful adieu to him of the Fetterlock
---the Saxon bade God speed him, and on they moved through a wide
glade of the forest.
They had scarce departed, ere a sudden procession moved from
under the greenwood branches, swept slowly round the silvan
amphitheatre, and took the same direction with Rowena and her
followers. The priests of a neighbouring convent, in
expectation of the ample donation, or "soul-scat", which Cedric
had propined, attended upon the car in which the body of
Athelstane was laid, and sang hymns as it was sadly and slowly
borne on the shoulders of his vassals to his castle of
Coningsburgh, to be there deposited in the grave of Hengist, from
whom the deceased derived his long descent. Many of his vassals
had assembled at the news of his death, and followed the bier
with all the external marks, at least, of dejection and sorrow.
Again the outlaws arose, and paid the same rude and spontaneous
homage to death, which they had so lately rendered to beauty
---the slow chant and mournful step of the priests brought back
to their remembrance such of their comrades as had fallen in the
yesterday's array. But such recollections dwell not long with
those who lead a life of danger and enterprise, and ere the sound
of the death-hymn had died on the wind, the outlaws were again
busied in the distribution of their spoil.
"Valiant knight," said Locksley to the Black Champion, "without
whose good heart and mighty arm our enterprise must altogether
have failed, will it please you to take from that mass of spoil
whatever may best serve to pleasure you, and to remind you of
this my Trysting-tree?"
"I accept the offer," said the Knight, "as frankly as it is
given; and I ask permission to dispose of Sir Maurice de Bracy at
my own pleasure."
"He is thine already," said Locksley, "and well for him! else the
tyrant had graced the highest bough of this oak, with as many of
his Free-Companions as we could gather, hanging thick as acorns
around him.---But he is thy prisoner, and he is safe, though he
had slain my father."
"De Bracy," said the Knight, "thou art free---depart. He whose
prisoner thou art scorns to take mean revenge for what is past.
But beware of the future, lest a worse thing befall thee.
---Maurice de Bracy, I say BEWARE!"
De Bracy bowed low and in silence, and was about to withdraw,
when the yeomen burst at once into a shout of execration and
derision. The proud knight instantly stopped, turned back,
folded his arms, drew up his form to its full height, and
exclaimed, "Peace, ye yelping curs! who open upon a cry which ye
followed not when the stag was at bay---De Bracy scorns your
censure as he would disdain your applause. To your brakes and
caves, ye outlawed thieves! and be silent when aught knightly or
noble is but spoken within a league of your fox-earths."
This ill-timed defiance might have procured for De Bracy a volley
of arrows, but for the hasty and imperative interference of the
outlaw Chief. Meanwhile the knight caught a horse by the rein,
for several which had been taken in the stables of Front-de-Boeuf
stood accoutred around, and were a valuable part of the booty.
He threw himself upon the saddle, and galloped off through the
wood.
When the bustle occasioned by this incident was somewhat
composed, the chief Outlaw took from his neck the rich horn and
baldric which he had recently gained at the strife of archery
near Ashby.
"Noble knight." he said to him of the Fetterlock, "if you disdain
not to grace by your acceptance a bugle which an English yeoman
has once worn, this I will pray you to keep as a memorial of your
gallant bearing---and if ye have aught to do, and, as happeneth
oft to a gallant knight, ye chance to be hard bested in any
forest between Trent and Tees, wind three mots*
* The notes upon the bugle were anciently called mots, and
* are distinguished in the old treatises on hunting, not by
* musical characters, but by written words.
upon the horn thus, 'Wa-sa-hoa!' and it may well chance ye shall
find helpers and rescue."
He then gave breath to the bugle, and winded once and again the
call which be described, until the knight had caught the notes.
"Gramercy for the gift, bold yeoman," said the Knight; "and
better help than thine and thy rangers would I never seek, were
it at my utmost need." And then in his turn he winded the call
till all the greenwood rang.
"Well blown and clearly," said the yeoman; "beshrew me an thou
knowest not as much of woodcraft as of war!---thou hast been a
striker of deer in thy day, I warrant.---Comrades, mark these
three mots---it is the call of the Knight of the Fetterlock; and
he who hears it, and hastens not to serve him at his need, I will
have him scourged out of our band with his own bowstring."
"Long live our leader!" shouted the yeomen, "and long live the
Black Knight of the Fetterlock!---May he soon use our service, to
prove how readily it will be paid."
Locksley now proceeded to the distribution of the spoil, which he
performed with the most laudable impartiality. A tenth part of
the whole was set apart for the church, and for pious uses; a
portion was next allotted to a sort of public treasury; a part
was assigned to the widows and children of those who had fallen,
or to be expended in masses for the souls of such as had left no
surviving family. The rest was divided amongst the outlaws,
according to their rank and merit, and the judgment of the Chief,
on all such doubtful questions as occurred, was delivered with
great shrewdness, and received with absolute submission. The
Black Knight was not a little surprised to find that men, in a
state so lawless, were nevertheless among themselves so regularly
and equitably governed, and all that he observed added to his
opinion of the justice and judgment of their leader.
When each had taken his own proportion of the booty, and while
the treasurer, accompanied by four tall yeomen, was transporting
that belonging to the state to some place of concealment or of
security, the portion devoted to the church still remained
unappropriated.
"I would," said the leader, "we could hear tidings of our joyous
chaplain---he was never wont to be absent when meat was to be
blessed, or spoil to be parted; and it is his duty to take care
of these the tithes of our successful enterprise. It may be the
office has helped to cover some of his canonical irregularities.
Also, I have a holy brother of his a prisoner at no great
distance, and I would fain have the Friar to help me to deal with
him in due sort---I greatly misdoubt the safety of the bluff
priest."
"I were right sorry for that," said the Knight of the Fetterlock,
"for I stand indebted to him for the joyous hospitality of a
merry night in his cell. Let us to the ruins of the castle; it
may be we shall there learn some tidings of him."
While they thus spoke, a loud shout among the yeomen announced
the arrival of him for whom they feared, as they learned from
the stentorian voice of the Friar himself, long before they saw
his burly person.
"Make room, my merry-men!" he exclaimed; "room for your godly
father and his prisoner---Cry welcome once more.---I come, noble
leader, like an eagle with my prey in my clutch."---And making
his way through the ring, amidst the laughter of all around, he
appeared in majestic triumph, his huge partisan in one hand, and
in the other a halter, one end of which was fastened to the neck
of the unfortunate Isaac of York, who, bent down by sorrow and
terror, was dragged on by the victorious priest, who shouted
aloud, "Where is Allan-a-Dale, to chronicle me in a ballad, or if
it were but a lay?---By Saint Hermangild, the jingling crowder is
ever out of the way where there is an apt theme for exalting
valour!"
"Curtal Priest," said the Captain, "thou hast been at a wet mass
this morning, as early as it is. In the name of Saint Nicholas,
whom hast thou got here?"
"A captive to my sword and to my lance, noble Captain," replied
the Clerk of Copmanhurst; "to my bow and to my halberd, I should
rather say; and yet I have redeemed him by my divinity from a
worse captivity. Speak, Jew---have I not ransomed thee from
Sathanas?---have I not taught thee thy 'credo', thy 'pater', and
thine 'Ave Maria'?---Did I not spend the whole night in drinking
to thee, and in expounding of mysteries?"
"For the love of God!" ejaculated the poor Jew, "will no one take
me out of the keeping of this mad---I mean this holy man?"
"How's this, Jew?" said the Friar, with a menacing aspect; "dost
thou recant, Jew?---Bethink thee, if thou dost relapse into thine
infidelity, though thou are not so tender as a suckling pig---I
would I had one to break my fast upon---thou art not too tough to
be roasted! Be conformable, Isaac, and repeat the words after
me. 'Ave Maria'!---"
"Nay, we will have no profanation, mad Priest," said Locksley;
"let us rather hear where you found this prisoner of thine."
"By Saint Dunstan," said the Friar, "I found him where I sought
for better ware! I did step into the cellarage to see what might
be rescued there; for though a cup of burnt wine, with spice, be
an evening's drought for an emperor, it were waste, methought, to
let so much good liquor be mulled at once; and I had caught up
one runlet of sack, and was coming to call more aid among these
lazy knaves, who are ever to seek when a good deed is to be done,
when I was avised of a strong door---Aha! thought I, here is the
choicest juice of all in this secret crypt; and the knave butler,
being disturbed in his vocation, hath left the key in the door
---In therefore I went, and found just nought besides a commodity
of rusted chains and this dog of a Jew, who presently rendered
himself my prisoner, rescue or no rescue. I did but refresh
myself after the fatigue of the action, with the unbeliever, with
one humming cup of sack, and was proceeding to lead forth my
captive, when, crash after crash, as with wild thunder-dint and
levin-fire, down toppled the masonry of an outer tower, (marry
beshrew their hands that built it not the firmer!) and blocked up
the passage. The roar of one falling tower followed another---I
gave up thought of life; and deeming it a dishonour to one of my
profession to pass out of this world in company with a Jew, I
heaved up my halberd to beat his brains out; but I took pity on
his grey hairs, and judged it better to lay down the partisan,
and take up my spiritual weapon for his conversion. And truly,
by the blessing of Saint Dunstan, the seed has been sown in good
soil; only that, with speaking to him of mysteries through the
whole night, and being in a manner fasting, (for the few
droughts of sack which I sharpened my wits with were not worth
marking,) my head is well-nigh dizzied, I trow.---But I was clean
exhausted.---Gilbert and Wibbald know in what state they found me
---quite and clean exhausted."
"We can bear witness," said Gilbert; "for when we had cleared
away the ruin, and by Saint Dunstan's help lighted upon the
dungeon stair, we found the runlet of sack half empty, the Jew
half dead, and the Friar more than half---exhausted, as he calls
it."
"Ye be knaves! ye lie!" retorted the offended Friar; "it was you
and your gormandizing companions that drank up the sack, and
called it your morning draught---I am a pagan, an I kept it not
for the Captain's own throat. But what recks it? The Jew is
converted, and understands all I have told him, very nearly, if
not altogether, as well as myself."
"Jew," said the Captain, "is this true? hast thou renounced thine
unbelief?"
"May I so find mercy in your eyes," said the Jew, "as I know not
one word which the reverend prelate spake to me all this fearful
night. Alas! I was so distraught with agony, and fear, and
grief, that had our holy father Abraham come to preach to me, he
had found but a deaf listener."
"Thou liest, Jew, and thou knowest thou dost." said the Friar; "I
will remind thee of but one word of our conference---thou didst
promise to give all thy substance to our holy Order."
"So help me the Promise, fair sirs," said Isaac, even more
alarmed than before, "as no such sounds ever crossed my lips!
Alas! I am an aged beggar'd man---I fear me a childless---have
ruth on me, and let me go!"
"Nay," said the Friar, "if thou dost retract vows made in favour
of holy Church, thou must do penance."
Accordingly, he raised his halberd, and would have laid the staff
of it lustily on the Jew's shoulders, had not the Black Knight
stopped the blow, and thereby transferred the Holy Clerk's
resentment to himself.
"By Saint Thomas of Kent," said he, "an I buckle to my gear, I
will teach thee, sir lazy lover, to mell with thine own matters,
maugre thine iron case there!"
"Nay, be not wroth with me," said the Knight; "thou knowest I am
thy sworn friend and comrade."
"I know no such thing," answered the Friar; "and defy thee for a
meddling coxcomb!"
"Nay, but," said the Knight, who seemed to take a pleasure in
provoking his quondam host, "hast thou forgotten how, that for my
sake (for I say nothing of the temptation of the flagon and the
pasty) thou didst break thy vow of fast and vigil?"
"Truly, friend," said the Friar, clenching his huge fist, "I will
bestow a buffet on thee."
"I accept of no such presents," said the Knight; "I am content to
take thy cuff*
* Note H. Richard Coeur-de-Lion.
as a loan, but I will repay thee with usury as deep as ever thy
prisoner there exacted in his traffic."
"I will prove that presently," said the Friar.
"Hola!" cried the Captain, "what art thou after, mad Friar?
brawling beneath our Trysting-tree?"
"No brawling," said the Knight, "it is but a friendly interchange
of courtesy.---Friar, strike an thou darest---I will stand thy
blow, if thou wilt stand mine."
"Thou hast the advantage with that iron pot on thy head," said
the churchman; "but have at thee---Down thou goest, an thou wert
Goliath of Gath in his brazen helmet."
The Friar bared his brawny arm up to the elbow, and putting his
full strength to the blow, gave the Knight a buffet that might
have felled an ox. But his adversary stood firm as a rock. A
loud shout was uttered by all the yeomen around; for the Clerk's
cuff was proverbial amongst them, and there were few who, in jest
or earnest, had not had the occasion to know its vigour.
"Now, Priest," said, the Knight, pulling off his gauntlet, "if I
had vantage on my head, I will have none on my hand---stand fast
as a true man."
"'Genam meam dedi vapulatori'---I have given my cheek to the
smiter," said the Priest; "an thou canst stir me from the spot,
fellow, I will freely bestow on thee the Jew's ransom."
So spoke the burly Priest, assuming, on his part, high defiance.
But who may resist his fate? The buffet of the Knight was given
with such strength and good-will, that the Friar rolled head over
heels upon the plain, to the great amazement of all the
spectators. But he arose neither angry nor crestfallen.
"Brother," said he to the Knight, "thou shouldst have used thy
strength with more discretion. I had mumbled but a lame mass an
thou hadst broken my jaw, for the piper plays ill that wants the
nether chops. Nevertheless, there is my hand, in friendly
witness, that I will exchange no more cuffs with thee, having
been a loser by the barter. End now all unkindness. Let us put
the Jew to ransom, since the leopard will not change his spots,
and a Jew he will continue to be."
"The Priest," said Clement, "is not have so confident of the
Jew's conversion, since he received that buffet on the ear."
"Go to, knave, what pratest thou of conversions?---what, is there
no respect?---all masters and no men?---I tell thee, fellow, I
was somewhat totty when I received the good knight's blow, or I
had kept my ground under it. But an thou gibest more of it, thou
shalt learn I can give as well as take."
"Peace all!" said the Captain. "And thou, Jew, think of thy
ransom; thou needest not to be told that thy race are held to be
accursed in all Christian communities, and trust me that we
cannot endure thy presence among us. Think, therefore, of an
offer, while I examine a prisoner of another cast."
"Were many of Front-de-Boeuf's men taken?" demanded the Black
Knight.
"None of note enough to be put to ransom," answered the Captain;
"a set of hilding fellows there were, whom we dismissed to find
them a new master---enough had been done for revenge and profit;
the bunch of them were not worth a cardecu. The prisoner I speak
of is better booty---a jolly monk riding to visit his leman, an I
may judge by his horse-gear and wearing apparel.---Here cometh
the worthy prelate, as pert as a pyet." And, between two yeomen,
was brought before the silvan throne of the outlaw Chief, our old
friend, Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx.
CHAPTER XXXIII
------Flower of warriors,
How is't with Titus Lartius?
MARCIUS.--As with a man busied about decrees,
Condemning some to death and some to exile,
Ransoming him or pitying, threatening the other.
Coriolanus
The captive Abbot's features and manners exhibited a whimsical
mixture of offended pride, and deranged foppery and bodily
terror.
"Why, how now, my masters?" said he, with a voice in which all
three emotions were blended. "What order is this among ye? Be
ye Turks or Christians, that handle a churchman?---Know ye what
it is, 'manus imponere in servos Domini'? Ye have plundered my
mails---torn my cope of curious cut lace, which might have served
a cardinal!---Another in my place would have been at his
'excommunicabo vos'; but I am placible, and if ye order forth my
palfreys, release my brethren, and restore my mails, tell down
with all speed an hundred crowns to be expended in masses at the
high altar of Jorvaulx Abbey, and make your vow to eat no venison
until next Pentecost, it may be you shall hear little more of
this mad frolic."
"Holy Father," said the chief Outlaw, "it grieves me to think
that you have met with such usage from any of my followers, as
calls for your fatherly reprehension."
"Usage!" echoed the priest, encouraged by the mild tone of the
silvan leader; "it were usage fit for no hound of good race
---much less for a Christian---far less for a priest---and least
of all for the Prior of the holy community of Jorvaulx. Here is
a profane and drunken minstrel, called Allan-a-Dale---'nebulo
quidam'---who has menaced me with corporal punishment---nay, with
death itself, an I pay not down four hundred crowns of ransom, to
the boot of all the treasure he hath already robbed me of---gold
chains and gymmal rings to an unknown value; besides what is
broken and spoiled among their rude hands, such as my pouncer-box
and silver crisping-tongs."
"It is impossible that Allan-a-Dale can have thus treated a man
of your reverend bearing," replied the Captain.
"It is true as the gospel of Saint Nicodemus," said the Prior;
"he swore, with many a cruel north-country oath, that he would
hang me up on the highest tree in the greenwood."
"Did he so in very deed? Nay, then, reverend father, I think you
had better comply with his demands---for Allan-a-Dale is the very
man to abide by his word when he has so pledged it." *
* A commissary is said to have received similar consolation
* from a certain Commander-in-chief, to whom he complained
* that a general officer had used some such threat towards
* him as that in the text.
"You do but jest with me," said the astounded Prior, with a
forced laugh; "and I love a good jest with all my heart. But,
ha! ha! ha! when the mirth has lasted the livelong night, it is
time to be grave in the morning."
"And I am as grave as a father confessor," replied the Outlaw;
"you must pay a round ransom, Sir Prior, or your convent is
likely to be called to a new election; for your place will know
you no more."
"Are ye Christians," said the Prior, "and hold this language to a
churchman?"
"Christians! ay, marry are we, and have divinity among us to
boot," answered the Outlaw. "Let our buxom chaplain stand forth,
and expound to this reverend father the texts which concern this
matter."
The Friar, half-drunk, half-sober, had huddled a friar's frock
over his green cassock, and now summoning together whatever
scraps of learning he had acquired by rote in former days, "Holy
father," said he, "'Deus faciat salvam benignitatem vestram'
---You are welcome to the greenwood."
"What profane mummery is this?" said the Prior. "Friend, if thou
be'st indeed of the church, it were a better deed to show me how
I may escape from these men's hands, than to stand ducking and
grinning here like a morris-dancer."
"Truly, reverend father," said the Friar, "I know but one mode in
which thou mayst escape. This is Saint Andrew's day with us, we
are taking our tithes."
"But not of the church, then, I trust, my good brother?" said the
Prior.
"Of church and lay," said the Friar; "and therefore, Sir Prior
'facite vobis amicos de Mammone iniquitatis'---make yourselves
friends of the Mammon of unrighteousness, for no other friendship
is like to serve your turn."
"I love a jolly woodsman at heart," said the Prior, softening his
tone; "come, ye must not deal too hard with me---I can well of
woodcraft, and can wind a horn clear and lustily, and hollo till
every oak rings again---Come, ye must not deal too hard with me."
"Give him a horn," said the Outlaw; "we will prove the skill he
boasts of."
The Prior Aymer winded a blast accordingly. The Captain shook
his head.
"Sir Prior," he said, "thou blowest a merry note, but it may not
ransom thee---we cannot afford, as the legend on a good knight's
shield hath it, to set thee free for a blast. Moreover, I have
found thee---thou art one of those, who, with new French graces
and Tra-li-ras, disturb the ancient English bugle notes.---Prior,
that last flourish on the recheat hath added fifty crowns to thy
ransom, for corrupting the true old manly blasts of venerie."
"Well, friend," said the Abbot, peevishly, "thou art ill to
please with thy woodcraft. I pray thee be more conformable in
this matter of my ransom. At a word---since I must needs, for
once, hold a candle to the devil---what ransom am I to pay for
walking on Watling-street, without having fifty men at my back?"
"Were it not well," said the Lieutenant of the gang apart to the
Captain, "that the Prior should name the Jew's ransom, and the
Jew name the Prior's?"
"Thou art a mad knave," said the Captain, "but thy plan
transcends!---Here, Jew, step forth---Look at that holy Father
Aymer, Prior of the rich Abbey of Jorvaulx, and tell us at what
ransom we should hold him?---Thou knowest the income of his
convent, I warrant thee."
"O, assuredly," said Isaac. "I have trafficked with the good
fathers, and bought wheat and barley, and fruits of the earth,
and also much wool. O, it is a rich abbey-stede, and they do
live upon the fat, and drink the sweet wines upon the lees, these
good fathers of Jorvaulx. Ah, if an outcast like me had such a
home to go to, and such incomings by the year and by the month, I
would pay much gold and silver to redeem my captivity."
"Hound of a Jew!" exclaimed the Prior, "no one knows better than
thy own cursed self, that our holy house of God is indebted for
the finishing of our chancel---"
"And for the storing of your cellars in the last season with the
due allowance of Gascon wine," interrupted the Jew; "but that
---that is small matters."
"Hear the infidel dog!" said the churchman; "he jangles as if our
holy community did come under debts for the wines we have a
license to drink, 'propter necessitatem, et ad frigus
depellendum'. The circumcised villain blasphemeth the holy
church, and Christian men listen and rebuke him not!"
"All this helps nothing," said the leader.---"Isaac, pronounce
what he may pay, without flaying both hide and hair."
"An six hundred crowns," said Isaac, "the good Prior might well
pay to your honoured valours, and never sit less soft in his
stall."
"Six hundred crowns," said the leader, gravely; "I am contented
---thou hast well spoken, Isaac---six hundred crowns.---It is a
sentence, Sir Prior."
"A sentence!---a sentence!" exclaimed the band; "Solomon had not
done it better."
"Thou hearest thy doom, Prior," said the leader.
"Ye are mad, my masters," said the Prior; "where am I to find
such a sum? If I sell the very pyx and candlesticks on the altar
at Jorvaulx, I shall scarce raise the half; and it will be
necessary for that purpose that I go to Jorvaulx myself; ye may
retain as borrows*
* Borghs, or borrows, signifies pledges. Hence our word to
* borrow, because we pledge ourselves to restore what is
* lent.
my two priests."
"That will be but blind trust," said the Outlaw; "we will retain
thee, Prior, and send them to fetch thy ransom. Thou shalt not
want a cup of wine and a collop of venison the while; and if thou
lovest woodcraft, thou shalt see such as your north country never
witnessed."
"Or, if so please you," said Isaac, willing to curry favour with
the outlaws, "I can send to York for the six hundred crowns, out
of certain monies in my hands, if so be that the most reverend
Prior present will grant me a quittance."
"He shall grant thee whatever thou dost list, Isaac," said the
Captain; "and thou shalt lay down the redemption money for Prior
Aymer as well as for thyself."
"For myself! ah, courageous sirs," said the Jew, "I am a broken
and impoverished man; a beggar's staff must be my portion through
life, supposing I were to pay you fifty crowns."
"The Prior shall judge of that matter," replied the Captain.
---"How say you, Father Aymer? Can the Jew afford a good
ransom?"
"Can he afford a ransom?" answered the Prior "Is he not Isaac of
York, rich enough to redeem the captivity of the ten tribes of
Israel, who were led into Assyrian bondage?---I have seen but
little of him myself, but our cellarer and treasurer have dealt
largely with him, and report says that his house at York is so
full of gold and silver as is a shame in any Christian land.
Marvel it is to all living Christian hearts that such gnawing
adders should be suffered to eat into the bowels of the state,
and even of the holy church herself, with foul usuries and
extortions."
"Hold, father," said the Jew, "mitigate and assuage your choler.
I pray of your reverence to remember that I force my monies upon
no one. But when churchman and layman, prince and prior, knight
and priest, come knocking to Isaac's door, they borrow not his
shekels with these uncivil terms. It is then, Friend Isaac, will
you pleasure us in this matter, and our day shall be truly kept,
so God sa' me?---and Kind Isaac, if ever you served man, show
yourself a friend in this need! And when the day comes, and I
ask my own, then what hear I but Damned Jew, and The curse of
Egypt on your tribe, and all that may stir up the rude and
uncivil populace against poor strangers!"
"Prior," said the Captain, "Jew though he be, he hath in this
spoken well. Do thou, therefore, name his ransom, as he named
thine, without farther rude terms."
"None but 'latro famosus'---the interpretation whereof," said the
Prior, "will I give at some other time and tide---would place a
Christian prelate and an unbaptized Jew upon the same bench. But
since ye require me to put a price upon this caitiff, I tell you
openly that ye will wrong yourselves if you take from him a penny
under a thousand crowns."
"A sentence!---a sentence!" exclaimed the chief Outlaw.
"A sentence!---a sentence!" shouted his assessors; "the Christian
has shown his good nurture, and dealt with us more generously
than the Jew."
"The God of my fathers help me!" said the Jew; "will ye bear to
the ground an impoverished creature?---I am this day childless,
and will ye deprive me of the means of livelihood?"
"Thou wilt have the less to provide for, Jew, if thou art
childless," said Aymer.
"Alas! my lord," said Isaac, "your law permits you not to know
how the child of our bosom is entwined with the strings of our
heart---O Rebecca! laughter of my beloved Rachel! were each leaf
on that tree a zecchin, and each zecchin mine own, all that mass
of wealth would I give to know whether thou art alive, and
escaped the hands of the Nazarene!"
"Was not thy daughter dark-haired?" said one of the outlaws; "and
wore she not a veil of twisted sendal, broidered with silver?"
"She did!---she did!" said the old man, trembling with eagerness,
as formerly with fear. "The blessing of Jacob be upon thee!
canst thou tell me aught of her safety?"
"It was she, then," said the yeoman, "who was carried off by the
proud Templar, when he broke through our ranks on yester-even.
I had drawn my bow to send a shaft after him, but spared him even
for the sake of the damsel, who I feared might take harm from the
arrow."
"Oh!" answered the Jew, "I would to God thou hadst shot, though
the arrow had pierced her bosom!---Better the tomb of her fathers
than the dishonourable couch of the licentious and savage
Templar. Ichabod! Ichabod! the glory hath departed from my
house!"
"Friends," said the Chief, looking round, "the
old man is but a Jew, natheless his grief touches me.---Deal
uprightly with us, Isaac---will paying this ransom of a thousand
crowns leave thee altogether penniless?"
Isaac, recalled to think of his worldly goods, the love of which,
by dint of inveterate habit, contended even with his parental
affection, grew pale, stammered, and could not deny there might
be some small surplus.
"Well---go to---what though there be," said the Outlaw, "we will
not reckon with thee too closely. Without treasure thou mayst as
well hope to redeem thy child from the clutches of Sir Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, as to shoot a stag-royal with a headless shaft.
---We will take thee at the same ransom with Prior Aymer, or
rather at one hundred crowns lower, which hundred crowns shall be
mine own peculiar loss, and not light upon this worshipful
community; and so we shall avoid the heinous offence of rating a
Jew merchant as high as a Christian prelate, and thou wilt have
six hundred crowns remaining to treat for thy daughter's ransom.
Templars love the glitter of silver shekels as well as the
sparkle of black eyes.---Hasten to make thy crowns chink in the
ear of De Bois-Guilbert, ere worse comes of it. Thou wilt find
him, as our scouts have brought notice, at the next Preceptory
house of his Order.---Said I well, my merry mates?"
The yeomen expressed their wonted acquiescence in their leader's
opinion; and Isaac, relieved of one half of his apprehensions, by
learning that his daughter lived, and might possibly be ransomed,
threw himself at the feet of the generous Outlaw, and, rubbing
his beard against his buskins, sought to kiss the hem of his
green cassock. The Captain drew himself back, and extricated
himself from the Jew's grasp, not without some marks of contempt.
"Nay, beshrew thee, man, up with thee! I am English born, and
love no such Eastern prostrations---Kneel to God, and not to a
poor sinner, like me."
"Ay, Jew," said Prior Aymer; "kneel to God, as represented in the
servant of his altar, and who knows, with thy sincere repentance
and due gifts to the shrine of Saint Robert, what grace thou
mayst acquire for thyself and thy daughter Rebecca? I grieve for
the maiden, for she is of fair and comely countenance,---I beheld
her in the lists of Ashby. Also Brian de Bois-Guilbert is one
with whom I may do much---bethink thee how thou mayst deserve my
good word with him."
"Alas! alas!" said the Jew, "on every hand the spoilers arise
against me---I am given as a prey unto the Assyrian, and a prey
unto him of Egypt."
"And what else should be the lot of thy accursed race?" answered
the Prior; "for what saith holy writ, 'verbum Domini projecerunt,
et sapientia est nulla in eis'---they have cast forth the word of
the Lord, and there is no wisdom in them; 'propterea dabo
mulieres eorum exteris'---I will give their women to strangers,
that is to the Templar, as in the present matter; 'et thesauros
eorum haeredibus alienis', and their treasures to others---as in
the present case to these honest gentlemen."
Isaac groaned deeply, and began to wring his hands, and to
relapse into his state of desolation and despair. But the leader
of the yeomen led him aside.
"Advise thee well, Isaac," said Locksley, "what thou wilt do in
this matter; my counsel to thee is to make a friend of this
churchman. He is vain, Isaac, and he is covetous; at least he
needs money to supply his profusion. Thou canst easily gratify
his greed; for think not that I am blinded by thy pretexts of
poverty. I am intimately acquainted, Isaac, with the very iron
chest in which thou dost keep thy money-bags---What! know I not
the great stone beneath the apple-tree, that leads into the
vaulted chamber under thy garden at York?" The Jew grew as pale
as death---"But fear nothing from me," continued the yeoman, "for
we are of old acquainted. Dost thou not remember the sick yeoman
whom thy fair daughter Rebecca redeemed from the gyves at York,
and kept him in thy house till his health was restored, when thou
didst dismiss him recovered, and with a piece of money?---Usurer
as thou art, thou didst never place coin at better interest than
that poor silver mark, for it has this day saved thee five
hundred crowns."
"And thou art he whom we called Diccon Bend-the-Bow?" said Isaac;
"I thought ever I knew the accent of thy voice."
"I am Bend-the-Bow," said the Captain, "and Locksley, and have a
good name besides all these."
"But thou art mistaken, good Bend-the-Bow, concerning that same
vaulted apartment. So help me Heaven, as there is nought in it
but some merchandises which I will gladly part with to you---one
hundred yards of Lincoln green to make doublets to thy men, and a
hundred staves of Spanish yew to make bows, and a hundred silken
bowstrings, tough, round, and sound---these will I send thee for
thy good-will, honest Diccon, an thou wilt keep silence about the
vault, my good Diccon."
"Silent as a dormouse," said the Outlaw; "and never trust me but
I am grieved for thy daughter. But I may not help it---The
Templars lances are too strong for my archery in the open field
---they would scatter us like dust. Had I but known it was
Rebecca when she was borne off, something might have been done;
but now thou must needs proceed by policy. Come, shall I treat
for thee with the Prior?"
"In God's name, Diccon, an thou canst, aid me to recover the
child of my bosom!"
"Do not thou interrupt me with thine ill-timed avarice," said the
Outlaw, "and I will deal with him in thy behalf."
He then turned from the Jew, who followed him, however, as
closely as his shadow.
"Prior Aymer," said the Captain, "come apart with me under this
tree. Men say thou dost love wine, and a lady's smile, better
than beseems thy Order, Sir Priest; but with that I have nought
to do. I have heard, too, thou dost love a brace of good dogs
and a fleet horse, and it may well be that, loving things which
are costly to come by, thou hatest not a purse of gold. But I
have never heard that thou didst love oppression or cruelty.
---Now, here is Isaac willing to give thee the means of pleasure
and pastime in a bag containing one hundred marks of silver, if
thy intercession with thine ally the Templar shall avail to
procure the freedom of his daughter."
"In safety and honour, as when taken from me," said the Jew,
"otherwise it is no bargain."
"Peace, Isaac," said the Outlaw, "or I give up thine interest.
---What say you to this my purpose, Prior Aymer?"
"The matter," quoth the Prior, "is of a mixed condition; for, if
I do a good deal on the one hand, yet, on the other, it goeth to
the vantage of a Jew, and in so much is against my conscience.
Yet, if the Israelite will advantage the Church by giving me
somewhat over to the building of our dortour,*
* "Dortour", or dormitory.
I will take it on my conscience to aid him in the matter of his
daughter."
"For a score of marks to the dortour," said the Outlaw,---"Be
still, I say, Isaac!---or for a brace of silver candlesticks to
the altar, we will not stand with you."
"Nay, but, good Diccon Bend-the-Bow"---said Isaac, endeavouring
to interpose.
"Good Jew---good beast---good earthworm!" said the yeoman, losing
patience; "an thou dost go on to put thy filthy lucre in the
balance with thy daughter's life and honour, by Heaven, I will
strip thee of every maravedi thou hast in the world, before three
days are out!"
Isaac shrunk together, and was silent.
"And what pledge am I to have for all this?" said the Prior.
"When Isaac returns successful through your mediation," said the
Outlaw, "I swear by Saint Hubert, I will see that he pays thee
the money in good silver, or I will reckon with him for it in
such sort, he had better have paid twenty such sums."
"Well then, Jew," said Aymer, "since I must needs meddle in this
matter, let me have the use of thy writing-tablets---though, hold
---rather than use thy pen, I would fast for twenty-four hours,
and where shall I find one?"
"If your holy scruples can dispense with using the Jew's tablets,
for the pen I can find a remedy," said the yeoman; and, bending
his bow, he aimed his shaft at a wild-goose which was soaring
over their heads, the advanced-guard of a phalanx of his tribe,
which were winging their way to the distant and solitary fens of
Holderness. The bird came fluttering down, transfixed with the
arrow.
"There, Prior," said the Captain, "are quills enow to supply all
the monks of Jorvaulx for the next hundred years, an they take
not to writing chronicles."
The Prior sat down, and at great leisure indited an epistle to
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and having carefully sealed up the
tablets, delivered them to the Jew, saying, "This will be thy
safe-conduct to the Preceptory of Templestowe, and, as I think,
is most likely to accomplish the delivery of thy daughter, if it
be well backed with proffers of advantage and commodity at thine
own hand; for, trust me well, the good Knight Bois-Guilbert is of
their confraternity that do nought for nought."
"Well, Prior," said the Outlaw, "I will detain thee no longer
here than to give the Jew a quittance for the six hundred crowns
at which thy ransom is fixed---I accept of him for my pay-master;
and if I hear that ye boggle at allowing him in his accompts the
sum so paid by him, Saint Mary refuse me, an I burn not the abbey
over thine head, though I hang ten years the sooner!"
With a much worse grace than that wherewith he had penned the
letter to Bois-Guilbert, the Prior wrote an acquittance,
discharging Isaac of York of six hundred crowns, advanced to him
in his need for acquittal of his ransom, and faithfully promising
to hold true compt with him for that sum.
"And now," said Prior Aymer, "I will pray you of restitution of
my mules and palfreys, and the freedom of the reverend brethren
attending upon me, and also of the gymmal rings, jewels, and fair
vestures, of which I have been despoiled, having now satisfied
you for my ransom as a true prisoner."
"Touching your brethren, Sir Prior," said Locksley, "they shall
have present freedom, it were unjust to detain them; touching
your horses and mules, they shall also be restored, with such
spending-money as may enable you to reach York, for it were cruel
to deprive you of the means of journeying.---But as concerning
rings, jewels, chains, and what else, you must understand that we
are men of tender consciences, and will not yield to a venerable
man like yourself, who should be dead to the vanities of this
life, the strong temptation to break the rule of his foundation,
by wearing rings, chains, or other vain gauds."
"Think what you do, my masters," said the Prior, "ere you put
your hand on the Church's patrimony---These things are 'inter res
sacras', and I wot not what judgment might ensue were they to be
handled by laical hands."
"I will take care of that, reverend Prior," said the Hermit of
Copmanhurst; "for I will wear them myself."
"Friend, or brother," said the Prior, in answer to this solution
of his doubts, "if thou hast really taken religious orders, I
pray thee to look how thou wilt answer to thine official for the
share thou hast taken in this day's work."
"Friend Prior," returned the Hermit, "you are to know that I
belong to a little diocese, where I am my own diocesan, and care
as little for the Bishop of York as I do for the Abbot
of Jorvaulx, the Prior, and all the convent."
"Thou art utterly irregular," said the Prior; "one of those
disorderly men, who, taking on them the sacred character without
due cause, profane the holy rites, and endanger the souls of
those who take counsel at their hands; 'lapides pro pane
condonantes iis', giving them stones instead of bread as the
Vulgate hath it."
"Nay," said the Friar, "an my brain-pan could have been broken by
Latin, it had not held so long together.---I say, that easing a
world of such misproud priests as thou art of their jewels and
their gimcracks, is a lawful spoiling of the Egyptians."
"Thou be'st a hedge-priest,"*
* Note I. Hedge-Priests.
said the Prior, in great wrath, "'excommuicabo vos'."
"Thou best thyself more like a thief and a heretic," said the
Friar, equally indignant; "I will pouch up no such affront before
my parishioners, as thou thinkest it not shame to put upon me,
although I be a reverend brother to thee. 'Ossa ejus
perfringam', I will break your bones, as the Vulgate hath it."
"Hola!" cried the Captain, "come the reverend brethren to such
terms?---Keep thine assurance of peace, Friar.---Prior, an thou
hast not made thy peace perfect with God, provoke the Friar no
further.---Hermit, let the reverend father depart in peace, as a
ransomed man."
The yeomen separated the incensed priests, who continued to raise
their voices, vituperating each other in bad Latin, which the
Prior delivered the more fluently, and the Hermit with the
greater vehemence. The Prior at length recollected himself
sufficiently to be aware that he was compromising his dignity, by
squabbling with such a hedge-priest as the Outlaw's chaplain, and
being joined by his attendants, rode off with considerably less
pomp, and in a much more apostolical condition, so far as worldly
matters were concerned, than he had exhibited before this
rencounter.
It remained that the Jew should produce some security for the
ransom which he was to pay on the Prior's account, as well as
upon his own. He gave, accordingly, an order sealed with his
signet, to a brother of his tribe at York, requiring him to pay
to the bearer the sum of a thousand crowns, and to deliver
certain merchandises specified in the note.
"My brother Sheva," he said, groaning deeply, "hath the key of my
warehouses."
"And of the vaulted chamber," whispered Locksley.
"No, no---may Heaven forefend!" said Isaac; "evil is the hour
that let any one whomsoever into that secret!"
"It is safe with me," said the Outlaw, "so be that this thy
scroll produce the sum therein nominated and set down.---But what
now, Isaac? art dead? art stupefied? hath the payment of a
thousand crowns put thy daughter's peril out of thy mind?"
The Jew started to his feet---"No, Diccon, no---I will presently
set forth.---Farewell, thou whom I may not call good, and dare
not and will not call evil."
Yet ere Isaac departed, the Outlaw Chief bestowed on him this
parting advice:---"Be liberal of thine offers, Isaac, and spare
not thy purse for thy daughter's safety. Credit me, that the
gold thou shalt spare in her cause, will hereafter give thee as
much agony as if it were poured molten down thy throat."
Isaac acquiesced with a deep groan, and set forth on his journey,
accompanied by two tall foresters, who were to be his guides, and
at the same time his guards, through the wood.
The Black Knight, who had seen with no small interest these
various proceedings, now took his leave of the Outlaw in turn;
nor could he avoid expressing his surprise at having witnessed
so much of civil policy amongst persons cast out from all the
ordinary protection and influence of the laws.
"Good fruit, Sir Knight," said the yeoman, "will sometimes grow
on a sorry tree; and evil times are not always productive of evil
alone and unmixed. Amongst those who are drawn into this lawless
state, there are, doubtless, numbers who wish to exercise its
license with some moderation, and some who regret, it may be,
that they are obliged to follow such a trade at all."
"And to one of those," said the Knight, "I am now, I presume,
speaking?"
"Sir Knight," said the Outlaw, "we have each our secret. You are
welcome to form your judgment of me, and I may use my conjectures
touching you, though neither of our shafts may hit the mark they
are shot at. But as I do not pray to be admitted into your
mystery, be not offended that I preserve my own."
"I crave pardon, brave Outlaw," said the Knight, "your reproof is
just. But it may be we shall meet hereafter with less of
concealment on either side.---Meanwhile we part friends, do we
not?"
"There is my hand upon it," said Locksley; "and I will call it
the hand of a true Englishman, though an outlaw for the present."
"And there is mine in return," said the Knight, "and I hold it
honoured by being clasped with yours. For he that does good,
having the unlimited power to do evil, deserves praise not only
for the good which he performs, but for the evil which he
forbears. Fare thee well, gallant Outlaw!" Thus parted that
fair fellowship; and He of the Fetterlock, mounting upon his
strong war-horse, rode off through the forest.
CHAPTER XXXIV
KING JOHN.---I'll tell thee what, my friend,
He is a very serpent in my way;
And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lies before me.---Dost thou understand me?
King John
There was brave feasting in the Castle of York, to which Prince
John had invited those nobles, prelates, and leaders, by whose
assistance he hoped to carry through his ambitious projects upon
his brother's throne. Waldemar Fitzurse, his able and politic
agent, was at secret work among them, tempering all to that pitch
of courage which was necessary in making an open declaration of
their purpose. But their enterprise was delayed by the absence
of more than one main limb of the confederacy. The stubborn and
daring, though brutal courage of Front-de-Boeuf; the buoyant
spirits and bold bearing of De Bracy; the sagacity, martial
experience, and renowned valour of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, were
important to the success of their conspiracy; and, while cursing
in secret their unnecessary and unmeaning absence, neither John
nor his adviser dared to proceed without them. Isaac the Jew
also seemed to have vanished, and with him the hope of certain
sums of money, making up the subsidy for which Prince John had
contracted with that Israelite and his brethren. This deficiency
was likely to prove perilous in an emergency so critical.
It was on the morning after the fall of Torquilstone, that a
confused report began to spread abroad in the city of York, that
De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert, with their confederate
Front-de-Boeuf, had been taken or slain. Waldemar brought the
rumour to Prince John, announcing, that he feared its truth the
more that they had set out with a small attendance, for the
purpose of committing an assault on the Saxon Cedric and his
attendants. At another time the Prince would have treated this
deed of violence as a good jest; but now, that it interfered with
and impeded his own plans, he exclaimed against the perpetrators,
and spoke of the broken laws, and the infringement of public
order and of private property, in a tone which might have become
King Alfred.
"The unprincipled marauders," he said---"were I ever to become
monarch of England, I would hang such transgressors over the
drawbridges of their own castles."
"But to become monarch of England," said his Ahithophel coolly,
"it is necessary not only that your Grace should endure the
transgressions of these unprincipled marauders, but that you
should afford them your protection, notwithstanding your laudable
zeal for the laws they are in the habit of infringing. We shall
be finely helped, if the churl Saxons should have realized your
Grace's vision, of converting feudal drawbridges into gibbets;
and yonder bold-spirited Cedric seemeth one to whom such an
imagination might occur. Your Grace is well aware, it will be
dangerous to stir without Front-de-Boeuf, De Bracy, and the
Templar; and yet we have gone too far to recede with safety."
Prince John struck his forehead with impatience, and then began
to stride up and down the apartment.
"The villains," he said, "the base treacherous villains, to
desert me at this pinch!"
"Nay, say rather the feather-pated giddy madmen," said Waldemar,
"who must be toying with follies when such business was in hand."
"What is to be done?" said the Prince, stopping short before
Waldemar.
"I know nothing which can be done," answered his counsellor,
"save that which I have already taken order for.---I came not to
bewail this evil chance with your Grace, until I had done my best
to remedy it."
"Thou art ever my better angel, Waldemar," said the Prince; "and
when I have such a chancellor to advise withal, the reign of John
will be renowned in our annals.---What hast thou commanded?"
"I have ordered Louis Winkelbrand, De Bracy's lieutenant, to
cause his trumpet sound to horse, and to display his banner, and
to set presently forth towards the castle of Front-de-Boeuf, to
do what yet may be done for the succour of our friends."
Prince John's face flushed with the pride of a spoilt child, who
has undergone what it conceives to be an insult. "By the face of
God!" he said, "Waldemar Fitzurse, much hast thou taken upon
thee! and over malapert thou wert to cause trumpet to blow, or
banner to be raised, in a town where ourselves were in presence,
without our express command."
"I crave your Grace's pardon," said Fitzurse, internally cursing
the idle vanity of his patron; "but when time pressed, and even
the loss of minutes might be fatal, I judged it best to take this
much burden upon me, in a matter of such importance to your
Grace's interest."
"Thou art pardoned, Fitzurse," said the prince, gravely; "thy
purpose hath atoned for thy hasty rashness.---But whom have we
here?---De Bracy himself, by the rood!---and in strange guise
doth he come before us."
It was indeed De Bracy---"bloody with spurring, fiery red with
speed." His armour bore all the marks of the late obstinate
fray, being broken, defaced, and stained with blood in many
places, and covered with clay and dust from the crest to the
spur. Undoing his helmet, he placed it on the table, and stood a
moment as if to collect himself before be told his news.
"De Bracy," said Prince John, "what means this?---Speak, I
charge thee!---Are the Saxons in rebellion?"
"Speak, De Bracy," said Fitzurse, almost in the same moment with
his master, "thou wert wont to be a man---Where is the Templar?
---where Front-de-Boeuf?"
"The Templar is fled," said De Bracy; "Front-de-Boeuf you will
never see more. He has found a red grave among the blazing
rafters of his own castle and I alone am escaped to tell you."
"Cold news," said Waldemar, "to us, though you speak of fire and
conflagration."
"The worst news is not yet said," answered De Bracy; and, coming
up to Prince John, he uttered in a low and emphatic tone
---"Richard is in England---I have seen and spoken with him."
Prince John turned pale, tottered, and caught at the back of an
oaken bench to support himself---much like to a man who receives
an arrow in his bosom.
"Thou ravest, De Bracy," said Fitzurse, "it cannot be."
"It is as true as truth itself," said De Bracy; "I was his
prisoner, and spoke with him."
"With Richard Plantagenet, sayest thou?" continued Fitzurse.
"With Richard Plantagenet," replied De Bracy, "with Richard
Coeur-de-Lion---with Richard of England."
"And thou wert his prisoner?" said Waldemar; "he is then at the
head of a power?"
"No---only a few outlawed yeomen were around him, and to these
his person is unknown. I heard him say he was about to depart
from them. He joined them only to assist at the storming of
Torquilstone."
"Ay," said Fitzurse, "such is indeed the fashion of Richard
---a true knight-errant he, and will wander in wild adventure,
trusting the prowess of his single arm, like any Sir Guy or Sir
Bevis, while the weighty affairs of his kingdom slumber, and his
own safety is endangered.---What dost thou propose to do De
Bracy?"
"I?---I offered Richard the service of my Free Lances, and he
refused them---I will lead them to Hull, seize on shipping, and
embark for Flanders; thanks to the bustling times, a man of
action will always find employment. And thou, Waldemar, wilt
thou take lance and shield, and lay down thy policies, and wend
along with me, and share the fate which God sends us?"
"I am too old, Maurice, and I have a daughter," answered
Waldemar.
"Give her to me, Fitzurse, and I will maintain her as fits her
rank, with the help of lance and stirrup," said De Bracy.
"Not so," answered Fitzurse; "I will take sanctuary in this
church of Saint Peter---the Archbishop is my sworn brother."
During this discourse, Prince John had gradually awakened from
the stupor into which he had been thrown by the unexpected
intelligence, and had been attentive to the conversation which
passed betwixt his followers. "They fall off from me," he said
to himself, "they hold no more by me than a withered leaf by the
bough when a breeze blows on it?---Hell and fiends! can I shape
no means for myself when I am deserted by these cravens?"---He
paused, and there was an expression of diabolical passion in the
constrained laugh with which he at length broke in on their
conversation.
"Ha, ha, ha! my good lords, by the light of Our Lady's brow, I
held ye sage men, bold men, ready-witted men; yet ye throw down
wealth, honour, pleasure, all that our noble game promised you,
at the moment it might be won by one bold cast!"
"I understand you not," said De Bracy. "As soon as Richard's
return is blown abroad, he will be at the head of an army, and
all is then over with us. I would counsel you, my lord, either
to fly to France or take the protection of the Queen Mother."
"I seek no safety for myself," said Prince John, haughtily; "that
I could secure by a word spoken to my brother. But although you,
De Bracy, and you, Waldemar Fitzurse, are so ready to abandon me,
I should not greatly delight to see your heads blackening on
Clifford's gate yonder. Thinkest thou, Waldemar, that the wily
Archbishop will not suffer thee to be taken from the very horns
of the altar, would it make his peace with King Richard? And
forgettest thou, De Bracy, that Robert Estoteville lies betwixt
thee and Hull with all his forces, and that the Earl of Essex is
gathering his followers? If we had reason to fear these levies
even before Richard's return, trowest thou there is any doubt now
which party their leaders will take? Trust me, Estoteville alone
has strength enough to drive all thy Free Lances into the
Humber."---Waldemar Fitzurse and De Bracy looked in each other's
faces with blank dismay.---"There is but one road to safety,"
continued the Prince, and his brow grew black as midnight; "this
object of our terror journeys alone---He must be met withal."
"Not by me," said De Bracy, hastily; "I was his prisoner, and he
took me to mercy. I will not harm a feather in his crest."
"Who spoke of harming him?" said Prince John, with a hardened
laugh; "the knave will say next that I meant he should slay him!
---No---a prison were better; and whether in Britain or Austria,
what matters it?---Things will be but as they were when we
commenced our enterprise---It was founded on the hope that
Richard would remain a captive in Germany---Our uncle Robert
lived and died in the castle of Cardiffe."
"Ay, but," said Waldemar, "your sire Henry sate more firm in his
seat than your Grace can. I say the best prison is that which is
made by the sexton---no dungeon like a church-vault! I have said
my say."
"Prison or tomb," said De Bracy, "I wash my hands of the whole
matter."
"Villain!" said Prince John, "thou wouldst not bewray our
counsel?"
"Counsel was never bewrayed by me," said De Bracy, haughtily,
"nor must the name of villain be coupled with mine!"
"Peace, Sir Knight!" said Waldemar; "and you, good my lord,
forgive the scruples of valiant De Bracy; I trust I shall soon
remove them."
"That passes your eloquence, Fitzurse," replied the Knight.
"Why, good Sir Maurice," rejoined the wily politician, "start not
aside like a scared steed, without, at least, considering the
object of your terror.---This Richard---but a day since, and it
would have been thy dearest wish to have met him hand to hand in
the ranks of battle---a hundred times I have heard thee wish it."
"Ay," said De Bracy, "but that was as thou sayest, hand to hand,
and in the ranks of battle! Thou never heardest me breathe a
thought of assaulting him alone, and in a forest."
"Thou art no good knight if thou dost scruple at it," said
Waldemar. "Was it in battle that Lancelot de Lac and Sir
Tristram won renown? or was it not by encountering gigantic
knights under the shade of deep and unknown forests?"
"Ay, but I promise you," said De Bracy, "that neither Tristram
nor Lancelot would have been match, hand to hand, for Richard
Plantagenet, and I think it was not their wont to take odds
against a single man."
"Thou art mad, De Bracy---what is it we propose to thee, a hired
and retained captain of Free Companions, whose swords are
purchased for Prince John's service? Thou art apprized of our
enemy, and then thou scruplest, though thy patron's fortunes,
those of thy comrades, thine own, and the life and honour of
every one amongst us, be at stake!"
"I tell you," said De Bracy, sullenly, "that he gave me my life.
True, he sent me from his presence, and refused my homage---so
far I owe him neither favour nor allegiance---but I will not lift
hand against him."
"It needs not---send Louis Winkelbrand and a score of thy
lances."
"Ye have sufficient ruffians of your own," said De Bracy; "not
one of mine shall budge on such an errand."
"Art thou so obstinate, De Bracy?" said Prince John; "and wilt
thou forsake me, after so many protestations of zeal for my
service?"
"I mean it not," said De Bracy; "I will abide by you in aught
that becomes a knight, whether in the lists or in the camp; but
this highway practice comes not within my vow."
"Come hither, Waldemar," said Prince John. "An unhappy prince am
I. My father, King Henry, had faithful servants---He had but to
say that he was plagued with a factious priest, and the blood of
Thomas-a-Becket, saint though he was, stained the steps of his
own altar.---Tracy, Morville, Brito *
* Reginald Fitzurse, William de Tracy, Hugh de Morville,
* and Richard Brito, were the gentlemen of Henry the
* Second's household, who, instigated by some passionate
* expressions of their sovereign, slew the celebrated
* Thomas-a-Becket.
loyal and daring subjects, your names, your spirit, are extinct!
and although Reginald Fitzurse hath left a son, he hath fallen
off from his father's fidelity and courage."
"He has fallen off from neither," said Waldemar Fitzurse; "and
since it may not better be, I will take on me the conduct of
this perilous enterprise. Dearly, however, did my father
purchase the praise of a zealous friend; and yet did his proof of
loyalty to Henry fall far short of what I am about to afford; for
rather would I assail a whole calendar of saints, than put spear
in rest against Coeur-de-Lion.---De Bracy, to thee I must trust
to keep up the spirits of the doubtful, and to guard Prince
John's person. If you receive such news as I trust to send you,
our enterprise will no longer wear a doubtful aspect.---Page," he
said, "hie to my lodgings, and tell my armourer to be there in
readiness; and bid Stephen Wetheral, Broad Thoresby, and the
Three Spears of Spyinghow, come to me instantly; and let the
scout-master, Hugh Bardon, attend me also.---Adieu, my Prince,
till better times." Thus speaking, he left the apartment. "He
goes to make my brother prisoner," said Prince John to De Bracy,
"with as little touch of compunction, as if it but concerned the
liberty of a Saxon franklin. I trust he will observe our orders,
and use our dear Richard's person with all due respect."
De Bracy only answered by a smile.
"By the light of Our Lady's brow," said Prince John, "our orders
to him were most precise---though it may be you heard them not,
as we stood together in the oriel window---Most clear and
positive was our charge that Richard's safety should be cared
for, and woe to Waldemar's head if he transgress it!"
"I had better pass to his lodgings," said De Bracy, "and make him
fully aware of your Grace's pleasure; for, as it quite escaped my
ear, it may not perchance have reached that of Waldemar."
"Nay, nay," said Prince John, impatiently, "I promise thee he
heard me; and, besides, I have farther occupation for thee.
Maurice, come hither; let me lean on thy shoulder."
They walked a turn through the hall in this familiar posture, and
Prince John, with an air of the most confidential intimacy,
proceeded to say, "What thinkest thou of this Waldemar Fitzurse,
my De Bracy?---He trusts to be our Chancellor. Surely we will
pause ere we give an office so high to one who shows evidently
how little he reverences our blood, by his so readily undertaking
this enterprise against Richard. Thou dost think, I warrant,
that thou hast lost somewhat of our regard, by thy boldly
declining this unpleasing task---But no, Maurice! I rather
honour thee for thy virtuous constancy. There are things most
necessary to be done, the perpetrator of which we neither love
nor honour; and there may be refusals to serve us, which shall
rather exalt in our estimation those who deny our request. The
arrest of my unfortunate brother forms no such good title to the
high office of Chancellor, as thy chivalrous and courageous
denial establishes in thee to the truncheon of High Marshal.
Think of this, De Bracy, and begone to thy charge."
"Fickle tyrant!" muttered De Bracy, as he left the presence of
the Prince; "evil luck have they who trust thee. Thy Chancellor,
indeed!---He who hath the keeping of thy conscience shall have an
easy charge, I trow. But High Marshal of England! that," he
said, extending his arm, as if to grasp the baton of office, and
assuming a loftier stride along the antechamber, "that is indeed
a prize worth playing for!"
De Bracy had no sooner left the apartment than Prince John
summoned an attendant.
"Bid Hugh Bardon, our scout-master, come hither, as soon as he
shall have spoken with Waldemar Fitzurse."
The scout-master arrived after a brief delay, during which John
traversed the apartment with, unequal and disordered steps.
"Bardon," said he, "what did Waldemar desire of thee?"
"Two resolute men, well acquainted with these northern wilds, and
skilful in tracking the tread of man and horse."
"And thou hast fitted him?"
"Let your grace never trust me else," answered the master of the
spies. "One is from Hexamshire; he is wont to trace the Tynedale
and Teviotdale thieves, as a bloodhound follows the slot of a
hurt deer. The other is Yorkshire bred, and has twanged his
bowstring right oft in merry Sherwood; he knows each glade and
dingle, copse and high-wood, betwixt this and Richmond."
"'Tis well," said the Prince.---"Goes Waldemar forth with them?"
"Instantly," said Bardon.
"With what attendance?" asked John, carelessly.
"Broad Thoresby goes with him, and Wetheral, whom they call, for
his cruelty, Stephen Steel-heart; and three northern men-at-arms
that belonged to Ralph Middleton's gang---they are called the
Spears of Spyinghow."
"'Tis well," said Prince John; then added, after a moment's
pause, "Bardon, it imports our service that thou keep a strict
watch on Maurice De Bracy---so that he shall not observe it,
however---And let us know of his motions from time to time
---with whom he converses, what he proposeth. Fail not in this,
as thou wilt be answerable."
Hugh Bardon bowed, and retired.
"If Maurice betrays me," said Prince John---"if he betrays me, as
his bearing leads me to fear, I will have his head, were Richard
thundering at the gates of York."
CHAPTER XXXV
Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts,
Strive with the half-starved lion for his prey;
Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering fire
Of wild Fanaticism.
Anonymus
Our tale now returns to Isaac of York.---Mounted upon a mule, the
gift of the Outlaw, with two tall yeomen to act as his guard and
guides, the Jew had set out for the Preceptory of Templestowe,
for the purpose of negotiating his daughter's redemption. The
Preceptory was but a day's journey from the demolished castle of
Torquilstone, and the Jew had hoped to reach it before nightfall;
accordingly, having dismissed his guides at the verge of the
forest, and rewarded them with a piece of silver, he began to
press on with such speed as his weariness permitted him to exert.
But his strength failed him totally ere he had reached within
four miles of the Temple-Court; racking pains shot along his back
and through his limbs, and the excessive anguish which he felt at
heart being now augmented by bodily suffering, he was rendered
altogether incapable of proceeding farther than a small
market-town, were dwelt a Jewish Rabbi of his tribe, eminent in
the medical profession, and to whom Isaac was well known. Nathan
Ben Israel received his suffering countryman with that kindness
which the law prescribed, and which the Jews practised to each
other. He insisted on his betaking himself to repose, and used
such remedies as were then in most repute to check the progress
of the fever, which terror, fatigue, ill usage, and sorrow, had
brought upon the poor old Jew.
On the morrow, when Isaac proposed to arise and pursue his
journey, Nathan remonstrated against his purpose, both as his
host and as his physician. It might cost him, he said, his life.
But Isaac replied, that more than life and death depended upon
his going that morning to Templestowe.
"To Templestowe!" said his host with surprise again felt his
pulse, and then muttered to himself, "His fever is abated, yet
seems his mind somewhat alienated and disturbed."
"And why not to Templestowe?" answered his patient. "I grant
thee, Nathan, that it is a dwelling of those to whom the despised
Children of the Promise are a stumbling-block and an abomination;
yet thou knowest that pressing affairs of traffic sometimes carry
us among these bloodthirsty Nazarene soldiers, and that we visit
the Preceptories of the Templars, as well as the Commanderies of
the Knights Hospitallers, as they are called." *
* The establishments of the Knight Templars were called
* Preceptories, and the title of those who presided in the
* Order was Preceptor; as the principal Knights of Saint
* John were termed Commanders, and their houses
* Commanderies. But these terms were sometimes, it would
* seem, used indiscriminately.
"I know it well," said Nathan; "but wottest thou that Lucas de
Beaumanoir, the chief of their Order, and whom they term Grand
Master, is now himself at Templestowe?"
"I know it not," said Isaac; "our last letters from our brethren
at Paris advised us that he was at that city, beseeching Philip
for aid against the Sultan Saladine."
"He hath since come to England, unexpected by his brethren," said
Ben Israel; "and he cometh among them with a strong and
outstretched arm to correct and to punish. His countenance is
kindled in anger against those who have departed from the vow
which they have made, and great is the fear of those sons of
Belial. Thou must have heard of his name?"
"It is well known unto me," said Isaac; "the Gentiles deliver
this Lucas Beaumanoir as a man zealous to slaying for every point
of the Nazarene law; and our brethren have termed him a fierce
destroyer of the Saracens, and a cruel tyrant to the Children of
the Promise."
"And truly have they termed him," said Nathan the physician.
"Other Templars may be moved from the purpose of their heart by
pleasure, or bribed by promise of gold and silver; but Beaumanoir
is of a different stamp---hating sensuality, despising treasure,
and pressing forward to that which they call the crown of
martyrdom---The God of Jacob speedily send it unto him, and unto
them all! Specially hath this proud man extended his glove over
the children of Judah, as holy David over Edom, holding the
murder of a Jew to be all offering of as sweet savour as the
death of a Saracen. Impious and false things has he said even of
the virtues of our medicines, as if they were the devices of
Satan---The Lord rebuke him!"
"Nevertheless," said Isaac, "I must present myself at
Templestowe, though he hath made his face like unto a fiery
furnace seven times heated."
He then explained to Nathan the pressing cause of his journey.
The Rabbi listened with interest, and testified his sympathy
after the fashion of his people, rending his clothes, and saying,
"Ah, my daughter!---ah, my daughter!---Alas! for the beauty of
Zion!---Alas! for the captivity of Israel!"
"Thou seest," said Isaac, "how it stands with me, and that I may
not tarry. Peradventure, the presence of this Lucas Beaumanoir,
being the chief man over them, may turn Brian de Bois-Guilbert
from the ill which he doth meditate, and that he may deliver to
me my beloved daughter Rebecca."
"Go thou," said Nathan Ben Israel, "and be wise, for wisdom
availed Daniel in the den of lions into which he was cast; and
may it go well with thee, even as thine heart wisheth. Yet, if
thou canst, keep thee from the presence of the Grand Master, for
to do foul scorn to our people is his morning and evening
delight. It may be if thou couldst speak with Bois-Guilbert in
private, thou shalt the better prevail with him; for men say that
these accursed Nazarenes are not of one mind in the Preceptory
---May their counsels be confounded and brought to shame! But do
thou, brother, return to me as if it were to the house of thy
father, and bring me word how it has sped with thee; and well do
I hope thou wilt bring with thee Rebecca, even the scholar of the
wise Miriam, whose cures the Gentiles slandered as if they had
been wrought by necromancy."
Isaac accordingly bade his friend farewell, and about an hour's
riding brought him before the Preceptory of Templestowe.
This establishment of the Templars was seated amidst fair meadows
and pastures, which the devotion of the former Preceptor had
bestowed upon their Order. It was strong and well fortified, a
point never neglected by these knights, and which the disordered
state of England rendered peculiarly necessary. Two halberdiers,
clad in black, guarded the drawbridge, and others, in the same
sad livery, glided to and fro upon the walls with a funereal
pace, resembling spectres more than soldiers. The inferior
officers of the Order were thus dressed, ever since their use of
white garments, similar to those of the knights and esquires, had
given rise to a combination of certain false brethren in the
mountains of Palestine, terming themselves Templars, and bringing
great dishonour on the Order. A knight was now and then seen to
cross the court in his long white cloak, his head depressed on
his breast, and his arms folded. They passed each other, if they
chanced to meet, with a slow, solemn, and mute greeting; for such
was the rule of their Order, quoting thereupon the holy texts,
"In many words thou shalt not avoid sin," and "Life and death are
in the power of the tongue." In a word, the stern ascetic rigour
of the Temple discipline, which had been so long exchanged for
prodigal and licentious indulgence, seemed at once to have
revived at Templestowe under the severe eye of Lucas Beaumanoir.
Isaac paused at the gate, to consider how he might seek entrance
in the manner most likely to bespeak favour; for he was well
aware, that to his unhappy race the reviving fanaticism of the
Order was not less dangerous than their unprincipled
licentiousness; and that his religion would be the object of hate
and persecution in the one case, as his wealth would have exposed
him in the other to the extortions of unrelenting oppression.
Meantime Lucas Beaumanoir walked in a small garden belonging to
the Preceptory, included within the precincts of its exterior
fortification, and held sad and confidential communication with a
brother of his Order, who had come in his company from Palestine.
The Grand Master was a man advanced in age, as was testified by
his long grey beard, and the shaggy grey eyebrows overhanging
eyes, of which, however, years had been unable to quench the
fire. A formidable warrior, his thin and severe features
retained the soldier's fierceness of expression; an ascetic
bigot, they were no less marked by the emaciation of abstinence,
and the spiritual pride of the self-satisfied devotee. Yet with
these severer traits of physiognomy, there was mixed somewhat
striking and noble, arising, doubtless, from the great part which
his high office called upon him to act among monarchs and
princes, and from the habitual exercise of supreme authority over
the valiant and high-born knights, who were united by the rules
of the Order. His stature was tall, and his gait, undepressed by
age and toil, was erect and stately. His white mantle was shaped
with severe regularity, according to the rule of Saint Bernard
himself, being composed of what was then called Burrel cloth,
exactly fitted to the size of the wearer, and bearing on the left
shoulder the octangular cross peculiar to the Order, formed of
red cloth. No vair or ermine decked this garment; but in respect
of his age, the Grand Master, as permitted by the rules, wore his
doublet lined and trimmed with the softest lambskin, dressed with
the wool outwards, which was the nearest approach he could
regularly make to the use of fur, then the greatest luxury of
dress. In his hand he bore that singular "abacus", or staff of
office, with which Templars are usually represented, having at
the upper end a round plate, on which was engraved the cross of
the Order, inscribed within a circle or orle, as heralds term it.
His companion, who attended on this great personage, had nearly
the same dress in all respects, but his extreme deference towards
his Superior showed that no other equality subsisted between
them. The Preceptor, for such he was in rank, walked not in a
line with the Grand Master, but just so far behind that
Beaumanoir could speak to him without turning round his head.
"Conrade," said the Grand Master, "dear companion of my battles
and my toils, to thy faithful bosom alone I can confide my
sorrows. To thee alone can I tell how oft, since I came to this
kingdom, I have desired to be dissolved and to be with the just.
Not one object in England hath met mine eye which it could rest
upon with pleasure, save the tombs of our brethren, beneath the
massive roof of our Temple Church in yonder proud capital. O,
valiant Robert de Ros! did I exclaim internally, as I gazed upon
these good soldiers of the cross, where they lie sculptured on
their sepulchres,---O, worthy William de Mareschal! open your
marble cells, and take to your repose a weary brother, who would
rather strive with a hundred thousand pagans than witness the
decay of our Holy Order!"
"It is but true," answered Conrade Mont-Fitchet; "it is but too
true; and the irregularities of our brethren in England are even
more gross than those in France."
"Because they are more wealthy," answered the Grand Master.
"Bear with me, brother, although I should something vaunt myself.
Thou knowest the life I have led, keeping each point of my Order,
striving with devils embodied and disembodied, striking down the
roaring lion, who goeth about seeking whom he may devour, like a
good knight and devout priest, wheresoever I met with him---even
as blessed Saint Bernard hath prescribed to us in the forty-fifth
capital of our rule, 'Ut Leo semper feriatur'.*
* In the ordinances of the Knights of the Temple, this
* phrase is repeated in a variety of forms, and occurs in
* almost every chapter, as if it were the signal-word of the
* Order; which may account for its being so frequently put
* in the Grand Master's mouth.
But by the Holy Temple! the zeal which hath devoured my substance
and my life, yea, the very nerves and marrow of my bones; by that
very Holy Temple I swear to thee, that save thyself and some few
that still retain the ancient severity of our Order, I look upon
no brethren whom I can bring my soul to embrace under that holy
name. What say our statutes, and how do our brethren observe
them? They should wear no vain or worldly ornament, no crest
upon their helmet, no gold upon stirrup or bridle-bit; yet who
now go pranked out so proudly and so gaily as the poor soldiers
of the Temple? They are forbidden by our statutes to take one
bird by means of another, to shoot beasts with bow or arblast, to
halloo to a hunting-horn, or to spur the horse after game. But
now, at hunting and hawking, and each idle sport of wood and
river, who so prompt as the Templars in all these fond vanities?
They are forbidden to read, save what their Superior permitted,
or listen to what is read, save such holy things as may be
recited aloud during the hours of refaction; but lo! their ears
are at the command of idle minstrels, and their eyes study empty
romaunts. They were commanded to extirpate magic and heresy.
Lo! they are charged with studying the accursed cabalistical
secrets of the Jews, and the magic of the Paynim Saracens.
Simpleness of diet was prescribed to them, roots, pottage,
gruels, eating flesh but thrice a-week, because the accustomed
feeding on flesh is a dishonourable corruption of the body; and
behold, their tables groan under delicate fare! Their drink was
to be water, and now, to drink like a Templar, is the boast of
each jolly boon companion! This very garden, filled as it is
with curious herbs and trees sent from the Eastern climes, better
becomes the harem of an unbelieving Emir, than the plot which
Christian Monks should devote to raise their homely pot-herbs.
---And O, Conrade! well it were that the relaxation of discipline
stopped even here!---Well thou knowest that we were forbidden to
receive those devout women, who at the beginning were associated
as sisters of our Order, because, saith the forty-sixth chapter,
the Ancient Enemy hath, by female society, withdrawn many from
the right path to paradise. Nay, in the last capital, being, as
it were, the cope-stone which our blessed founder placed on the
pure and undefiled doctrine which he had enjoined, we are
prohibited from offering, even to our sisters and our mothers,
the kiss of affection---'ut omnium mulierum fugiantur oscula'.
--I shame to speak---I shame to think---of the corruptions which
have rushed in upon us even like a flood. The souls of our pure
founders, the spirits of Hugh de Payen and Godfrey de Saint Omer,
and of the blessed Seven who first joined in dedicating their
lives to the service of the Temple, are disturbed even in the
enjoyment of paradise itself. I have seen them, Conrade, in the
visions of the night---their sainted eyes shed tears for the sins
and follies of their brethren, and for the foul and shameful
luxury in which they wallow. Beaumanoir, they say, thou
slumberest---awake! There is a stain in the fabric of the
Temple, deep and foul as that left by the streaks of leprosy on
the walls of the infected houses of old.*
* See the 13th chapter of Leviticus.
The soldiers of the Cross, who should shun the glance of a woman
as the eye of a basilisk, live in open sin, not with the females
of their own race only, but with the daughters of the accursed
heathen, and more accursed Jew. Beaumanoir, thou sleepest; up,
and avenge our cause!---Slay the sinners, male and female!---Take
to thee the brand of Phineas!---The vision fled, Conrade, but as
I awaked I could still hear the clank of their mail, and see the
waving of their white mantles.---And I will do according to their
word, I WILL purify the fabric of the Temple! and the unclean
stones in which the plague is, I will remove and cast out of the
building."
"Yet bethink thee, reverend father," said Mont-Fitchet, "the
stain hath become engrained by time and consuetude; let thy
reformation be cautious, as it is just and wise."
"No, Mont-Fitchet," answered the stern old man---"it must be
sharp and sudden---the Order is on the crisis of its fate. The
sobriety, self-devotion, and piety of our predecessors, made us
powerful friends---our presumption, our wealth, our luxury, have
raised up against us mighty enemies.---We must cast away these
riches, which are a temptation to princes---we must lay down that
presumption, which is an offence to them---we must reform that
license of manners, which is a scandal to the whole Christian
world! Or---mark my words---the Order of the Temple will be
utterly demolished---and the Place thereof shall no more be known
among the nations."
"Now may God avert such a calamity!" said the Preceptor.
"Amen," said the Grand Master, with solemnity, "but we must
deserve his aid. I tell thee, Conrade, that neither the powers
in Heaven, nor the powers on earth, will longer endure the
wickedness of this generation---My intelligence is sure---the
ground on which our fabric is reared is already undermined, and
each addition we make to the structure of our greatness will only
sink it the sooner in the abyss. We must retrace our steps, and
show ourselves the faithful Champions of the Cross, sacrificing
to our calling, not alone our blood and our lives---not alone our
lusts and our vices---but our ease, our comforts, and our natural
affections, and act as men convinced that many a pleasure which
may be lawful to others, is forbidden to the vowed soldier of the
Temple."
At this moment a squire, clothed in a threadbare vestment, (for
the aspirants after this holy Order wore during their noviciate
the cast-off garments of the knights,) entered the garden, and,
bowing profoundly before the Grand Master, stood silent, awaiting
his permission ere he presumed to tell his errand.
"Is it not more seemly," said the Grand Master, "to see this
Damian, clothed in the garments of Christian humility, thus
appear with reverend silence before his Superior, than but two
days since, when the fond fool was decked in a painted coat, and
jangling as pert and as proud as any popinjay?---Speak, Damian,
we permit thee---What is thine errand?"
"A Jew stands without the gate, noble and reverend father," said
the Squire, "who prays to speak with brother Brian de
Bois-Guilbert."
"Thou wert right to give me knowledge of it," said the Grand
Master; "in our presence a Preceptor is but as a common compeer
of our Order, who may not walk according to his own will, but to
that of his Master---even according to the text, 'In the hearing
of the ear he hath obeyed me.'---It imports us especially to know
of this Bois-Guilbert's proceedings," said he, turning to his
companion.
"Report speaks him brave and valiant," said Conrade.
"And truly is he so spoken of," said the Grand Master; "in our
valour only we are not degenerated from our predecessors, the
heroes of the Cross. But brother Brian came into our Order a
moody and disappointed man, stirred, I doubt me, to take our vows
and to renounce the world, not in sincerity of soul, but as one
whom some touch of light discontent had driven into penitence.
Since then, he hath become an active and earnest agitator, a
murmurer, and a machinator, and a leader amongst those who impugn
our authority; not considering that the rule is given to the
Master even by the symbol of the staff and the rod---the staff to
support the infirmities of the weak---the rod to correct the
faults of delinquents.---Damian," he continued, "lead the Jew to
our presence."
The squire departed with a profound reverence, and in a few
minutes returned, marshalling in Isaac of York. No naked slave,
ushered into the presence of some mighty prince, could approach
his judgment-seat with more profound reverence and terror than
that with which the Jew drew near to the presence of the Grand
Master. When he had approached within the distance of three
yards, Beaumanoir made a sign with his staff that he should come
no farther. The Jew kneeled down on the earth which he kissed in
token of reverence; then rising, stood before the Templars, his
hands folded on his bosom, his head bowed on his breast, in all
the submission of Oriental slavery.
"Damian," said the Grand Master, "retire, and have a guard ready
to await our sudden call; and suffer no one to enter the garden
until we shall leave it."---The squire bowed and retreated.
---"Jew," continued the haughty old man, "mark me. It suits not
our condition to hold with thee long communication, nor do we
waste words or time upon any one. Wherefore be brief in thy
answers to what questions I shall ask thee, and let thy words be
of truth; for if thy tongue doubles with me, I will have it torn
from thy misbelieving jaws."
The Jew was about to reply, but the Grand Master went on.
"Peace, unbeliever!---not a word in our presence, save in answer
to our questions.---What is thy business with our brother Brian
de Bois-Guilbert?"
Isaac gasped with terror and uncertainty. To tell his tale might
be interpreted into scandalizing the Order; yet, unless he told
it, what hope could he have of achieving his daughter's
deliverance? Beaumanoir saw his mortal apprehension, and
condescended to give him some assurance.
"Fear nothing," he said, "for thy wretched person, Jew, so thou
dealest uprightly in this matter. I demand again to know from
thee thy business with Brian de Bois-Guilbert?"
"I am bearer of a letter," stammered out the Jew, "so please your
reverend valour, to that good knight, from Prior Aymer of the
Abbey of Jorvaulx."
"Said I not these were evil times, Conrade?" said the Master. "A
Cistertian Prior sends a letter to a soldier of the Temple, and
can find no more fitting messenger than an unbelieving Jew.
---Give me the letter."
The Jew, with trembling hands, undid the folds of his Armenian
cap, in which he had deposited the Prior's tablets for the
greater security, and was about to approach, with hand extended
and body crouched, to place it within the reach of his grim
interrogator.
"Back, dog!" said the Grand Master; "I touch not misbelievers,
save with the sword.---Conrade, take thou the letter from the
Jew, and give it to me."
Beaumanoir, being thus possessed of the tablets, inspected the
outside carefully, and then proceeded to undo the packthread
which secured its folds. "Reverend father," said Conrade,
interposing, though with much deference, "wilt thou break the
seal?"
"And will I not?" said Beaumanoir, with a frown. "Is it not
written in the forty-second capital, 'De Lectione Literarum' that
a Templar shall not receive a letter, no not from his father,
without communicating the same to the Grand Master, and reading
it in his presence?"
He then perused the letter in haste, with an expression of
surprise and horror; read it over again more slowly; then
holding it out to Conrade with one hand, and slightly striking it
with the other, exclaimed---"Here is goodly stuff for one
Christian man to write to another, and both members, and no
inconsiderable members, of religious professions! When," said he
solemnly, and looking upward, "wilt thou come with thy fanners to
purge the thrashing-floor?"
Mont-Fitchet took the letter from his Superior, and was about to
peruse it.
"Read it aloud, Conrade," said the Grand Master,---"and do thou"
(to Isaac) "attend to the purport of it, for we will question
thee concerning it."
Conrade read the letter, which was in these words: "Aymer, by
divine grace, Prior of the Cistertian house of Saint Mary's of
Jorvaulx, to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, a Knight of the holy
Order of the Temple, wisheth health, with the bounties of King
Bacchus and of my Lady Venus. Touching our present condition,
dear Brother, we are a captive in the hands of certain lawless
and godless men, who have not feared to detain our person, and
put us to ransom; whereby we have also learned of
Front-de-Boeuf's misfortune, and that thou hast escaped with that
fair Jewish sorceress, whose black eyes have bewitched thee. We
are heartily rejoiced of thy safety; nevertheless, we pray thee
to be on thy guard in the matter of this second Witch of Endor;
for we are privately assured that your Great Master, who careth
not a bean for cherry cheeks and black eyes, comes from Normandy
to diminish your mirth, and amend your misdoings. Wherefore we
pray you heartily to beware, and to be found watching, even as
the Holy Text hath it, 'Invenientur vigilantes'. And the wealthy
Jew her father, Isaac of York, having prayed of me letters in his
behalf, I gave him these, earnestly advising, and in a sort
entreating, that you do hold the damsel to ransom, seeing he will
pay you from his bags as much as may find fifty damsels upon
safer terms, whereof I trust to have my part when we make merry
together, as true brothers, not forgetting the wine-cup. For
what saith the text, 'Vinum laetificat cor hominis'; and again,
'Rex delectabitur pulchritudine tua'.
"Till which merry meeting, we wish you farewell. Given from this
den of thieves, about the hour of matins,
"Aymer Pr. S. M. Jorvolciencis.
"'Postscriptum.' Truly your golden chain hath not long abidden
with me, and will now sustain, around the neck of an outlaw
deer-stealer, the whistle wherewith he calleth on his hounds."
"What sayest thou to this, Conrade?" said the Grand Master---"Den
of thieves! and a fit residence is a den of thieves for such a
Prior. No wonder that the hand of God is upon us, and that in
the Holy Land we lose place by place, foot by foot, before the
infidels, when we have such churchmen as this Aymer.---And what
meaneth he, I trow, by this second Witch of Endor?" said he to
his confident, something apart. Conrade was better acquainted
(perhaps by practice) with the jargon of gallantry, than was his
Superior; and he expounded the passage which embarrassed the
Grand Master, to be a sort of language used by worldly men
towards those whom they loved 'par amours'; but the explanation
did not satisfy the bigoted Beaumanoir.
"There is more in it than thou dost guess, Conrade; thy
simplicity is no match for this deep abyss of wickedness. This
Rebecca of York was a pupil of that Miriam of whom thou hast
heard. Thou shalt hear the Jew own it even now." Then turning
to Isaac, he said aloud, "Thy daughter, then, is prisoner with
Brian de Bois-Guilbert?"
"Ay, reverend valorous sir," stammered poor Isaac, "and
whatsoever ransom a poor man may pay for her deliverance------"
"Peace!" said the Grand Master. "This thy daughter hath practised
the art of healing, hath she not?"
"Ay, gracious sir," answered the Jew, with more confidence; "and
knight and yeoman, squire and vassal, may bless the goodly gift
which Heaven hath assigned to her. Many a one can testify that
she hath recovered them by her art, when every other human aid
hath proved vain; but the blessing of the God of Jacob was upon
her."
Beaumanoir turned to Mont-Fitchet with a grim smile. "See,
brother," he said, "the deceptions of the devouring Enemy!
Behold the baits with which he fishes for souls, giving a poor
space of earthly life in exchange for eternal happiness
hereafter. Well said our blessed rule, 'Semper percutiatur leo
vorans'.---Up on the lion! Down with the destroyer!" said he,
shaking aloft his mystic abacus, as if in defiance of the powers
of darkness---"Thy daughter worketh the cures, I doubt not," thus
he went on to address the Jew, "by words and sighs, and periapts,
and other cabalistical mysteries."
"Nay, reverend and brave Knight," answered Isaac, "but in chief
measure by a balsam of marvellous virtue."
"Where had she that secret?" said Beaumanoir.
"It was delivered to her," answered Isaac, reluctantly, "by
Miriam, a sage matron of our tribe."
"Ah, false Jew!" said the Grand Master; "was it not from that
same witch Miriam, the abomination of whose enchantments have
been heard of throughout every Christian land?" exclaimed the
Grand Master, crossing himself. "Her body was burnt at a stake,
and her ashes were scattered to the four winds; and so be it with
me and mine Order, if I do not as much to her pupil, and more
also! I will teach her to throw spell and incantation over the
soldiers of the blessed Temple.---There, Damian, spurn this Jew
from the gate---shoot him dead if he oppose or turn again. With
his daughter we will deal as the Christian law and our own high
office warrant."
Poor Isaac was hurried off accordingly, and expelled from the
preceptory; all his entreaties, and even his offers, unheard and
disregarded. He could do not better than return to the house of
the Rabbi, and endeavour, through his means, to learn how his
daughter was to be disposed of. He had hitherto feared for her
honour, he was now to tremble for her life. Meanwhile, the Grand
Master ordered to his presence the Preceptor of Templestowe.
CHAPTER XXXVI
Say not my art is fraud---all live by seeming.
The beggar begs with it, and the gay courtier
Gains land and title, rank and rule, by seeming;
The clergy scorn it not, and the bold soldier
Will eke with it his service.---All admit it,
All practise it; and he who is content
With showing what he is, shall have small credit
In church, or camp, or state---So wags the world.
Old Play
Albert Malvoisin, President, or, in the language of the Order,
Preceptor of the establishment of Templestowe, was brother to
that Philip Malvoisin who has been already occasionally mentioned
in this history, and was, like that baron, in close league with
Brian de Bois-Guilbert.
Amongst dissolute and unprincipled men, of whom the Temple Order
included but too many, Albert of Templestowe might be
distinguished; but with this difference from the audacious
Bois-Guilbert, that he knew how to throw over his vices and his
ambition the veil of hypocrisy, and to assume in his exterior the
fanaticism which be internally despised. Had not the arrival of
the Grand Master been so unexpectedly sudden, he would have seen
nothing at Templestowe which might have appeared to argue any
relaxation of discipline. And, even although surprised, and, to
a certain extent, detected, Albert Malvoisin listened with such
respect and apparent contrition to the rebuke of his Superior,
and made such haste to reform the particulars he censured,
---succeeded, in fine, so well in giving an air of ascetic
devotion to a family which had been lately devoted to license and
pleasure, that Lucas Beaumanoir began to entertain a higher
opinion of the Preceptor's morals, than the first appearance of
the establishment had inclined him to adopt.
But these favourable sentiments on the part of the Grand Master
were greatly shaken by the intelligence that Albert had received
within a house of religion the Jewish captive, and, as was to be
feared, the paramour of a brother of the Order; and when Albert
appeared before him, be was regarded with unwonted sternness.
"There is in this mansion, dedicated to the purposes of the holy
Order of the Temple," said the Grand Master, in a severe tone, "a
Jewish woman, brought hither by a brother of religion, by your
connivance, Sir Preceptor."
Albert Malvoisin was overwhelmed with confusion; for the
unfortunate Rebecca had been confined in a remote and secret part
of the building, and every precaution used to prevent her
residence there from being known. He read in the looks of
Beaumanoir ruin to Bois-Guilbert and to himself, unless he should
be able to avert the impending storm.
"Why are you mute?" continued the Grand Master.
"Is it permitted to me to reply?" answered the Preceptor, in a
tone of the deepest humility, although by the question he only
meant to gain an instant's space for arranging his ideas.
"Speak, you are permitted," said the Grand Master---"speak, and
say, knowest thou the capital of our holy rule,---'De
commilitonibus Templi in sancta civitate, qui cum miserrimis
mulieribus versantur, propter oblectationem carnis?'"*
* The edict which he quotes, is against communion with
* women of light character.
"Surely, most reverend father," answered the Preceptor, "I have
not risen to this office in the Order, being ignorant of one of
its most important prohibitions."
"How comes it, then, I demand of thee once more, that thou hast
suffered a brother to bring a paramour, and that paramour a
Jewish sorceress, into this holy place, to the stain and
pollution thereof?"
"A Jewish sorceress!" echoed Albert Malvoisin; "good angels guard
us!"
"Ay, brother, a Jewish sorceress!" said the Grand Master,
sternly. "I have said it. Darest thou deny that this Rebecca,
the daughter of that wretched usurer Isaac of York, and the pupil
of the foul witch Miriam, is now---shame to be thought or spoken!
---lodged within this thy Preceptory?"
"Your wisdom, reverend father," answered the Preceptor, "hath
rolled away the darkness from my understanding. Much did I
wonder that so good a knight as Brian de Bois-Guilbert seemed so
fondly besotted on the charms of this female, whom I received
into this house merely to place a bar betwixt their growing
intimacy, which else might have been cemented at the expense of
the fall of our valiant and religious brother."
"Hath nothing, then, as yet passed betwixt them in breach of his
vow?" demanded the Grand Master.
"What! under this roof?" said the Preceptor, crossing himself;
"Saint Magdalene and the ten thousand virgins forbid!---No! if I
have sinned in receiving her here, it was in the erring thought
that I might thus break off our brother's besotted devotion to
this Jewess, which seemed to me so wild and unnatural, that I
could not but ascribe it to some touch of insanity, more to be
cured by pity than reproof. But since your reverend wisdom hath
discovered this Jewish quean to be a sorceress, perchance it may
account fully for his enamoured folly."
"It doth!---it doth!" said Beaumanoir. "See, brother Conrade,
the peril of yielding to the first devices and blandishments of
Satan! We look upon woman only to gratify the lust of the eye,
and to take pleasure in what men call her beauty; and the Ancient
Enemy, the devouring Lion, obtains power over us, to complete, by
talisman and spell, a work which was begun by idleness and folly.
It may be that our brother Bois-Guilbert does in this matter
deserve rather pity than severe chastisement; rather the support
of the staff, than the strokes of the rod; and that our
admonitions and prayers may turn him from his folly, and restore
him to his brethren."
"It were deep pity," said Conrade Mont-Fitchet, "to lose to the
Order one of its best lances, when the Holy Community most
requires the aid of its sons. Three hundred Saracens hath this
Brian de Bois-Guilbert slain with his own hand."
"The blood of these accursed dogs," said the Grand Master, "shall
be a sweet and acceptable offering to the saints and angels whom
they despise and blaspheme; and with their aid will we counteract
the spells and charms with which our brother is entwined as in a
net. He shall burst the bands of this Delilah, as Sampson burst
the two new cords with which the Philistines had bound him, and
shall slaughter the infidels, even heaps upon heaps. But
concerning this foul witch, who hath flung her enchantments over
a brother of the Holy Temple, assuredly she shall die the death."
"But the laws of England,"---said the Preceptor, who, though
delighted that the Grand Master's resentment, thus fortunately
averted from himself and Bois-Guilbert, had taken another
direction, began now to fear he was carrying it too far.
"The laws of England," interrupted Beaumanoir, "permit and enjoin
each judge to execute justice within his own jurisdiction. The
most petty baron may arrest, try, and condemn a witch found
within his own domain. And shall that power be denied to the
Grand Master of the Temple within a preceptory of his Order?
---No!---we will judge and condemn. The witch shall be taken out
of the land, and the wickedness thereof shall be forgiven.
Prepare the Castle-hall for the trial of the sorceress."
Albert Malvoisin bowed and retired,---not to give directions for
preparing the hall, but to seek out Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and
communicate to him how matters were likely to terminate. It was
not long ere he found him, foaming with indignation at a repulse
he had anew sustained from the fair Jewess. "The unthinking," he
said, "the ungrateful, to scorn him who, amidst blood and flames,
would have saved her life at the risk of his own! By Heaven,
Malvoisin! I abode until roof and rafters crackled and crashed
around me. I was the butt of a hundred arrows; they rattled on
mine armour like hailstones against a latticed casement, and the
only use I made of my shield was for her protection. This did I
endure for her; and now the self-willed girl upbraids me that I
did not leave her to perish, and refuses me not only the
slightest proof of gratitude, but even the most distant hope that
ever she will be brought to grant any. The devil, that possessed
her race with obstinacy, has concentrated its full force in her
single person!"
"The devil," said the Preceptor, "I think, possessed you both.
How oft have I preached to you caution, if not continence? Did I
not tell you that there were enough willing Christian damsels to
be met with, who would think it sin to refuse so brave a knight
'le don d'amoureux merci', and you must needs anchor your
affection on a wilful, obstinate Jewess! By the mass, I think
old Lucas Beaumanoir guesses right, when he maintains she hath
cast a spell over you."
"Lucas Beaumanoir!"---said Bois-Guilbert reproachfully---"Are
these your precautions, Malvoisin? Hast thou suffered the dotard
to learn that Rebecca is in the Preceptory?"
"How could I help it?" said the Preceptor. "I neglected nothing
that could keep secret your mystery; but it is betrayed, and
whether by the devil or no, the devil only can tell. But I have
turned the matter as I could; you are safe if you renounce
Rebecca. You are pitied---the victim of magical delusion. She
is a sorceress, and must suffer as such."
"She shall not, by Heaven!" said Bois-Guilbert.
"By Heaven, she must and will!" said Malvoisin. "Neither you nor
any one else can save her. Lucas Beaumanoir hath settled that
the death of a Jewess will be a sin-offering sufficient to atone
for all the amorous indulgences of the Knights Templars; and thou
knowest he hath both the power and will to execute so reasonable
and pious a purpose."
"Will future ages believe that such stupid bigotry ever existed!"
said Bois-Guilbert, striding up and down the apartment.
"What they may believe, I know not," said Malvoisin, calmly; "but
I know well, that in this our day, clergy and laymen, take
ninety-nine to the hundred, will cry 'amen' to the Grand Master's
sentence."
"I have it," said Bois-Guilbert. "Albert, thou art my friend.
Thou must connive at her escape, Malvoisin, and I will transport
her to some place of greater security and secrecy."
"I cannot, if I would," replied the Preceptor; "the mansion is
filled with the attendants of the Grand Master, and others who
are devoted to him. And, to be frank with you, brother, I would
not embark with you in this matter, even if I could hope to bring
my bark to haven. I have risked enough already for your sake. I
have no mind to encounter a sentence of degradation, or even to
lose my Preceptory, for the sake of a painted piece of Jewish
flesh and blood. And you, if you will be guided by my counsel,
will give up this wild-goose chase, and fly your hawk at some
other game. Think, Bois-Guilbert,---thy present rank, thy future
honours, all depend on thy place in the Order. Shouldst thou
adhere perversely to thy passion for this Rebecca, thou wilt give
Beaumanoir the power of expelling thee, and he will not neglect
it. He is jealous of the truncheon which he holds in his
trembling gripe, and he knows thou stretchest thy bold hand
towards it. Doubt not he will ruin thee, if thou affordest him a
pretext so fair as thy protection of a Jewish sorceress. Give
him his scope in this matter, for thou canst not control him.
When the staff is in thine own firm grasp, thou mayest caress the
daughters of Judah, or burn them, as may best suit thine own
humour."
"Malvoisin," said Bois-Guilbert, "thou art a cold-blooded---"
"Friend," said the Preceptor, hastening to fill up the blank, in
which Bois-Guilbert would probably have placed a worse word,
---"a cold-blooded friend I am, and therefore more fit to give
thee advice. I tell thee once more, that thou canst not save
Rebecca. I tell thee once more, thou canst but perish with her.
Go hie thee to the Grand Master---throw thyself at his feet and
tell him---"
"Not at his feet, by Heaven! but to the dotard's very beard will
I say---"
"Say to him, then, to his beard," continued Malvoisin, coolly,
"that you love this captive Jewess to distraction; and the more
thou dost enlarge on thy passion, the greater will be his haste
to end it by the death of the fair enchantress; while thou, taken
in flagrant delict by the avowal of a crime contrary to thine
oath, canst hope no aid of thy brethren, and must exchange all
thy brilliant visions of ambition and power, to lift perhaps a
mercenary spear in some of the petty quarrels between Flanders
and Burgundy."
"Thou speakest the truth, Malvoisin," said Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, after a moment's reflection. "I will give the
hoary bigot no advantage over me; and for Rebecca, she hath not
merited at my hand that I should expose rank and honour for her
sake. I will cast her off---yes, I will leave her to her fate,
unless---"
"Qualify not thy wise and necessary resolution," said Malvoisin;
"women are but the toys which amuse our lighter hours---ambition
is the serious business of life. Perish a thousand such frail
baubles as this Jewess, before thy manly step pause in the
brilliant career that lies stretched before thee! For the
present we part, nor must we be seen to hold close conversation
---I must order the hall for his judgment-seat."
"What!" said Bois-Guilbert, "so soon?"
"Ay," replied the Preceptor, "trial moves rapidly on when the
judge has determined the sentence beforehand."
"Rebecca," said Bois-Guilbert, when he was left alone, "thou art
like to cost me dear---Why cannot I abandon thee to thy fate, as
this calm hypocrite recommends?---One effort will I make to save
thee---but beware of ingratitude! for if I am again repulsed, my
vengeance shall equal my love. The life and honour of
Bois-Guilbert must not be hazarded, where contempt and reproaches
are his only reward."
The Preceptor had hardly given the necessary orders, when he was
joined by Conrade Mont-Fitchet, who acquainted him with the Grand
Master's resolution to bring the Jewess to instant trial for
sorcery.
"It is surely a dream," said the Preceptor; "we have many Jewish
physicians, and we call them not wizards though they work
wonderful cures."
"The Grand Master thinks otherwise," said Mont-Fitchet; "and,
Albert, I will be upright with thee---wizard or not, it were
better that this miserable damsel die, than that Brian de
Bois-Guilbert should be lost to the Order, or the Order divided
by internal dissension. Thou knowest his high rank, his fame in
arms---thou knowest the zeal with which many of our brethren
regard him---but all this will not avail him with our Grand
Master, should he consider Brian as the accomplice, not the
victim, of this Jewess. Were the souls of the twelve tribes in
her single body, it were better she suffered alone, than that
Bois-Guilbert were partner in her destruction."
"I have been working him even now to abandon her," said
Malvoisin; "but still, are there grounds enough to condemn this
Rebecca for sorcery?---Will not the Grand Master change his mind
when he sees that the proofs are so weak?"
"They must be strengthened, Albert," replied Mont-Fitchet, "they
must be strengthened. Dost thou understand me?"
"I do," said the Preceptor, "nor do I scruple to do aught for
advancement of the Order---but there is little time to find
engines fitting."
"Malvoisin, they MUST be found," said Conrade; "well will it
advantage both the Order and thee. This Templestowe is a poor
Preceptory---that of Maison-Dieu is worth double its value
---thouknowest my interest with our old Chief---find those who
can carry this matter through, and thou art Preceptor of
Maison-Dieu in the fertile Kent---How sayst thou?"
"There is," replied Malvoisin, "among those who came hither with
Bois-Guilbert, two fellows whom I well know; servants they were
to my brother Philip de Malvoisin, and passed from his service to
that of Front-de-Boeuf---It may be they know something of the
witcheries of this woman."
"Away, seek them out instantly---and hark thee, if a byzant or
two will sharpen their memory, let them not be wanting."
"They would swear the mother that bore them a sorceress for a
zecchin," said the Preceptor.
"Away, then," said Mont-Fitchet; "at noon the affair will
proceed. I have not seen our senior in such earnest preparation
since he condemned to the stake Hamet Alfagi, a convert who
relapsed to the Moslem faith."
The ponderous castle-bell had tolled the point of noon, when
Rebecca heard a trampling of feet upon the private stair which
led to her place of confinement. The noise announced the arrival
of several persons, and the circumstance rather gave her joy; for
she was more afraid of the solitary visits of the fierce and
passionate Bois-Guilbert than of any evil that could befall her
besides. The door of the chamber was unlocked, and Conrade and
the Preceptor Malvoisin entered, attended by four warders clothed
in black, and bearing halberds.
"Daughter of an accursed race!" said the Preceptor, "arise and
follow us."
"Whither," said Rebecca, "and for what purpose?"
"Damsel," answered Conrade, "it is not for thee to question, but
to obey. Nevertheless, be it known to thee, that thou art to be
brought before the tribunal of the Grand Master of our holy
Order, there to answer for thine offences."
"May the God of Abraham be praised!" said Rebecca, folding her
hands devoutly; "the name of a judge, though an enemy to my
people, is to me as the name of a protector. Most willingly do I
follow thee---permit me only to wrap my veil around my head."
They descended the stair with slow and solemn step, traversed a
long gallery, and, by a pair of folding doors placed at the end,
entered the great hall in which the Grand Master had for the time
established his court of justice.
The lower part of this ample apartment was filled with squires
and yeomen, who made way not without some difficulty for
Rebecca, attended by the Preceptor and Mont-Fitchet, and followed
by the guard of halberdiers, to move forward to the seat
appointed for her. As she passed through the crowd, her arms
folded and her head depressed, a scrap of paper was thrust into
her hand, which she received almost unconsciously, and continued
to hold without examining its contents. The assurance that she
possessed some friend in this awful assembly gave her courage to
look around, and to mark into whose presence she had been
conducted. She gazed, accordingly, upon the scene, which we
shall endeavour to describe in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XXXVII
Stern was the law which bade its vot'ries leave
At human woes with human hearts to grieve;
Stern was the law, which at the winning wile
Of frank and harmless mirth forbade to smile;
But sterner still, when high the iron-rod
Of tyrant power she shook, and call'd that power of God.
The Middle Ages
The Tribunal, erected for the trial of the innocent and unhappy
Rebecca, occupied the dais or elevated part of the upper end of
the great hall---a platform, which we have already described as
the place of honour, destined to be occupied by the most
distinguished inhabitants or guests of an ancient mansion.
On an elevated seat, directly before the accused, sat the Grand
Master of the Temple, in full and ample robes of flowing white,
holding in his hand the mystic staff, which bore the symbol of
the Order. At his feet was placed a table, occupied by two
scribes, chaplains of the Order, whose duty it was to reduce to
formal record the proceedings of the day. The black dresses,
bare scalps, and demure looks of these church-men, formed a
strong contrast to the warlike appearance of the knights who
attended, either as residing in the Preceptory, or as come
thither to attend upon their Grand Master. The Preceptors, of
whom there were four present, occupied seats lower in height,
and somewhat drawn back behind that of their superior; and the
knights, who enjoyed no such rank in the Order, were placed on
benches still lower, and preserving the same distance from the
Preceptors as these from the Grand Master. Behind them, but
still upon the dais or elevated portion of the hall, stood the
esquires of the Order, in white dresses of an inferior quality.
The whole assembly wore an aspect of the most profound gravity;
and in the faces of the knights might be perceived traces of
military daring, united with the solemn carriage becoming men of
a religious profession, and which, in the presence of their Grand
Master, failed not to sit upon every brow.
The remaining and lower part of the hall was filled with guards,
holding partisans, and with other attendants whom curiosity had
drawn thither, to see at once a Grand Master and a Jewish
sorceress. By far the greater part of those inferior persons
were, in one rank or other, connected with the Order, and were
accordingly distinguished by their black dresses. But peasants
from the neighbouring country were not refused admittance; for it
was the pride of Beaumanoir to render the edifying spectacle of
the justice which he administered as public as possible. His
large blue eyes seemed to expand as be gazed around the assembly,
and his countenance appeared elated by the conscious dignity, and
imaginary merit, of the part which he was about to perform. A
psalm, which he himself accompanied with a deep mellow voice,
which age had not deprived of its powers, commenced the
proceedings of the day; and the solemn sounds, "Venite exultemus
Domino", so often sung by the Templars before engaging with
earthly adversaries, was judged by Lucas most appropriate to
introduce the approaching triumph, for such he deemed it, over
the powers of darkness. The deep prolonged notes, raised by a
hundred masculine voices accustomed to combine in the choral
chant, arose to the vaulted roof of the hall, and rolled on
amongst its arches with the pleasing yet solemn sound of the
rushing of mighty waters.
When the sounds ceased, the Grand Master glanced his eye slowly
around the circle, and observed that the seat of one of the
Preceptors was vacant. Brian de Bois-Guilbert, by whom it had
been occupied, had left his place, and was now standing near the
extreme corner of one of the benches occupied by the Knights
Companions of the Temple, one hand extending his long mantle, so
as in some degree to hide his face; while the other held his
cross-handled sword, with the point of which, sheathed as it was,
he was slowly drawing lines upon the oaken floor.
"Unhappy man!" said the Grand Master, after favouring him with a
glance of compassion. "Thou seest, Conrade, how this holy work
distresses him. To this can the light look of woman, aided by
the Prince of the Powers of this world, bring a valiant and
worthy knight!---Seest thou he cannot look upon us; he cannot
look upon her; and who knows by what impulse from his tormentor
his hand forms these cabalistic lines upon the floor?---It may be
our life and safety are thus aimed at; but we spit at and defy
the foul enemy. 'Semper Leo percutiatur!'"
This was communicated apart to his confidential follower, Conrade
Mont-Fitchet. The Grand Master then raised his voice, and
addressed the assembly.
"Reverend and valiant men, Knights, Preceptors, and Companions of
this Holy Order, my brethren and my children!---you also,
well-born and pious Esquires, who aspire to wear this holy Cross!
---and you also, Christian brethren, of every degree!---Be it
known to you, that it is not defect of power in us which hath
occasioned the assembling of this congregation; for, however
unworthy in our person, yet to us is committed, with this batoon,
full power to judge and to try all that regards the weal of this
our Holy Order. Holy Saint Bernard, in the rule of our knightly
and religious profession, hath said, in the fifty-ninth capital,*
* The reader is again referred to the Rules of the Poor
* Military Brotherhood of the Temple, which occur in the
* Works of St Bernard. L. T.
that he would not that brethren be called together in council,
save at the will and command of the Master; leaving it free to
us, as to those more worthy fathers who have preceded us in this
our office, to judge, as well of the occasion as of the time and
place in which a chapter of the whole Order, or of any part
thereof, may be convoked. Also, in all such chapters, it is our
duty to hear the advice of our brethren, and to proceed according
to our own pleasure. But when the raging wolf hath made an
inroad upon the flock, and carried off one member thereof, it is
the duty of the kind shepherd to call his comrades together, that
with bows and slings they may quell the invader, according to our
well-known rule, that the lion is ever to be beaten down. We
have therefore summoned to our presence a Jewish woman, by name
Rebecca, daughter of Isaac of York---a woman infamous for
sortileges and for witcheries; whereby she hath maddened the
blood, and besotted the brain, not of a churl, but of a Knight
---not of a secular Knight, but of one devoted to the service of
the Holy Temple---not of a Knight Companion, but of a Preceptor
of our Order, first in honour as in place. Our brother, Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, is well known to ourselves, and to all degrees who
now hear me, as a true and zealous champion of the Cross, by
whose arm many deeds of valour have been wrought in the Holy
Land, and the holy places purified from pollution by the blood of
those infidels who defiled them. Neither have our brother's
sagacity and prudence been less in repute among his brethren than
his valour and discipline; in so much, that knights, both in
eastern and western lands, have named De Bois-Guilbert as one who
may well be put in nomination as successor to this batoon, when
it shall please Heaven to release us from the toil of bearing it.
If we were told that such a man, so honoured, and so honourable,
suddenly casting away regard for his character, his vows, his
brethren, and his prospects, had associated to himself a Jewish
damsel, wandered in this lewd company, through solitary places,
defended her person in preference to his own, and, finally, was
so utterly blinded and besotted by his folly, as to bring her
even to one of our own Preceptories, what should we say but that
the noble knight was possessed by some evil demon, or influenced
by some wicked spell?---If we could suppose it otherwise, think
not rank, valour, high repute, or any earthly consideration,
should prevent us from visiting him with punishment, that the
evil thing might be removed, even according to the text, 'Auferte
malum ex vobis'. For various and heinous are the acts of
transgression against the rule of our blessed Order in this
lamentable history.---1st, He hath walked according to his proper
will, contrary to capital 33, 'Quod nullus juxta propriam
voluntatem incedat'.---2d, He hath held communication with an
excommunicated person, capital 57, 'Ut fratres non participent
cum excommunicatis', and therefore hath a portion in 'Anathema
Maranatha'.---3d, He hath conversed with strange women, contrary
to the capital, 'Ut fratres non conversantur cum extraneis
mulieribus'.---4th, He hath not avoided, nay, he hath, it is to
be feared, solicited the kiss of woman; by which, saith the last
rule of our renowned Order, 'Ut fugiantur oscula', the soldiers
of the Cross are brought into a snare. For which heinous and
multiplied guilt, Brian de Bois-Guilbert should be cut off and
cast out from our congregation, were he the right hand and right
eye thereof."
He paused. A low murmur went through the assembly. Some of the
younger part, who had been inclined to smile at the statute 'De
osculis fugiendis', became now grave enough, and anxiously waited
what the Grand Master was next to propose.
"Such," he said, "and so great should indeed be the punishment of
a Knight Templar, who wilfully offended against the rules of his
Order in such weighty points. But if, by means of charms and of
spells, Satan had obtained dominion over the Knight, perchance
because he cast his eyes too lightly upon a damsel's beauty, we
are then rather to lament than chastise his backsliding; and,
imposing on him only such penance as may purify him from his
iniquity, we are to turn the full edge of our indignation upon
the accursed instrument, which had so well-nigh occasioned his
utter falling away.---Stand forth, therefore, and bear witness,
ye who have witnessed these unhappy doings, that we may judge of
the sum and bearing thereof; and judge whether our justice may be
satisfied with the punishment of this infidel woman, or if we
must go on, with a bleeding heart, to the further proceeding
against our brother."
Several witnesses were called upon to prove the risks to which
Bois-Guilbert exposed himself in endeavouring to save Rebecca
from the blazing castle, and his neglect of his personal defence
in attending to her safety. The men gave these details with the
exaggerations common to vulgar minds which have been strongly
excited by any remarkable event, and their natural disposition to
the marvellous was greatly increased by the satisfaction which
their evidence seemed to afford to the eminent person for whose
information it had been delivered. Thus the dangers which
Bois-Guilbert surmounted, in themselves sufficiently great,
became portentous in their narrative. The devotion of the Knight
to Rebecca's defence was exaggerated beyond the bounds, not only
of discretion, but even of the most frantic excess of chivalrous
zeal; and his deference to what she said, even although her
language was often severe and upbraiding, was painted as carried
to an excess, which, in a man of his haughty temper, seemed
almost preternatural.
The Preceptor of Templestowe was then called on to describe the
manner in which Bois-Guilbert and the Jewess arrived at the
Preceptory. The evidence of Malvoisin was skilfully guarded.
But while he apparently studied to spare the feelings of
Bois-Guilbert, he threw in, from time to time, such hints, as
seemed to infer that he laboured under some temporary alienation
of mind, so deeply did he appear to be enamoured of the damsel
whom he brought along with him. With sighs of penitence, the
Preceptor avowed his own contrition for having admitted Rebecca
and her lover within the walls of the Preceptory---"But my
defence," he concluded, "has been made in my confession to our
most reverend father the Grand Master; he knows my motives were
not evil, though my conduct may have been irregular. Joyfully
will I submit to any penance he shall assign me."
"Thou hast spoken well, Brother Albert," said Beaumanoir; "thy
motives were good, since thou didst judge it right to arrest
thine erring brother in his career of precipitate folly. But
thy conduct was wrong; as he that would stop a runaway steed,
and seizing by the stirrup instead of the bridle, receiveth
injury himself, instead of accomplishing his purpose. Thirteen
paternosters are assigned by our pious founder for matins, and
nine for vespers; be those services doubled by thee. Thrice
a-week are Templars permitted the use of flesh; but do thou keep
fast for all the seven days. This do for six weeks to come, and
thy penance is accomplished."
With a hypocritical look of the deepest submission, the Preceptor
of Templestowe bowed to the ground before his Superior, and
resumed his seat.
"Were it not well, brethren," said the Grand Master, "that we
examine something into the former life and conversation of this
woman, specially that we may discover whether she be one likely
to use magical charms and spells, since the truths which we have
heard may well incline us to suppose, that in this unhappy course
our erring brother has been acted upon by some infernal
enticement and delusion?"
Herman of Goodalricke was the Fourth Preceptor present; the other
three were Conrade, Malvoisin, and Bois-Guilbert himself. Herman
was an ancient warrior, whose face was marked with sears
inflicted by the sabre of the Moslemah, and had great rank and
consideration among his brethren. He arose and bowed to the
Grand Master, who instantly granted him license of speech. "I
would crave to know, most Reverend Father, of our valiant
brother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, what he says to these wondrous
accusations, and with what eye he himself now regards his unhappy
intercourse with this Jewish maiden?"
"Brian de Bois-Guilbert," said the Grand Master, "thou hearest
the question which our Brother of Goodalricke desirest thou
shouldst answer. I command thee to reply to him."
Bois-Guilbert turned his head towards the Grand Master when thus
addressed, and remained silent.
"He is possessed by a dumb devil," said the Grand Master. "Avoid
thee, Sathanus!---Speak, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, I conjure thee,
by this symbol of our Holy Order."
Bois-Guilbert made an effort to suppress his rising scorn and
indignation, the expression of which, he was well aware, would
have little availed him. "Brian de Bois-Guilbert," he answered,
"replies not, most Reverend Father, to such wild and vague
charges. If his honour be impeached, he will defend it with his
body, and with that sword which has often fought for
Christendom."
"We forgive thee, Brother Brian," said the Grand Master; "though
that thou hast boasted thy warlike achievements before us, is a
glorifying of thine own deeds, and cometh of the Enemy, who
tempteth us to exalt our own worship. But thou hast our pardon,
judging thou speakest less of thine own suggestion than from the
impulse of him whom by Heaven's leave, we will quell and drive
forth from our assembly." A glance of disdain flashed from the
dark fierce eyes of Bois-Guilbert, but he made no reply.---"And
now," pursued the Grand Master, "since our Brother of
Goodalricke's question has been thus imperfectly answered, pursue
we our quest, brethren, and with our patron's assistance, we will
search to the bottom this mystery of iniquity.---Let those who
have aught to witness of the life and conversation of this Jewish
woman, stand forth before us." There was a bustle in the lower
part of the hall, and when the Grand Master enquired the reason,
it was replied, there was in the crowd a bedridden man, whom the
prisoner had restored to the perfect use of his limbs, by a
miraculous balsam.
The poor peasant, a Saxon by birth, was dragged forward to the
bar, terrified at the penal consequences which he might have
incurred by the guilt of having been cured of the palsy by a
Jewish damsel. Perfectly cured he certainly was not, for he
supported himself forward on crutches to give evidence. Most
unwilling was his testimony, and given with many tears; but he
admitted that two years since, when residing at York, he was
suddenly afflicted with a sore disease, while labouring for Isaac
the rich Jew, in his vocation of a joiner; that he had been
unable to stir from his bed until the remedies applied by
Rebecca's directions, and especially a warming and spicy-smelling
balsam, had in some degree restored him to the use of his limbs.
Moreover, he said, she had given him a pot of that precious
ointment, and furnished him with a piece of money withal, to
return to the house of his father, near to Templestowe. "And may
it please your gracious Reverence," said the man, "I cannot think
the damsel meant harm by me, though she hath the ill hap to be a
Jewess; for even when I used her remedy, I said the Pater and the
Creed, and it never operated a whit less kindly---"
"Peace, slave," said the Grand Master, "and begone! It well
suits brutes like thee to be tampering and trinketing with
hellish cures, and to be giving your labour to the sons of
mischief. I tell thee, the fiend can impose diseases for the
very purpose of removing them, in order to bring into credit
some diabolical fashion of cure. Hast thou that unguent of which
thou speakest?"
The peasant, fumbling in his bosom with a trembling hand,
produced a small box, bearing some Hebrew characters on the lid,
which was, with most of the audience, a sure proof that the devil
had stood apothecary. Beaumanoir, after crossing himself, took
the box into his hand, and, learned in most of the Eastern
tongues, read with ease the motto on the lid,---"The Lion of the
tribe of Judah hath conquered." "Strange powers of Sathanas."
said he, "which can convert Scripture into blasphemy, mingling
poison with our necessary food!---Is there no leech here who can
tell us the ingredients of this mystic unguent?"
Two mediciners, as they called themselves, the one a monk, the
other a barber, appeared, and avouched they knew nothing of the
materials, excepting that they savoured of myrrh and camphire,
which they took to be Oriental herbs. But with the true
professional hatred to a successful practitioner of their art,
they insinuated that, since the medicine was beyond their own
knowledge, it must necessarily have been compounded from an
unlawful and magical pharmacopeia; since they themselves, though
no conjurors, fully understood every branch of their art, so far
as it might be exercised with the good faith of a Christian.
When this medical research was ended, the Saxon peasant desired
humbly to have back the medicine which he had found so salutary;
but the Grand Master frowned severely at the request. "What is
thy name, fellow?" said he to the cripple.
"Higg, the son of Snell," answered the peasant.
"Then Higg, son of Snell," said the Grand Master, "I tell thee it
is better to be bedridden, than to accept the benefit of
unbelievers' medicine that thou mayest arise and walk; better to
despoil infidels of their treasure by the strong hand, than to
accept of them benevolent gifts, or do them service for wages.
Go thou, and do as I have said."
"Alack," said the peasant, "an it shall not displease your
Reverence, the lesson comes too late for me, for I am but a
maimed man; but I will tell my two brethren, who serve the rich
Rabbi Nathan Ben Samuel, that your mastership says it is more
lawful to rob him than to render him faithful service."
"Out with the prating villain!" said Beaumanoir, who was not
prepared to refute this practical application of his general
maxim.
Higg, the son of Snell, withdrew into the crowd, but, interested
in the fate of his benefactress, lingered until he should learn
her doom, even at the risk of again encountering the frown of
that severe judge, the terror of which withered his very heart
within him.
At this period of the trial, the Grand Master commanded Rebecca
to unveil herself. Opening her lips for the first time, she
replied patiently, but with dignity,---"That it was not the wont
of the daughters of her people to uncover their faces when alone
in an assembly of strangers." The sweet tones of her voice, and
the softness of her reply, impressed on the audience a sentiment
of pity and sympathy. But Beaumanoir, in whose mind the
suppression of each feeling of humanity which could interfere
with his imagined duty, was a virtue of itself, repeated his
commands that his victim should be unveiled. The guards were
about to remove her veil accordingly, when she stood up before
the Grand Master and said, "Nay, but for the love of your own
daughters---Alas," she said, recollecting herself, "ye have no
daughters!---yet for the remembrance of your mothers---for the
love of your sisters, and of female decency, let me not be thus
handled in your presence; it suits not a maiden to be disrobed
by such rude grooms. I will obey you," she added, with an
expression of patient sorrow in her voice, which had almost
melted the heart of Beaumanoir himself; "ye are elders among your
people, and at your command I will show the features of an
ill-fated maiden."
She withdrew her veil, and looked on them with a countenance in
which bashfulness contended with dignity. Her exceeding beauty
excited a murmur of surprise, and the younger knights told each
other with their eyes, in silent correspondence, that Brian's
best apology was in the power of her real charms, rather than of
her imaginary witchcraft. But Higg, the son of Snell, felt most
deeply the effect produced by the sight of the countenance of his
benefactress.
"Let me go forth," he said to the warders at the door of the
hall,---"let me go forth!---To look at her again will kill me,
for I have had a share in murdering her."
"Peace, poor man," said Rebecca, when she heard his exclamation;
"thou hast done me no harm by speaking the truth---thou canst not
aid me by thy complaints or lamentations. Peace, I pray thee
---go home and save thyself."
Higg was about to be thrust out by the compassion of the warders,
who were apprehensive lest his clamorous grief should draw upon
them reprehension, and upon himself punishment. But he promised
to be silent, and was permitted to remain. The two men-at-arms,
with whom Albert Malvoisin had not failed to communicate upon the
import of their testimony, were now called forward. Though both
were hardened and inflexible villains, the sight of the captive
maiden, as well as her excelling beauty, at first appeared to
stagger them; but an expressive glance from the Preceptor of
Templestowe restored them to their dogged composure; and they
delivered, with a precision which would have seemed suspicious to
more impartial judges, circumstances either altogether fictitious
or trivial, and natural in themselves, but rendered pregnant with
suspicion by the exaggerated manner in which they were told, and
the sinister commentary which the witnesses added to the facts.
The circumstances of their evidence would have been, in modern
days, divided into two classes---those which were immaterial, and
those which were actually and physically impossible. But both
were, in those ignorant and superstitions times, easily credited
as proofs of guilt.---The first class set forth, that Rebecca was
heard to mutter to herself in an unknown tongue---that the songs
she sung by fits were of a strangely sweet sound, which made the
ears of the hearer tingle, and his heart throb---that she spoke
at times to herself, and seemed to look upward for a reply---that
her garments were of a strange and mystic form, unlike those of
women of good repute---that she had rings impressed with
cabalistical devices, and that strange characters were broidered
on her veil.
All these circumstances, so natural and so trivial, were gravely
listened to as proofs, or, at least, as affording strong
suspicions that Rebecca had unlawful correspondence with mystical
powers.
But there was less equivocal testimony, which the credulity of
the assembly, or of the greater part, greedily swallowed, however
incredible. One of the soldiers had seen her work a cure upon a
wounded man, brought with them to the castle of Torquilstone.
She did, he said, make certain signs upon the wound, and repeated
certain mysterious words, which he blessed God he understood not,
when the iron head of a square cross-bow bolt disengaged itself
from the wound, the bleeding was stanched, the wound was closed,
and the dying man was, within a quarter of an hour, walking upon
the ramparts, and assisting the witness in managing a mangonel,
or machine for hurling stones. This legend was probably founded
upon the fact, that Rebecca had attended on the wounded Ivanhoe
when in the castle of Torquilstone. But it was the more
difficult to dispute the accuracy of the witness, as, in order to
produce real evidence in support of his verbal testimony, he drew
from his pouch the very bolt-head, which, according to his story,
had been miraculously extracted from the wound; and as the iron
weighed a full ounce, it completely confirmed the tale, however
marvellous.
His comrade had been a witness from a neighbouring battlement of
the scene betwixt Rebecca and Bois-Guilbert, when she was upon
the point of precipitating herself from the top of the tower.
Not to be behind his companion, this fellow stated, that he had
seen Rebecca perch herself upon the parapet of the turret, and
there take the form of a milk-white swan, under which appearance
she flitted three times round the castle of Torquilstone; then
again settle on the turret, and once more assume the female form.
Less than one half of this weighty evidence would have been
sufficient to convict any old woman, poor and ugly, even though
she had not been a Jewess. United with that fatal circumstance,
the body of proof was too weighty for Rebecca's youth, though
combined with the most exquisite beauty.
The Grand Master had collected the suffrages, and now in a solemn
tone demanded of Rebecca what she had to say against the sentence
of condemnation, which he was about to pronounce.
"To invoke your pity," said the lovely Jewess, with a voice
somewhat tremulous with emotion, "would, I am aware, be as
useless as I should hold it mean. To state that to relieve the
sick and wounded of another religion, cannot be displeasing to
the acknowledged Founder of both our faiths, were also
unavailing; to plead that many things which these men (whom may
Heaven pardon!) have spoken against me are impossible, would
avail me but little, since you believe in their possibility; and
still less would it advantage me to explain, that the
peculiarities of my dress, language, and manners, are those of my
people---I had well-nigh said of my country, but alas! we have no
country. Nor will I even vindicate myself at the expense of my
oppressor, who stands there listening to the fictions and
surmises which seem to convert the tyrant into the victim.---God
be judge between him and me! but rather would I submit to ten
such deaths as your pleasure may denounce against me, than
listen to the suit which that man of Belial has urged upon me
---friendless, defenceless, and his prisoner. But he is of your
own faith, and his lightest affirmance would weigh down the most
solemn protestations of the distressed Jewess. I will not
therefore return to himself the charge brought against me---but
to himself---Yes, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, to thyself I appeal,
whether these accusations are not false? as monstrous and
calumnious as they are deadly?"
There was a pause; all eyes turned to Brain de Bois-Guilbert. He
was silent.
"Speak," she said, "if thou art a man---if thou art a Christian,
speak!---I conjure thee, by the habit which thou dost wear, by
the name thou dost inherit---by the knighthood thou dost vaunt
---by the honour of thy mother---by the tomb and the bones of thy
father---I conjure thee to say, are these things true?"
"Answer her, brother," said the Grand Master, "if the Enemy with
whom thou dost wrestle will give thee power."
In fact, Bois-Guilbert seemed agitated by contending passions,
which almost convulsed his features, and it was with a
constrained voice that at last he replied, looking to Rebecca,
---"The scroll!---the scroll!"
"Ay," said Beaumanoir, "this is indeed testimony! The victim of
her witcheries can only name the fatal scroll, the spell
inscribed on which is, doubtless, the cause of his silence."
But Rebecca put another interpretation on the words extorted as
it were from Bois-Guilbert, and glancing her eye upon the slip of
parchment which she continued to hold in her hand, she read
written thereupon in the Arabian character, "Demand a Champion!"
The murmuring commentary which ran through the assembly at the
strange reply of Bois-Guilbert, gave Rebecca leisure to examine
and instantly to destroy the scroll unobserved. When the whisper
had ceased, the Grand Master spoke.
"Rebecca, thou canst derive no benefit from the evidence of this
unhappy knight, for whom, as we well perceive, the Enemy is yet
too powerful. Hast thou aught else to say?"
"There is yet one chance of life left to me," said Rebecca, "even
by your own fierce laws. Life has been miserable---miserable, at
least, of late---but I will not cast away the gift of God, while
he affords me the means of defending it. I deny this charge---I
maintain my innocence, and I declare the falsehood of this
accusation---I challenge the privilege of trial by combat, and
will appear by my champion."
"And who, Rebecca," replied the Grand Master, "will lay lance in
rest for a sorceress? who will be the champion of a Jewess?"
"God will raise me up a champion," said Rebecca---"It cannot be
that in merry England---the hospitable, the generous, the free,
where so many are ready to peril their lives for honour, there
will not be found one to fight for justice. But it is enough
that I challenge the trial by combat---there lies my gage."
She took her embroidered glove from her hand, and flung it down
before the Grand Master with an air of mingled simplicity and
dignity, which excited universal surprise and admiration.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
------There I throw my gage,
To prove it on thee to the extremest point
Of martial daring.
Richard II
Even Lucas Beaumanoir himself was affected by the mien and
appearance of Rebecca. He was not originally a cruel or even a
severe man; but with passions by nature cold, and with a high,
though mistaken, sense of duty, his heart had been gradually
hardened by the ascetic life which he pursued, the supreme power
which he enjoyed, and the supposed necessity of subduing
infidelity and eradicating heresy, which he conceived peculiarly
incumbent on him. His features relaxed in their usual severity
as he gazed upon the beautiful creature before him, alone,
unfriended, and defending herself with so much spirit and
courage. He crossed himself twice, as doubting whence arose the
unwonted softening of a heart, which on such occasions used to
resemble in hardness the steel of his sword. At length he spoke.
"Damsel," he said, "if the pity I feel for thee arise from any
practice thine evil arts have made on me, great is thy guilt.
But I rather judge it the kinder feelings of nature, which
grieves that so goodly a form should be a vessel of perdition.
Repent, my daughter---confess thy witchcrafts---turn thee from
thine evil faith---embrace this holy emblem, and all shall yet be
well with thee here and hereafter. In some sisterhood of the
strictest order, shalt thou have time for prayer and fitting
penance, and that repentance not to be repented of. This do and
live---what has the law of Moses done for thee that thou
shouldest die for it?"
"It was the law of my fathers," said Rebecca; "it was delivered
in thunders and in storms upon the mountain of Sinai, in cloud
and in fire. This, if ye are Christians, ye believe---it is, you
say, recalled; but so my teachers have not taught me."
"Let our chaplain," said Beaumanoir, "stand forth, and tell this
obstinate infidel---"
"Forgive the interruption," said Rebecca, meekly; "I am a maiden,
unskilled to dispute for my religion, but I can die for it, if it
be God's will.---Let me pray your answer to my demand of a
champion."
"Give me her glove," said Beaumanoir. "This is indeed," he
continued, as he looked at the flimsy texture and slender
fingers, "a slight and frail gage for a purpose so deadly!
---Seest thou, Rebecca, as this thin and light glove of thine is
to one of our heavy steel gauntlets, so is thy cause to that of
the Temple, for it is our Order which thou hast defied."
"Cast my innocence into the scale," answered Rebecca, "and the
glove of silk shall outweigh the glove of iron."
"Then thou dost persist in thy refusal to confess thy guilt, and
in that bold challenge which thou hast made?"
"I do persist, noble sir," answered Rebecca.
"So be it then, in the name of Heaven," said the Grand Master;
"and may God show the right!"
"Amen," replied the Preceptors around him, and the word was
deeply echoed by the whole assembly.
"Brethren," said Beaumanoir, "you are aware that we might well
have refused to this woman the benefit of the trial by combat
---but though a Jewess and an unbeliever, she is also a stranger
and defenceless, and God forbid that she should ask the benefit
of our mild laws, and that it should be refused to her.
Moreover, we are knights and soldiers as well as men of religion,
and shame it were to us upon any pretence, to refuse proffered
combat. Thus, therefore, stands the case. Rebecca, the daughter
of Isaac of York, is, by many frequent and suspicious
circumstances, defamed of sorcery practised on the person of a
noble knight of our holy Order, and hath challenged the combat in
proof of her innocence. To whom, reverend brethren, is it your
opinion that we should deliver the gage of battle, naming him, at
the same time, to be our champion on the field?"
"To Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whom it chiefly concerns," said the
Preceptor of Goodalricke, "and who, moreover, best knows how the
truth stands in this matter."
"But if," said the Grand Master, "our brother Brian be under the
influence of a charm or a spell---we speak but for the sake of
precaution, for to the arm of none of our holy Order would we
more willingly confide this or a more weighty cause."
"Reverend father," answered the Preceptor of Goodalricke, "no
spell can effect the champion who comes forward to fight for the
judgment of God."
"Thou sayest right, brother," said the Grand Master. "Albert
Malvoisin, give this gage of battle to Brian de Bois-Guilbert.
---It is our charge to thee, brother," he continued, addressing
himself to Bois-Guilbert, "that thou do thy battle manfully,
nothing doubting that the good cause shall triumph.---And do
thou, Rebecca, attend, that we assign thee the third day from the
present to find a champion."
"That is but brief space," answered Rebecca, "for a stranger, who
is also of another faith, to find one who will do battle,
wagering life and honour for her cause, against a knight who is
called an approved soldier."
"We may not extend it," answered the Grand Master; "the field
must be foughten in our own presence, and divers weighty causes
call us on the fourth day from hence."
"God's will be done!" said Rebecca; "I put my trust in Him, to
whom an instant is as effectual to save as a whole age."
"Thou hast spoken well, damsel," said the Grand Master; "but well
know we who can array himself like an angel of light. It remains
but to name a fitting place of combat, and, if it so hap, also of
execution.---Where is the Preceptor of this house?"
Albert Malvoisin, still holding Rebecca's glove in his hand, was
speaking to Bois-Guilbert very earnestly, but in a low voice.
"How!" said the Grand Master, "will he not receive the gage?"
"He will---he doth, most Reverend Father," said Malvoisin,
slipping the glove under his own mantle. "And for the place of
combat, I hold the fittest to be the lists of Saint George
belonging to this Preceptory, and used by us for military
exercise."
"It is well," said the Grand Master.---"Rebecca, in those lists
shalt thou produce thy champion; and if thou failest to do so, or
if thy champion shall be discomfited by the judgment of God, thou
shalt then die the death of a sorceress, according to doom.---Let
this our judgment be recorded, and the record read aloud, that no
one may pretend ignorance."
One of the chaplains, who acted as clerks to the chapter,
immediately engrossed the order in a huge volume, which contained
the proceedings of the Templar Knights when solemnly assembled on
such occasions; and when he had finished writing, the other read
aloud the sentence of the Grand Master, which, when translated
from the Norman-French in which it was couched, was expressed as
follows.---
"Rebecca, a Jewess, daughter of Isaac of York, being attainted of
sorcery, seduction, and other damnable practices, practised on a
Knight of the most Holy Order of the Temple of Zion, doth deny
the same; and saith, that the testimony delivered against her
this day is false, wicked, and disloyal; and that by lawful
'essoine'*
* "Essoine" signifies excuse, and here relates to the
* appellant's privilege of appearing by her champion, in
* excuse of her own person on account of her sex.
of her body as being unable to combat in her own behalf, she doth
offer, by a champion instead thereof, to avouch her case, he
performing his loyal 'devoir' in all knightly sort, with such
arms as to gage of battle do fully appertain, and that at her
peril and cost. And therewith she proffered her gage. And the
gage having been delivered to the noble Lord and Knight, Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, of the Holy Order of the Temple of Zion, he was
appointed to do this battle, in behalf of his Order and himself,
as injured and impaired by the practices of the appellant.
Wherefore the most reverend Father and puissant Lord, Lucas
Marquis of Beaumanoir, did allow of the said challenge, and of
the said 'essoine' of the appellant's body, and assigned the
third day for the said combat, the place being the enclosure
called the lists of Saint George, near to the Preceptory of
Templestowe. And the Grand Master appoints the appellant to
appear there by her champion, on pain of doom, as a person
convicted of sorcery or seduction; and also the defendant so to
appear, under the penalty of being held and adjudged recreant in
case of default; and the noble Lord and most reverend Father
aforesaid appointed the battle to be done in his own presence,
and according to all that is commendable and profitable in such a
case. And may God aid the just cause!"
"Amen!" said the Grand Master; and the word was echoed by all
around. Rebecca spoke not, but she looked up to heaven, and,
folding her hands, remained for a minute without change of
attitude. She then modestly reminded the Grand Master, that she
ought to be permitted some opportunity of free communication with
her friends, for the purpose of making her condition known to
them, and procuring, if possible, some champion to fight in her
behalf.
"It is just and lawful," said the Grand Master; "choose what
messenger thou shalt trust, and he shall have free communication
with thee in thy prison-chamber."
"Is there," said Rebecca, "any one here, who, either for love of
a good cause, or for ample hire, will do the errand of a
distressed being?"
All were silent; for none thought it safe, in the presence of the
Grand Master, to avow any interest in the calumniated prisoner,
lest he should be suspected of leaning towards Judaism. Not even
the prospect of reward, far less any feelings of compassion
alone, could surmount this apprehension.
Rebecca stood for a few moments in indescribable anxiety, and
then exclaimed, "Is it really thus?---And, in English land, am I
to be deprived of the poor chance of safety which remains to me,
for want of an act of charity which would not be refused to the
worst criminal?"
Higg, the son of Snell, at length replied, "I am but a maimed
man, but that I can at all stir or move was owing to her
charitable assistance.---I will do thine errand," he added,
addressing Rebecca, "as well as a crippled object can, and happy
were my limbs fleet enough to repair the mischief done by my
tongue. Alas! when I boasted of thy charity, I little thought I
was leading thee into danger!"
"God," said Rebecca, "is the disposer of all. He can turn back
the captivity of Judah, even by the weakest instrument. To
execute his message the snail is as sure a messenger as the
falcon. Seek out Isaac of York---here is that will pay for horse
and man---let him have this scroll.---I know not if it be of
Heaven the spirit which inspires me, but most truly do I judge
that I am not to die this death, and that a champion will be
raised up for me. Farewell!---Life and death are in thy haste."
The peasant took the scroll, which contained only a few lines in
Hebrew. Many of the crowd would have dissuaded him from touching
a document so suspicious; but Higg was resolute in the service of
his benefactress. She had saved his body, he said, and he was
confident she did not mean to peril his soul.
"I will get me," he said, "my neighbour Buthan's good capul,*
* "Capul", i.e. horse; in a more limited sense, work-horse.
and I will be at York within as brief space as man and beast
may."
But as it fortuned, he had no occasion to go so far, for within a
quarter of a mile from the gate of the Preceptory he met with two
riders, whom, by their dress and their huge yellow caps, he knew
to be Jews; and, on approaching more nearly, discovered that one
of them was his ancient employer, Isaac of York. The other was
the Rabbi Ben Samuel; and both had approached as near to the
Preceptory as they dared, on hearing that the Grand Master had
summoned a chapter for the trial of a sorceress.
"Brother Ben Samuel," said Isaac, "my soul is disquieted, and I
wot not why. This charge of necromancy is right often used for
cloaking evil practices on our people."
"Be of good comfort, brother," said the physician; "thou canst
deal with the Nazarenes as one possessing the mammon of
unrighteousness, and canst therefore purchase immunity at their
hands---it rules the savage minds of those ungodly men, even as
the signet of the mighty Solomon was said to command the evil
genii.---But what poor wretch comes hither upon his crutches,
desiring, as I think, some speech of me?---Friend," continued the
physician, addressing Higg, the son of Snell, "I refuse thee not
the aid of mine art, but I relieve not with one asper those who
beg for alms upon the highway. Out upon thee!---Hast thou the
palsy in thy legs? then let thy hands work for thy livelihood;
for, albeit thou best unfit for a speedy post, or for a careful
shepherd, or for the warfare, or for the service of a hasty
master, yet there be occupations---How now, brother?" said he,
interrupting his harangue to look towards Isaac, who had but
glanced at the scroll which Higg offered, when, uttering a deep
groan, he fell from his mule like a dying man, and lay for a
minute insensible.
The Rabbi now dismounted in great alarm, and hastily applied the
remedies which his art suggested for the recovery of his
companion. He had even taken from his pocket a cupping
apparatus, and was about to proceed to phlebotomy, when the
object of his anxious solicitude suddenly revived; but it was to
dash his cap from his head, and to throw dust on his grey hairs.
The physician was at first inclined to ascribe this sudden and
violent emotion to the effects of insanity; and, adhering to his
original purpose, began once again to handle his implements. But
Isaac soon convinced him of his error.
"Child of my sorrow," he said, "well shouldst thou be called
Benoni, instead of Rebecca! Why should thy death bring down my
grey hairs to the grave, till, in the bitterness of my heart, I
curse God and die!"
"Brother," said the Rabbi, in great surprise, "art thou a father
in Israel, and dost thou utter words like unto these?---I trust
that the child of thy house yet liveth?"
"She liveth," answered Isaac; "but it is as Daniel, who was
called Beltheshazzar, even when within the den of the lions. She
is captive unto those men of Belial, and they will wreak their
cruelty upon her, sparing neither for her youth nor her comely
favour. O! she was as a crown of green palms to my grey locks;
and she must wither in a night, like the gourd of Jonah!---Child
of my love!---child of my old age!---oh, Rebecca, daughter of
Rachel! the darkness of the shadow of death hath encompassed
thee."
"Yet read the scroll," said the Rabbi; "peradventure it may be
that we may yet find out a way of deliverance."
"Do thou read, brother," answered Isaac, "for mine eyes are as a
fountain of water."
The physician read, but in their native language, the following
words:---
"To Isaac, the son of Adonikam, whom the Gentiles call Isaac of
York, peace and the blessing of the promise be multiplied unto
thee!---My father, I am as one doomed to die for that which my
soul knoweth not---even for the crime of witchcraft. My father,
if a strong man can be found to do battle for my cause with
sword and spear, according to the custom of the Nazarenes, and
that within the lists of Templestowe, on the third day from this
time, peradventure our fathers' God will give him strength to
defend the innocent, and her who hath none to help her. But if
this may not be, let the virgins of our people mourn for me as
for one cast off, and for the hart that is stricken by the
hunter, and for the flower which is cut down by the scythe of the
mower. Wherefore look now what thou doest, and whether there be
any rescue. One Nazarene warrior might indeed bear arms in my
behalf, even Wilfred, son of Cedric, whom the Gentiles call
Ivanhoe. But he may not yet endure the weight of his armour.
Nevertheless, send the tidings unto him, my father; for he hath
favour among the strong men of his people, and as he was our
companion in the house of bondage, he may find some one to do
battle for my sake. And say unto him, even unto him, even unto
Wilfred, the son of Cedric, that if Rebecca live, or if Rebecca
die, she liveth or dieth wholly free of the guilt she is charged
withal. And if it be the will of God that thou shalt be deprived
of thy daughter, do not thou tarry, old man, in this land of
bloodshed and cruelty; but betake thyself to Cordova, where thy
brother liveth in safety, under the shadow of the throne, even of
the throne of Boabdil the Saracen; for less cruel are the
cruelties of the Moors unto the race of Jacob, than the cruelties
of the Nazarenes of England."
Isaac listened with tolerable composure while Ben Samuel read the
letter, and then again resumed the gestures and exclamations of
Oriental sorrow, tearing his garments, besprinkling his head with
dust, and ejaculating, "My daughter! my daughter! flesh of my
flesh, and bone of my bone!"
"Yet," said the Rabbi, "take courage, for this grief availeth
nothing. Gird up thy loins, and seek out this Wilfred, the son
of Cedric. It may be he will help thee with counsel or with
strength; for the youth hath favour in the eyes of Richard,
called of the Nazarenes Coeur-de-Lion, and the tidings that he
hath returned are constant in the land. It may be that he may
obtain his letter, and his signet, commanding these men of blood,
who take their name from the Temple to the dishonour thereof,
that they proceed not in their purposed wickedness."
"I will seek him out," said Isaac, "for he is a good youth, and
hath compassion for the exile of Jacob. But he cannot bear his
armour, and what other Christian shall do battle for the
oppressed of Zion?"
"Nay, but," said the Rabbi, "thou speakest as one that knoweth
not the Gentiles. With gold shalt thou buy their valour, even as
with gold thou buyest thine own safety. Be of good courage, and
do thou set forward to find out this Wilfred of Ivanhoe. I will
also up and be doing, for great sin it were to leave thee in thy
calamity. I will hie me to the city of York, where many warriors
and strong men are assembled, and doubt not I will find among
them some one who will do battle for thy daughter; for gold is
their god, and for riches will they pawn their lives as well as
their lands.---Thou wilt fulfil, my brother, such promise as I
may make unto them in thy name?"
"Assuredly, brother," said Isaac, "and Heaven be praised that
raised me up a comforter in my misery. Howbeit, grant them not
their full demand at once, for thou shalt find it the quality of
this accursed people that they will ask pounds, and peradventure
accept of ounces---Nevertheless, be it as thou willest, for I am
distracted in this thing, and what would my gold avail me if the
child of my love should perish!"
"Farewell," said the physician, "and may it be to thee as thy
heart desireth."
They embraced accordingly, and departed on their several roads.
The crippled peasant remained for some time looking after them.
"These dog-Jews!" said he; "to take no more notice of a free
guild-brother, than if I were a bond slave or a Turk, or a
circumcised Hebrew like themselves! They might have flung me a
mancus or two, however. I was not obliged to bring their
unhallowed scrawls, and run the risk of being bewitched, as more
folks than one told me. And what care I for the bit of gold that
the wench gave me, if I am to come to harm from the priest next
Easter at confession, and be obliged to give him twice as much to
make it up with him, and be called the Jew's flying post all my
life, as it may hap, into the bargain? I think I was bewitched
in earnest when I was beside that girl!---But it was always so
with Jew or Gentile, whosoever came near her---none could stay
when she had an errand to go---and still, whenever I think of
her, I would give shop and tools to save her life."
CHAPTER XXXIX
O maid, unrelenting and cold as thou art,
My bosom is proud as thine own.
Seward
It was in the twilight of the day when her trial, if it could be
called such, had taken place, that a low knock was heard at the
door of Rebecca's prison-chamber. It disturbed not the inmate,
who was then engaged in the evening prayer recommended by her
religion, and which concluded with a hymn we have ventured thus
to translate into English.
When Israel, of the Lord beloved,
Out of the land of bondage came,
Her father's God before her moved,
An awful guide, in smoke and flame.
By day, along the astonish'd lands
The cloudy pillar glided slow;
By night, Arabia's crimson'd sands
Return'd the fiery column's glow.
There rose the choral hymn of praise,
And trump and timbrel answer'd keen,
And Zion's daughters pour'd their lays,
With priest's and warrior's voice between.
No portents now our foes amaze,
Forsaken Israel wanders lone;
Our fathers would not know THY ways,
And THOU hast left them to their own.
But, present still, though now unseen;
When brightly shines the prosperous day,
Be thoughts of THEE a cloudy screen
To temper the deceitful ray.
And oh, when stoops on Judah's path
In shade and storm the frequent night,
Be THOU, long-suffering, slow to wrath,
A burning, and a shining light!
Our harps we left by Babel's streams,
The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn;
No censer round our altar beams,
And mute our timbrel, trump, and horn.
But THOU hast said, the blood of goat,
The flesh of rams, I will not prize;
A contrite heart, and humble thought,
Are mine accepted sacrifice.
When the sounds of Rebecca's devotional hymn had died away in
silence, the low knock at the door was again renewed. "Enter,"
she said, "if thou art a friend; and if a foe, I have not the
means of refusing thy entrance."
"I am," said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, entering the apartment,
"friend or foe, Rebecca, as the event of this interview shall
make me."
Alarmed at the sight of this man, whose licentious passion she
considered as the root of her misfortunes, Rebecca drew backward
with a cautious and alarmed, yet not a timorous demeanour, into
the farthest corner of the apartment, as if determined to retreat
as far as she could, but to stand her ground when retreat became
no longer possible. She drew herself into an attitude not of
defiance, but of resolution, as one that would avoid provoking
assault, yet was resolute to repel it, being offered, to the
utmost of her power.
"You have no reason to fear me, Rebecca," said the Templar; "or
if I must so qualify my speech, you have at least NOW no reason
to fear me."
"I fear you not, Sir Knight," replied Rebecca, although her
short-drawn breath seemed to belie the heroism of her accents;
"my trust is strong, and I fear thee not."
"You have no cause," answered Bois-Guilbert, gravely; "my former
frantic attempts you have not now to dread. Within your call are
guards, over whom I have no authority. They are designed to
conduct you to death, Rebecca, yet would not suffer you to be
insulted by any one, even by me, were my frenzy---for frenzy it
is---to urge me so far."
"May Heaven be praised!" said the Jewess; "death is the least of
my apprehensions in this den of evil."
"Ay," replied the Templar, "the idea of death is easily received
by the courageous mind, when the road to it is sudden and open.
A thrust with a lance, a stroke with a sword, were to me little
---To you, a spring from a dizzy battlement, a stroke with a
sharp poniard, has no terrors, compared with what either thinks
disgrace. Mark me---I say this---perhaps mine own sentiments of
honour are not less fantastic, Rebecca, than thine are; but we
know alike how to die for them."
"Unhappy man," said the Jewess; "and art thou condemned to expose
thy life for principles, of which thy sober judgment does not
acknowledge the solidity? Surely this is a parting with your
treasure for that which is not bread---but deem not so of me.
Thy resolution may fluctuate on the wild and changeful billows of
human opinion, but mine is anchored on the Rock of Ages."
"Silence, maiden," answered the Templar; "such discourse now
avails but little. Thou art condemned to die not a sudden and
easy death, such as misery chooses, and despair welcomes, but a
slow, wretched, protracted course of torture, suited to what the
diabolical bigotry of these men calls thy crime."
"And to whom---if such my fate---to whom do I owe this?" said
Rebecca "surely only to him, who, for a most selfish and brutal
cause, dragged me hither, and who now, for some unknown purpose
of his own, strives to exaggerate the wretched fate to which he
exposed me."
"Think not," said the Templar, "that I have so exposed thee; I
would have bucklered thee against such danger with my own bosom,
as freely as ever I exposed it to the shafts which had otherwise
reached thy life."
"Had thy purpose been the honourable protection of the innocent,"
said Rebecca, "I had thanked thee for thy care---as it is, thou
hast claimed merit for it so often, that I tell thee life is
worth nothing to me, preserved at the price which thou wouldst
exact for it."
"Truce with thine upbraidings, Rebecca," said the Templar; "I
have my own cause of grief, and brook not that thy reproaches
should add to it."
"What is thy purpose, then, Sir Knight?" said the Jewess; "speak
it briefly.---If thou hast aught to do, save to witness the
misery thou hast caused, let me know it; and then, if so it
please you, leave me to myself---the step between time and
eternity is short but terrible, and I have few moments to prepare
for it."
"I perceive, Rebecca," said Bois-Guilbert, "that thou dost
continue to burden me with the charge of distresses, which most
fain would I have prevented."
"Sir Knight," said Rebecca, "I would avoid reproaches---But what
is more certain than that I owe my death to thine unbridled
passion?"
"You err---you err,"---said the Templar, hastily, "if you impute
what I could neither foresee nor prevent to my purpose or agency.
---Could I guess the unexpected arrival of yon dotard, whom some
flashes of frantic valour, and the praises yielded by fools to
the stupid self-torments of an ascetic, have raised for the
present above his own merits, above common sense, above me, and
above the hundreds of our Order, who think and feel as men free
from such silly and fantastic prejudices as are the grounds of
his opinions and actions?"
"Yet," said Rebecca, "you sate a judge upon me, innocent---most
innocent---as you knew me to be---you concurred in my
condemnation, and, if I aright understood, are yourself to appear
in arms to assert my guilt, and assure my punishment."
"Thy patience, maiden," replied the Templar. "No race knows so
well as thine own tribes how to submit to the time, and so to
trim their bark as to make advantage even of an adverse wind."
"Lamented be the hour," said Rebecca, "that has taught such art
to the House of Israel! but adversity bends the heart as fire
bends the stubborn steel, and those who are no longer their own
governors, and the denizens of their own free independent state,
must crouch before strangers. It is our curse, Sir Knight,
deserved, doubtless, by our own misdeeds and those of our
fathers; but you---you who boast your freedom as your birthright,
how much deeper is your disgrace when you stoop to soothe the
prejudices of others, and that against your own conviction?"
"Your words are bitter, Rebecca," said Bois-Guilbert, pacing the
apartment with impatience, "but I came not hither to bandy
reproaches with you.---Know that Bois-Guilbert yields not to
created man, although circumstances may for a time induce him to
alter his plan. His will is the mountain stream, which may
indeed be turned for a little space aside by the rock, but fails
not to find its course to the ocean. That scroll which warned
thee to demand a champion, from whom couldst thou think it came,
if not from Bois-Guilbert? In whom else couldst thou have excited
such interest?"
"A brief respite from instant death," said Rebecca, "which will
little avail me---was this all thou couldst do for one, on whose
head thou hast heaped sorrow, and whom thou hast brought near
even to the verge of the tomb?"
"No maiden," said Bois-Guilbert, "this was NOT all that I
purposed. Had it not been for the accursed interference of yon
fanatical dotard, and the fool of Goodalricke, who, being a
Templar, affects to think and judge according to the ordinary
rules of humanity, the office of the Champion Defender had
devolved, not on a Preceptor, but on a Companion of the Order.
Then I myself---such was my purpose---had, on the sounding of the
trumpet, appeared in the lists as thy champion, disguised indeed
in the fashion of a roving knight, who seeks adventures to prove
his shield and spear; and then, let Beaumanoir have chosen not
one, but two or three of the brethren here assembled, I had not
doubted to cast them out of the saddle with my single lance.
Thus, Rebecca, should thine innocence have been avouched, and to
thine own gratitude would I have trusted for the reward of my
victory."
"This, Sir Knight," said Rebecca, "is but idle boasting---a brag
of what you would have done had you not found it convenient to do
otherwise. You received my glove, and my champion, if a creature
so desolate can find one, must encounter your lance in the lists
---yet you would assume the air of my friend and protector!"
"Thy friend and protector," said the Templar, gravely, "I will
yet be---but mark at what risk, or rather at what certainty, of
dishonour; and then blame me not if I make my stipulations,
before I offer up all that I have hitherto held dear, to save the
life of a Jewish maiden."
"Speak," said Rebecca; "I understand thee not."
"Well, then," said Bois-Guilbert, "I will speak as freely as ever
did doting penitent to his ghostly father, when placed in the
tricky confessional.---Rebecca, if I appear not in these lists I
lose fame and rank---lose that which is the breath of my
nostrils, the esteem, I mean, in which I am held by my brethren,
and the hopes I have of succeeding to that mighty authority,
which is now wielded by the bigoted dotard Lucas de Beaumanoir,
but of which I should make a different use. Such is my certain
doom, except I appear in arms against thy cause. Accursed be he
of Goodalricke, who baited this trap for me! and doubly accursed
Albert de Malvoisin, who withheld me from the resolution I had
formed, of hurling back the glove at the face of the
superstitious and superannuated fool, who listened to a charge so
absurd, and against a creature so high in mind, and so lovely in
form as thou art!"
"And what now avails rant or flattery?" answered Rebecca. "Thou
hast made thy choice between causing to be shed the blood of an
innocent woman, or of endangering thine own earthly state and
earthly hopes---What avails it to reckon together?---thy choice
is made."
"No, Rebecca," said the knight, in a softer tone, and drawing
nearer towards her; "my choice is NOT made---nay, mark, it is
thine to make the election. If I appear in the lists, I must
maintain my name in arms; and if I do so, championed or
unchampioned, thou diest by the stake and faggot, or there lives
not the knight who hath coped with me in arms on equal issue, or
on terms of vantage, save Richard Coeur-de-Lion, and his minion
of Ivanhoe. Ivanhoe, as thou well knowest, is unable to bear his
corslet, and Richard is in a foreign prison. If I appear, then
thou diest, even although thy charms should instigate some
hot-headed youth to enter the lists in thy defence."
"And what avails repeating this so often?" said Rebecca.
"Much," replied the Templar; "for thou must learn to look at thy
fate on every side."
"Well, then, turn the tapestry," said the Jewess, "and let me see
the other side."
"If I appear," said Bois-Guilbert, "in the fatal lists, thou
diest by a slow and cruel death, in pain such as they say is
destined to the guilty hereafter. But if I appear not, then am I
a degraded and dishonoured knight, accused of witchcraft and of
communion with infidels---the illustrious name which has grown
yet more so under my wearing, becomes a hissing and a reproach.
I lose fame, I lose honour, I lose the prospect of such greatness
as scarce emperors attain to---I sacrifice mighty ambition, I
destroy schemes built as high as the mountains with which
heathens say their heaven was once nearly scaled---and yet,
Rebecca," he added, throwing himself at her feet, "this greatness
will I sacrifice, this fame will I renounce, this power will I
forego, even now when it is half within my grasp, if thou wilt
say, Bois-Guilbert, I receive thee for my lover."
"Think not of such foolishness, Sir Knight," answered Rebecca,
"but hasten to the Regent, the Queen Mother, and to Prince John
---they cannot, in honour to the English crown, allow of the
proceedings of your Grand Master. So shall you give me
protection without sacrifice on your part, or the pretext of
requiring any requital from me."
"With these I deal not," he continued, holding the train of her
robe---"it is thee only I address; and what can counterbalance
thy choice? Bethink thee, were I a fiend, yet death is a worse,
and it is death who is my rival."
"I weigh not these evils," said Rebecca, afraid to provoke the
wild knight, yet equally determined neither to endure his
passion, nor even feign to endure it. "Be a man, be a Christian!
If indeed thy faith recommends that mercy which rather your
tongues than your actions pretend, save me from this dreadful
death, without seeking a requital which would change thy
magnanimity into base barter."
"No, damsel!" said the proud Templar, springing up, "thou shalt
not thus impose on me---if I renounce present fame and future
ambition, I renounce it for thy sake, and we will escape in
company. Listen to me, Rebecca," he said, again softening his
tone; "England,---Europe,---is not the world. There are spheres
in which we may act, ample enough even for my ambition. We will
go to Palestine, where Conrade, Marquis of Montserrat, is my
friend---a friend free as myself from the doting scruples which
fetter our free-born reason----rather with Saladin will we league
ourselves, than endure the scorn of the bigots whom we contemn.
---I will form new paths to greatness," he continued, again
traversing the room with hasty strides---"Europe shall hear the
loud step of him she has driven from her sons!---Not the millions
whom her crusaders send to slaughter, can do so much to defend
Palestine---not the sabres of the thousands and ten thousands of
Saracens can hew their way so deep into that land for which
nations are striving, as the strength and policy of me and those
brethren, who, in despite of yonder old bigot, will adhere to me
in good and evil. Thou shalt be a queen, Rebecca---on Mount
Carmel shall we pitch the throne which my valour will gain for
you, and I will exchange my long-desired batoon for a sceptre!"
"A dream," said Rebecca; "an empty vision of the night, which,
were it a waking reality, affects me not. Enough, that the power
which thou mightest acquire, I will never share; nor hold I so
light of country or religious faith, as to esteem him who is
willing to barter these ties, and cast away the bonds of the
Order of which he is a sworn member, in order to gratify an
unruly passion for the daughter of another people.---Put not a
price on my deliverance, Sir Knight---sell not a deed of
generosity---protect the oppressed for the sake of charity, and
not for a selfish advantage---Go to the throne of England;
Richard will listen to my appeal from these cruel men."
"Never, Rebecca!" said the Templar, fiercely. "If I renounce my
Order, for thee alone will I renounce it---Ambition shall remain
mine, if thou refuse my love; I will not be fooled on all hands.
---Stoop my crest to Richard?---ask a boon of that heart of
pride?---Never, Rebecca, will I place the Order of the Temple at
his feet in my person. I may forsake the Order, I never will
degrade or betray it."
"Now God be gracious to me," said Rebecca, "for the succour of
man is well-nigh hopeless!"
"It is indeed," said the Templar; "for, proud as thou art, thou
hast in me found thy match. If I enter the lists with my spear
in rest, think not any human consideration shall prevent my
putting forth my strength; and think then upon thine own fate
---to die the dreadful death of the worst of criminals---to be
consumed upon a blazing pile---dispersed to the elements of which
our strange forms are so mystically composed---not a relic left
of that graceful frame, from which we could say this lived and
moved!---Rebecca, it is not in woman to sustain this prospect
---thou wilt yield to my suit."
"Bois-Guilbert," answered the Jewess, "thou knowest not the heart
of woman, or hast only conversed with those who are lost to her
best feelings. I tell thee, proud Templar, that not in thy
fiercest battles hast thou displayed more of thy vaunted courage,
than has been shown by woman when called upon to suffer by
affection or duty. I am myself a woman, tenderly nurtured,
naturally fearful of danger, and impatient of pain---yet, when we
enter those fatal lists, thou to fight and I to suffer, I feel
the strong assurance within me, that my courage shall mount
higher than thine. Farewell---I waste no more words on thee; the
time that remains on earth to the daughter of Jacob must be
otherwise spent---she must seek the Comforter, who may hide his
face from his people, but who ever opens his ear to the cry of
those who seek him in sincerity and in truth."
"We part then thus?" said the Templar, after a short pause;
"would to Heaven that we had never met, or that thou hadst been
noble in birth and Christian in faith!---Nay, by Heaven! when I
gaze on thee, and think when and how we are next to meet, I could
even wish myself one of thine own degraded nation; my hand
conversant with ingots and shekels, instead of spear and shield;
my head bent down before each petty noble, and my look only
terrible to the shivering and bankrupt debtor---this could I
wish, Rebecca, to be near to thee in life, and to escape the
fearful share I must have in thy death."
"Thou hast spoken the Jew," said Rebecca, "as the persecution of
such as thou art has made him. Heaven in ire has driven him from
his country, but industry has opened to him the only road to
power and to influence, which oppression has left unbarred. Read
the ancient history of the people of God, and tell me if those,
by whom Jehovah wrought such marvels among the nations, were then
a people of misers and of usurers!---And know, proud knight, we
number names amongst us to which your boasted northern nobility
is as the gourd compared with the cedar---names that ascend far
back to those high times when the Divine Presence shook the
mercy-seat between the cherubim, and which derive their splendour
from no earthly prince, but from the awful Voice, which bade
their fathers be nearest of the congregation to the Vision---Such
were the princes of the House of Jacob."
Rebecca's colour rose as she boasted the ancient glories of her
race, but faded as she added, with at sigh, "Such WERE the
princes of Judah, now such no more!---They are trampled down like
the shorn grass, and mixed with the mire of the ways. Yet are
there those among them who shame not such high descent, and of
such shall be the daughter of Isaac the son of Adonikam!
Farewell!---I envy not thy blood-won honours---I envy not thy
barbarous descent from northern heathens---I envy thee not thy
faith, which is ever in thy mouth, but never in thy heart nor in
thy practice."
"There is a spell on me, by Heaven!" said Bois-Guilbert. "I
almost think yon besotted skeleton spoke truth, and that the
reluctance with which I part from thee hath something in it more
than is natural.---Fair creature!" he said, approaching near her,
but with great respect,---"so young, so beautiful, so fearless of
death! and yet doomed to die, and with infamy and agony. Who
would not weep for thee?---The tear, that has been a stranger to
these eyelids for twenty years, moistens them as I gaze on thee.
But it must be---nothing may now save thy life. Thou and I are
but the blind instruments of some irresistible fatality, that
hurries us along, like goodly vessels driving before the storm,
which are dashed against each other, and so perish. Forgive me,
then, and let us part, at least, as friends part. I have
assailed thy resolution in vain, and mine own is fixed as the
adamantine decrees of fate."
"Thus," said Rebecca, "do men throw on fate the issue of their
own wild passions. But I do forgive thee, Bois-Guilbert, though
the author of my early death. There are noble things which cross
over thy powerful mind; but it is the garden of the sluggard, and
the weeds have rushed up, and conspired to choke the fair and
wholesome blossom."
"Yes," said the Templar, "I am, Rebecca, as thou hast spoken me,
untaught, untamed---and proud, that, amidst a shoal of empty
fools and crafty bigots, I have retained the preeminent fortitude
that places me above them. I have been a child of battle from my
youth upward, high in my views, steady and inflexible in pursuing
them. Such must I remain---proud, inflexible, and unchanging;
and of this the world shall have proof.---But thou forgivest me,
Rebecca?"
"As freely as ever victim forgave her executioner."
"Farewell, then," said the Templar, and left the apartment.
The Preceptor Albert waited impatiently in an adjacent chamber
the return of Bois-Guilbert.
"Thou hast tarried long," he said; "I have been as if stretched
on red-hot iron with very impatience. What if the Grand Master,
or his spy Conrade, had come hither? I had paid dear for my
complaisance.---But what ails thee, brother?---Thy step totters,
thy brow is as black as night. Art thou well, Bois-Guilbert?"
"Ay," answered the Templar, "as well as the wretch who is doomed
to die within an hour.---Nay, by the rood, not half so well---for
there be those in such state, who can lay down life like a
cast-off garment. By Heaven, Malvoisin, yonder girl hath
well-nigh unmanned me. I am half resolved to go to the Grand
Master, abjure the Order to his very teeth, and refuse to act the
brutality which his tyranny has imposed on me."
"Thou art mad," answered Malvoisin; "thou mayst thus indeed
utterly ruin thyself, but canst not even find a chance thereby to
save the life of this Jewess, which seems so precious in thine
eyes. Beaumanoir will name another of the Order to defend his
judgment in thy place, and the accused will as assuredly perish
as if thou hadst taken the duty imposed on thee."
"'Tis false---I will myself take arms in her behalf," answered
the Templar, haughtily; "and, should I do so, I think, Malvoisin,
that thou knowest not one of the Order, who will keep his saddle
before the point of my lance."
"Ay, but thou forgettest," said the wily adviser, "thou wilt have
neither leisure nor opportunity to execute this mad project. Go
to Lucas Beaumanoir, and say thou hast renounced thy vow of
obedience, and see how long the despotic old man will leave thee
in personal freedom. The words shall scarce have left thy lips,
ere thou wilt either be an hundred feet under ground, in the
dungeon of the Preceptory, to abide trial as a recreant knight;
or, if his opinion holds concerning thy possession, thou wilt be
enjoying straw, darkness, and chains, in some distant convent
cell, stunned with exorcisms, and drenched with holy water, to
expel the foul fiend which hath obtained dominion over thee.
Thou must to the lists, Brian, or thou art a lost and dishonoured
man."
"I will break forth and fly," said Bois-Guilbert---"fly to some
distant land, to which folly and fanaticism have not yet found
their way. No drop of the blood of this most excellent creature
shall be spilled by my sanction."
"Thou canst not fly," said the Preceptor; "thy ravings have
excited suspicion, and thou wilt not be permitted to leave the
Preceptory. Go and make the essay---present thyself before the
gate, and command the bridge to be lowered, and mark what answer
thou shalt receive.---Thou are surprised and offended; but is it
not the better for thee? Wert thou to fly, what would ensue but
the reversal of thy arms, the dishonour of thine ancestry, the
degradation of thy rank?---Think on it. Where shall thine old
companions in arms hide their heads when Brian de Bois-Guilbert,
the best lance of the Templars, is proclaimed recreant, amid the
hisses of the assembled people? What grief will be at the Court
of France! With what joy will the haughty Richard hear the news,
that the knight that set him hard in Palestine, and well-nigh
darkened his renown, has lost fame and honour for a Jewish girl,
whom he could not even save by so costly a sacrifice!"
"Malvoisin," said the Knight, "I thank thee---thou hast touched
the string at which my heart most readily thrills!---Come of it
what may, recreant shall never be added to the name of
Bois-Guilbert. Would to God, Richard, or any of his vaunting
minions of England, would appear in these lists! But they will
be empty---no one will risk to break a lance for the innocent,
the forlorn."
"The better for thee, if it prove so," said the Preceptor; "if no
champion appears, it is not by thy means that this unlucky damsel
shall die, but by the doom of the Grand Master, with whom rests
all the blame, and who will count that blame for praise and
commendation."
"True," said Bois-Guilbert; "if no champion appears, I am but a
part of the pageant, sitting indeed on horseback in the lists,
but having no part in what is to follow."
"None whatever," said Malvoisin; "no more than the armed image of
Saint George when it makes part of a procession."
"Well, I will resume my resolution," replied the haughty Templar.
"She has despised me---repulsed me---reviled me---And wherefore
should I offer up for her whatever of estimation I have in the
opinion of others? Malvoisin, I will appear in the lists."
He left the apartment hastily as he uttered these words, and the
Preceptor followed, to watch and confirm him in his resolution;
for in Bois-Guilbert's fame he had himself a strong interest,
expecting much advantage from his being one day at the head of
the Order, not to mention the preferment of which Mont-Fitchet
had given him hopes, on condition he would forward the
condemnation of the unfortunate Rebecca. Yet although, in
combating his friend's better feelings, he possessed all the
advantage which a wily, composed, selfish disposition has over a
man agitated by strong and contending passions, it required all
Malvoisin's art to keep Bois-Guilbert steady to the purpose he
had prevailed on him to adopt. He was obliged to watch him
closely to prevent his resuming his purpose of flight, to
intercept his communication with the Grand Master, lest he should
come to an open rupture with his Superior, and to renew, from
time to time, the various arguments by which he endeavoured to
show, that, in appearing as champion on this occasion,
Bois-Guilbert, without either accelerating or ensuring the fate
of Rebecca, would follow the only course by which be could save
himself from degradation and disgrace.
CHAPTER XL
Shadows avaunt!---Richard's himself again.
Richard III
When the Black Knight---for it becomes necessary to resume the
train of his adventures---left the Trysting-tree of the generous
Outlaw, he held his way straight to a neighbouring religious
house, of small extent and revenue, called the Priory of Saint
Botolph, to which the wounded Ivanhoe had been removed when the
castle was taken, under the guidance of the faithful Gurth, and
the magnanimous Wamba. It is unnecessary at present to mention
what took place in the interim betwixt Wilfred and his deliverer;
suffice it to say, that after long and grave communication,
messengers were dispatched by the Prior in several directions,
and that on the succeeding morning the Black Knight was about to
set forth on his journey, accompanied by the jester Wamba, who
attended as his guide.
"We will meet," he said to Ivanhoe, "at Coningsburgh, the castle
of the deceased Athelstane, since there thy father Cedric holds
the funeral feast for his noble relation. I would see your
Saxon kindred together, Sir Wilfred, and become better acquainted
with them than heretofore. Thou also wilt meet me; and it shall
be my task to reconcile thee to thy father."
So saying, he took an affectionate farewell of Ivanhoe, who
expressed an anxious desire to attend upon his deliverer. But
the Black Knight would not listen to the proposal.
"Rest this day; thou wilt have scarce strength enough to travel
on the next. I will have no guide with me but honest Wamba, who
can play priest or fool as I shall be most in the humour."
"And I," said Wamba, "will attend you with all my heart. I would
fain see the feasting at the funeral of Athelstane; for, if it be
not full and frequent, he will rise from the dead to rebuke cook,
sewer, and cupbearer; and that were a sight worth seeing.
Always, Sir Knight, I will trust your valour with making my
excuse to my master Cedric, in case mine own wit should fail."
"And how should my poor valour succeed, Sir Jester, when thy
ight wit halts?---resolve me that."
"Wit, Sir Knight," replied the Jester, "may do much. He is a
quick, apprehensive knave, who sees his neighbours blind side,
and knows how to keep the lee-gage when his passions are blowing
high. But valour is a sturdy fellow, that makes all split. He
rows against both wind and tide, and makes way notwithstanding;
and, therefore, good Sir Knight, while I take advantage of the
fair weather in our noble master's temper, I will expect you to
bestir yourself when it grows rough."
"Sir Knight of the Fetterlock, since it is your pleasure so to be
distinguished," said Ivanhoe, "I fear me you have chosen a
talkative and a troublesome fool to be your guide. But he knows
every path and alley in the woods as well as e'er a hunter who
frequents them; and the poor knave, as thou hast partly seen, is
as faithful as steel."
"Nay," said the Knight, "an he have the gift of showing my road,
I shall not grumble with him that he desires to make it pleasant.
---Fare thee well, kind Wilfred---I charge thee not to attempt to
travel till to-morrow at earliest."
So saying, he extended his hand to Ivanhoe, who pressed it to his
lips, took leave of the Prior, mounted his horse, and departed,
with Wamba for his companion. Ivanhoe followed them with his
eyes, until they were lost in the shades of the surrounding
forest, and then returned into the convent.
But shortly after matin-song, he requested to see the Prior. The
old man came in haste, and enquired anxiously after the state of
his health.
"It is better," he said, "than my fondest hope could have
anticipated; either my wound has been slighter than the effusion
of blood led me to suppose, or this balsam hath wrought a
wonderful cure upon it. I feel already as if I could bear my
corslet; and so much the better, for thoughts pass in my mind
which render me unwilling to remain here longer in inactivity."
"Now, the saints forbid," said the Prior, "that the son of the
Saxon Cedric should leave our convent ere his wounds were healed!
It were shame to our profession were we to suffer it."
"Nor would I desire to leave your hospitable roof, venerable
father," said Ivanhoe, "did I not feel myself able to endure the
journey, and compelled to undertake it."
"And what can have urged you to so sudden a departure?" said the
Prior.
"Have you never, holy father," answered the Knight, "felt an
apprehension of approaching evil, for which you in vain attempted
to assign a cause?---Have you never found your mind darkened,
like the sunny landscape, by the sudden cloud, which augurs a
coming tempest?---And thinkest thou not that such impulses are
deserving of attention, as being the hints of our guardian
spirits, that danger is impending?"
"I may not deny," said the Prior, crossing himself, "that such
things have been, and have been of Heaven; but then such
communications have had a visibly useful scope and tendency. But
thou, wounded as thou art, what avails it thou shouldst follow
the steps of him whom thou couldst not aid, were he to be
assaulted?"
"Prior," said Ivanhoe, "thou dost mistake---I am stout enough to
exchange buffets with any who will challenge me to such a traffic
---But were it otherwise, may I not aid him were he in danger, by
other means than by force of arms? It is but too well known that
the Saxons love not the Norman race, and who knows what may be
the issue, if he break in upon them when their hearts are
irritated by the death of Athelstane, and their heads heated by
the carousal in which they will indulge themselves? I hold his
entrance among them at such a moment most perilous, and I am
resolved to share or avert the danger; which, that I may the
better do, I would crave of thee the use of some palfrey whose
pace may be softer than that of my 'destrier'."*
* "Destrier"---war-horse.
"Surely," said the worthy churchman; "you shall have mine own
ambling jennet, and I would it ambled as easy for your sake as
that of the Abbot of Saint Albans. Yet this will I say for
Malkin, for so I call her, that unless you were to borrow a ride
on the juggler's steed that paces a hornpipe amongst the eggs,
you could not go a journey on a creature so gentle and
smooth-paced. I have composed many a homily on her back, to the
edification of my brethren of the convent, and many poor
Christian souls."
"I pray you, reverend father," said Ivanhoe, "let Malkin be got
ready instantly, and bid Gurth attend me with mine arms."
"Nay, but fair sir," said the Prior, "I pray you to remember that
Malkin hath as little skill in arms as her master, and that I
warrant not her enduring the sight or weight of your full
panoply. O, Malkin, I promise you, is a beast of judgment, and
will contend against any undue weight---I did but borrow the
'Fructus Temporum' from the priest of Saint Bees, and I promise
you she would not stir from the gate until I had exchanged the
huge volume for my little breviary."
"Trust me, holy father," said Ivanhoe, "I will not distress her
with too much weight; and if she calls a combat with me, it is
odds but she has the worst."
This reply was made while Gurth was buckling on the Knight's
heels a pair of large gilded spurs, capable of convincing any
restive horse that his best safety lay in being conformable to
the will of his rider.
The deep and sharp rowels with which Ivanhoe's heels were now
armed, began to make the worthy Prior repent of his courtesy, and
ejaculate,---"Nay, but fair sir, now I bethink me, my Malkin
abideth not the spur---Better it were that you tarry for the mare
of our manciple down at the Grange, which may be had in little
more than an hour, and cannot but be tractable, in respect that
she draweth much of our winter fire-wood, and eateth no corn."
"I thank you, reverend father, but will abide by your first
offer, as I see Malkin is already led forth to the gate. Gurth
shall carry mine armour; and for the rest, rely on it, that as I
will not overload Malkin's back, she shall not overcome my
patience. And now, farewell!"
Ivanhoe now descended the stairs more hastily and easily than his
wound promised, and threw himself upon the jennet, eager to
escape the importunity of the Prior, who stuck as closely to his
side as his age and fatness would permit, now singing the praises
of Malkin, now recommending cautionto the Knight in managing her.
"She is at the most dangerous period for maidens as well as
mares," said the old man, laughing at his own jest, "being barely
in her fifteenth year."
Ivanhoe, who had other web to weave than to stand canvassing a
palfrey's paces with its owner, lent but a deaf ear to the
Prior's grave advices and facetious jests, and having leapt on
his mare, and commanded his squire (for such Gurth now called
himself) to keep close by his side, he followed the track of the
Black Knight into the forest, while the Prior stood at the gate
of the convent looking after him, and ejaculating,---"Saint Mary!
how prompt and fiery be these men of war! I would I had not
trusted Malkin to his keeping, for, crippled as I am with the
cold rheum, I am undone if aught but good befalls her. And yet,"
said he, recollecting himself, "as I would not spare my own old
and disabled limbs in the good cause of Old England, so Malkin
must e'en run her hazard on the same venture; and it may be they
will think our poor house worthy of some munificent guerdon---or,
it may be, they will send the old Prior a pacing nag. And if
they do none of these, as great men will forget little men's
service, truly I shall hold me well repaid in having done that
which is right. And it is now well-nigh the fitting time to
summon the brethren to breakfast in the refectory---Ah! I doubt
they obey that call more cheerily than the bells for primes and
matins."
So the Prior of Saint Botolph's hobbled back again into the
refectory, to preside over the stockfish and ale, which was just
serving out for the friars' breakfast. Pursy and important, he
sat him down at the table, and many a dark word he threw out, of
benefits to be expected to the convent, and high deeds of service
done by himself, which, at another season, would have attracted
observation. But as the stockfish was highly salted, and the ale
reasonably powerful, the jaws of the brethren were too anxiously
employed to admit of their making much use of their ears; nor do
we read of any of the fraternity, who was tempted to speculate
upon the mysterious hints of their Superior, except Father
Diggory, who was severely afflicted by the toothache, so that he
could only eat on one side of his jaws.
In the meantime, the Black Champion and his guide were pacing at
their leisure through the recesses of the forest; the good Knight
whiles humming to himself the lay of some enamoured troubadour,
sometimes encouraging by questions the prating disposition of his
attendant, so that their dialogue formed a whimsical mixture of
song and jest, of which we would fain give our readers some idea.
You are then to imagine this Knight, such as we have already
described him, strong of person, tall, broad-shouldered, and
large of bone, mounted on his mighty black charger, which seemed
made on purpose to bear his weight, so easily he paced forward
under it, having the visor of his helmet raised, in order to
admit freedom of breath, yet keeping the beaver, or under part,
closed, so that his features could be but imperfectly
distinguished. But his ruddy embrowned cheek-bones could be
plainly seen, and the large and bright blue eyes, that flashed
from under the dark shade of the raised visor; and the whole
gesture and look of the champion expressed careless gaiety and
fearless confidence---a mind which was unapt to apprehend danger,
and prompt to defy it when most imminent---yet with whom danger
was a familiar thought, as with one whose trade was war and
adventure.
The Jester wore his usual fantastic habit, but late accidents had
led him to adopt a good cutting falchion, instead of his wooden
sword, with a targe to match it; of both which weapons he had,
notwithstanding his profession, shown himself a skilful master
during the storming of Torquilstone. Indeed, the infirmity of
Wamba's brain consisted chiefly in a kind of impatient
irritability, which suffered him not long to remain quiet in any
posture, or adhere to any certain train of ideas, although he was
for a few minutes alert enough in performing any immediate task,
or in apprehending any immediate topic. On horseback, therefore,
he was perpetually swinging himself backwards and forwards, now
on the horse's ears, then anon on the very rump of the animal,
---now hanging both his legs on one side, and now sitting with
his face to the tail, moping, mowing, and making a thousand apish
gestures, until his palfrey took his freaks so much to heart, as
fairly to lay him at his length on the green grass---an incident
which greatly amused the Knight, but compelled his companion to
ride more steadily thereafter.
At the point of their journey at which we take them up, this
joyous pair were engaged in singing a virelai, as it was called,
in which the clown bore a mellow burden, to the better instructed
Knight of the Fetterlock. And thus run the ditty:---
Anna-Marie, love, up is the sun,
Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun,
Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free,
Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie.
Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn,
The hunter is winding blithe sounds on his horn,
The echo rings merry from rock and from tree,
'Tis time to arouse thee, love, Anna-Marie.
Wamba.
O Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet,
Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit,
For what are the joys that in waking we prove,
Compared with these visions, O, Tybalt, my love?
Let the birds to the rise of the mist carol shrill,
Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the hill,
Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I prove,---
But think not I dreamt of thee, Tybalt, my love.
"A dainty song," said Wamba, when they had finished their carol,
"and I swear by my bauble, a pretty moral!---I used to sing it
with Gurth, once my playfellow, and now, by the grace of God and
his master, no less than a freemen; and we once came by the
cudgel for being so entranced by the melody, that we lay in bed
two hours after sunrise, singing the ditty betwixt sleeping and
waking---my bones ache at thinking of the tune ever since.
Nevertheless, I have played the part of Anna-Marie, to please
you, fair sir."
The Jester next struck into another carol, a sort of comic ditty,
to which the Knight, catching up the tune, replied in the like
manner.
Knight and Wamba.
There came three merry men from south, west, and north,
Ever more sing the roundelay;
To win the Widow of Wycombe forth,
And where was the widow might say them nay?
The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came,
Ever more sing the roundelay;
And his fathers, God save us, were men of great faine,
And where was the widow might say him nay?
Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire,
He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay;
She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire,
For she was the widow would say him nay.
Wamba.
The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails,
Merrily sing the roundelay;
Hur's a gentleman, God wot, and hur's lineage was of Wales,
And where was the widow might say him nay?
Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh
Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay
She said that one widow for so many was too few,
And she bade the Welshman wend his way.
But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent,
Jollily singing his roundelay;
He spoke to the widow of living and rent,
And where was the widow could say him nay?
Both.
So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire,
There for to sing their roundelay;
For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent,
There never was a widow could say him nay.
"I would, Wamba," said the knight, "that our host of the
Trysting-tree, or the jolly Friar, his chaplain, heard this thy
ditty in praise of our bluff yeoman."
"So would not I," said Wamba---"but for the horn that hangs at
your baldric."
"Ay," said the Knight,---"this is a pledge of Locksley's
goodwill, though I am not like to need it. Three mots on this
bugle will, I am assured, bring round, at our need, a jolly band
of yonder honest yeomen."
"I would say, Heaven forefend," said the Jester, "were it not
that that fair gift is a pledge they would let us pass
peaceably."
"Why, what meanest thou?" said the Knight; "thinkest thou that
but for this pledge of fellowship they would assault us?"
"Nay, for me I say nothing," said Wamba; "for green trees have
ears as well as stone walls. But canst thou construe me this,
Sir Knight---When is thy wine-pitcher and thy purse better empty
than full?"
"Why, never, I think," replied the Knight.
"Thou never deservest to have a full one in thy hand, for so
simple an answer! Thou hadst best empty thy pitcher ere thou
pass it to a Saxon, and leave thy money at home ere thou walk in
the greenwood."
"You hold our friends for robbers, then?" said the Knight of the
Fetterlock.
"You hear me not say so, fair sir," said Wamba; "it may relieve a
man's steed to take of his mail when he hath a long journey to
make; and, certes, it may do good to the rider's soul to ease him
of that which is the root of evil; therefore will I give no hard
names to those who do such services. Only I would wish my mail
at home, and my purse in my chamber, when I meet with these good
fellows, because it might save them some trouble."
"WE are bound to pray for them, my friend, notwithstanding the
fair character thou dost afford them."
"Pray for them with all my heart," said Wamba; "but in the town,
not in the greenwood, like the Abbot of Saint Bees, whom they
caused to say mass with an old hollow oak-tree for his stall."
"Say as thou list, Wamba," replied the Knight, "these yeomen did
thy master Cedric yeomanly service at Torquilstone."
"Ay, truly," answered Wamba; "but that was in the fashion of
their trade with Heaven."
"Their trade, Wamba! how mean you by that?" replied his
companion.
"Marry, thus," said the Jester. "They make up a balanced account
with Heaven, as our old cellarer used to call his ciphering, as
fair as Isaac the Jew keeps with his debtors, and, like him, give
out a very little, and take large credit for doing so; reckoning,
doubtless, on their own behalf the seven-fold usury which the
blessed text hath promised to charitable loans."
"Give me an example of your meaning, Wamba,---I know nothing of
ciphers or rates of usage," answered the Knight.
"Why," said Wamba, "an your valour be so dull, you will please to
learn that those honest fellows balance a good deed with one not
quite so laudable; as a crown given to a begging friar with an
hundred byzants taken from a fat abbot, or a wench kissed in the
greenwood with the relief of a poor widow."
"Which of these was the good deed, which was the felony?"
interrupted the Knight.
"A good gibe! a good gibe!" said Wamba; "keeping witty company
sharpeneth the apprehension. You said nothing so well, Sir
Knight, I will be sworn, when you held drunken vespers with the
bluff Hermit.---But to go on. The merry-men of the forest set
off the building of a cottage with the burning of a castle,---the
thatching of a choir against the robbing of a church,---the
setting free a poor prisoner against the murder of a proud
sheriff; or, to come nearer to our point, the deliverance of a
Saxon franklin against the burning alive of a Norman baron.
Gentle thieves they are, in short, and courteous robbers; but it
is ever the luckiest to meet with them when they are at the
worst."
"How so, Wamba?" said the Knight.
"Why, then they have some compunction, and are for making up
matters with Heaven. But when they have struck an even balance,
Heaven help them with whom they next open the account! The
travellers who first met them after their good service at
Torquilstone would have a woful flaying.---And yet," said Wamba,
coming close up to the Knight's side, "there be companions who
are far more dangerous for travellers to meet than yonder
outlaws."
"And who may they be, for you have neither bears nor wolves, I
trow?" said the Knight.
"Marry, sir, but we have Malvoisin's men-at-arms," said Wamba;
"and let me tell you, that, in time of civil war, a halfscore of
these is worth a band of wolves at any time. They are now
expecting their harvest, and are reinforced with the soldiers
that escaped from Torquilstone. So that, should we meet with a
band of them, we are like to pay for our feats of arms.---Now, I
pray you, Sir Knight, what would you do if we met two of them?"
"Pin the villains to the earth with my lance, Wamba, if they
offered us any impediment."
"But what if there were four of them?"
"They should drink of the same cup," answered the Knight.
"What if six," continued Wamba, "and we as we now are, barely two
---would you not remember Locksley's horn?"
"What! sound for aid," exclaimed the Knight, "against a score of
such 'rascaille' as these, whom one good knight could drive
before him, as the wind drives the withered leaves?"
"Nay, then," said Wamba, "I will pray you for a close sight of
that same horn that hath so powerful a breath."
The Knight undid the clasp of the baldric, and indulged his
fellow-traveller, who immediately hung the bugle round his own
neck.
"Tra-lira-la," said he, whistling the notes; "nay, I know my
gamut as well as another."
"How mean you, knave?" said the Knight; "restore me the bugle."
"Content you, Sir Knight, it is in safe keeping. When Valour and
Folly travel, Folly should bear the horn, because she can blow
the best."
"Nay but, rogue," said the Black Knight, "this exceedeth thy
license---Beware ye tamper not with my patience."
"Urge me not with violence, Sir Knight," said the Jester, keeping
at a distance from the impatient champion, "or Folly will show a
clean pair of heels, and leave Valour to find out his way through
the wood as best he may."
"Nay, thou hast hit me there," said the Knight; "and, sooth to
say, I have little time to jangle with thee. Keep the horn an
thou wilt, but let us proceed on our journey."
"You will not harm me, then?" said Wamba.
"I tell thee no, thou knave!"
"Ay, but pledge me your knightly word for it," continued Wamba,
as he approached with great caution.
"My knightly word I pledge; only come on with thy foolish self."
"Nay, then, Valour and Folly are once more boon companions," said
the Jester, coming up frankly to the Knight's side; "but, in
truth, I love not such buffets as that you bestowed on the burly
Friar, when his holiness rolled on the green like a king of the
nine-pins. And now that Folly wears the horn, let Valour rouse
himself, and shake his mane; for, if I mistake not, there are
company in yonder brake that are on the look-out for us."
"What makes thee judge so?" said the Knight.
"Because I have twice or thrice noticed the glance of a motion
from amongst the green leaves. Had they been honest men, they
had kept the path. But yonder thicket is a choice chapel for the
Clerks of Saint Nicholas."
"By my faith," said the Knight, closing his visor, "I think thou
best in the right on't."
And in good time did he close it, for three arrows, flew at the
same instant from the suspected spot against his head and breast,
one of which would have penetrated to the brain, had it not been
turned aside by the steel visor. The other two were averted by
the gorget, and by the shield which hung around his neck.
"Thanks, trusty armourers," said the Knight.---"Wamba, let us
close with them,"---and he rode straight to the thicket. He was
met by six or seven men-at-arms, who ran against him with their
lances at full career. Three of the weapons struck against him,
and splintered with as little effect as if they had been driven
against a tower of steel. The Black Knight's eyes seemed to
flash fire even through the aperture of his visor. He raised
himself in his stirrups with an air of inexpressible dignity, and
exclaimed, "What means this, my masters!"---The men made no other
reply than by drawing their swords and attacking him on every
side, crying, "Die, tyrant!"
"Ha! Saint Edward! Ha! Saint George!" said the Black Knight,
striking down a man at every invocation; "have we traitors here?"
His opponents, desperate as they were, bore back from an arm
which carried death in every blow, and it seemed as if the terror
of his single strength was about to gain the battle against such
odds, when a knight, in blue armour, who had hitherto kept
himself behind the other assailants, spurred forward with his
lance, and taking aim, not at the rider but at the steed, wounded
the noble animal mortally.
"That was a felon stroke!" exclaimed the Black Knight, as the
steed fell to the earth, bearing his rider along with him.
And at this moment, Wamba winded the bugle, for the whole had
passed so speedily, that he had not time to do so sooner. The
sudden sound made the murderers bear back once more, and Wamba,
though so imperfectly weaponed, did not hesitate to rush in and
assist the Black Knight to rise.
"Shame on ye, false cowards!" exclaimed he in the blue harness,
who seemed to lead the assailants, "do ye fly from the empty
blast of a horn blown by a Jester?"
Animated by his words, they attacked the Black Knight anew, whose
best refuge was now to place his back against an oak, and defend
himself with his sword. The felon knight, who had taken another
spear, watching the moment when his formidable antagonist was
most closely pressed, galloped against him in hopes to nail him
with his lance against the tree, when his purpose was again
intercepted by Wamba. The Jester, making up by agility the want
of strength, and little noticed by the men-at-arms, who were
busied in their more important object, hovered on the skirts of
the fight, and effectually checked the fatal career of the Blue
Knight, by hamstringing his horse with a stroke of his sword.
Horse and man went to the ground; yet the situation of the Knight
of the Fetterlock continued very precarious, as he was pressed
close by several men completely armed, and began to be fatigued
by the violent exertions necessary to defend himself on so many
points at nearly the same moment, when a grey-goose shaft
suddenly stretched on the earth one of the most formidable of
his assailants, and a band of yeomen broke forth from the glade,
headed by Locksley and the jovial Friar, who, taking ready and
effectual part in the fray, soon disposed of the ruffians, all
of whom lay on the spot dead or mortally wounded. The Black
Knight thanked his deliverers with a dignity they had not
observed in his former bearing, which hitherto had seemed rather
that of a blunt bold soldier, than of a person of exalted rank.
"It concerns me much," he said, "even before I express my full
gratitude to my ready friends, to discover, if I may, who have
been my unprovoked enemies.---Open the visor of that Blue Knight,
Wamba, who seems the chief of these villains."
The Jester instantly made up to the leader of the assassins, who,
bruised by his fall, and entangled under the wounded steed, lay
incapable either of flight or resistance.
"Come, valiant sir," said Wamba, "I must be your armourer as well
as your equerry---I have dismounted you, and now I will unhelm
you."
So saying, with no very gentle hand he undid the helmet of the
Blue Knight, which, rolling to a distance on the grass, displayed
to the Knight of the Fetterlock grizzled locks, and a countenance
he did not expect to have seen under such circumstances.
"Waldemar Fitzurse!" he said in astonishment; "what could urge
one of thy rank and seeming worth to so foul an undertaking? "
"Richard," said the captive Knight, looking up to him, "thou
knowest little of mankind, if thou knowest not to what ambition
and revenge can lead every child of Adam."
"Revenge?" answered the Black Knight; "I never wronged thee---On
me thou hast nought to revenge."
"My daughter, Richard, whose alliance thou didst scorn---was that
no injury to a Norman, whose blood is noble as thine own?"
"Thy daughter?" replied the Black Knight; "a proper cause of
enmity, and followed up to a bloody issue!---Stand back, my
masters, I would speak to him alone.---And now, Waldemar
Fitzurse, say me the truth---confess who set thee on this
traitorous deed."
"Thy father's son," answered Waldemar, "who, in so doing, did but
avenge on thee thy disobedience to thy father."
Richard's eyes sparkled with indignation, but his better nature
overcame it. He pressed his hand against his brow, and remained
an instant gazing on the face of the humbled baron, in whose
features pride was contending with shame.
"Thou dost not ask thy life, Waldemar," said the King.
"He that is in the lion's clutch," answered Fitzurse, "knows it
were needless."
"Take it, then, unasked," said Richard; "the lion preys not on
prostrate carcasses.---Take thy life, but with this condition,
that in three days thou shalt leave England, and go to hide thine
infamy in thy Norman castle, and that thou wilt never mention the
name of John of Anjou as connected with thy felony. If thou art
found on English ground after the space I have allotted thee,
thou diest---or if thou breathest aught that can attaint the
honour of my house, by Saint George! not the altar itself shall
be a sanctuary. I will hang thee out to feed the ravens, from
the very pinnacle of thine own castle.---Let this knight have a
steed, Locksley, for I see your yeomen have caught those which
were running loose, and let him depart unharmed."
"But that I judge I listen to a voice whose behests must not be
disputed," answered the yeoman, "I would send a shaft after the
skulking villain that should spare him the labour of a long
journey."
"Thou bearest an English heart, Locksley," said the Black Knight,
"and well dost judge thou art the more bound to obey my behest
---I am Richard of England!"
At these words, pronounced in a tone of majesty suited to the
high rank, and no less distinguished character of Coeur-de-Lion,
the yeomen at once kneeled down before him, and at the same time
tendered their allegiance, and implored pardon for their
offences.
"Rise, my friends," said Richard, in a gracious tone, looking on
them with a countenance in which his habitual good-humour had
already conquered the blaze of hasty resentment, and whose
features retained no mark of the late desperate conflict,
excepting the flush arising from exertion,---"Arise," he said,
"my friends!---Your misdemeanours, whether in forest or field,
have been atoned by the loyal services you rendered my distressed
subjects before the walls of Torquilstone, and the rescue you
have this day afforded to your sovereign. Arise, my liegemen,
and be good subjects in future.---And thou, brave Locksley---"
"Call me no longer Locksley, my Liege, but know me under the
name, which, I fear, fame hath blown too widely not to have
reached even your royal ears---I am Robin Hood of Sherwood
Forest."*
* From the ballads of Robin Hood, we learn that this
* celebrated outlaw, when in disguise, sometimes assumed
* the name of Locksley, from a village where he was born,
* but where situated we are not distinctly told.
"King of Outlaws, and Prince of good fellows!" said the King,
"who hath not heard a name that has been borne as far as
Palestine? But be assured, brave Outlaw, that no deed done in
our absence, and in the turbulent times to which it hath given
rise, shall be remembered to thy disadvantage."
"True says the proverb," said Wamba, interposing his word, but
with some abatement of his usual petulance,---
"'When the cat is away,
The mice will play.'"
"What, Wamba, art thou there?" said Richard; "I have been so long
of hearing thy voice, I thought thou hadst taken flight."
"I take flight!" said Wamba; "when do you ever find Folly
separated from Valour? There lies the trophy of my sword, that
good grey gelding, whom I heartily wish upon his legs again,
conditioning his master lay there houghed in his place. It is
true, I gave a little ground at first, for a motley jacket does
not brook lance-heads, as a steel doublet will. But if I fought
not at sword's point, you will grant me that I sounded the
onset."
"And to good purpose, honest Wamba," replied the King. "Thy good
service shall not be forgotten."
"'Confiteor! Confiteor!'"---exclaimed, in a submissive tone, a
voice near the King's side---"my Latin will carry me no farther
---but I confess my deadly treason, and pray leave to have
absolution before I am led to execution!"
Richard looked around, and beheld the jovial Friar on his knees,
telling his rosary, while his quarter-staff, which had not been
idle during the skirmish, lay on the grass beside him. His
countenance was gathered so as be thought might best express the
most profound contrition, his eyes being turned up, and the
corners of his mouth drawn down, as Wamba expressed it, like the
tassels at the mouth of a purse. Yet this demure affectation of
extreme penitence was whimsically belied by a ludicrous meaning
which lurked in his huge features, and seemed to pronounce his
fear and repentance alike hypocritical.
"For what art thou cast down, mad Priest?" said Richard; "art
thou afraid thy diocesan should learn how truly thou dost serve
Our Lady and Saint Dunstan?---Tush, man! fear it not; Richard of
England betrays no secrets that pass over the flagon."
"Nay, most gracious sovereign," answered the Hermit, (well known
to the curious in penny-histories of Robin Hood, by the name of
Friar Tuck,) "it is not the crosier I fear, but the sceptre.
---Alas! that my sacrilegious fist should ever have been applied
to the ear of the Lord's anointed!"
"Ha! ha!" said Richard, "sits the wind there?---In truth I had
forgotten the buffet, though mine ear sung after it for a whole
day. But if the cuff was fairly given, I will be judged by the
good men around, if it was not as well repaid---or, if thou
thinkest I still owe thee aught, and will stand forth for another
counterbuff---"
"By no means," replied Friar Tuck, "I had mine own returned, and
with usury---may your Majesty ever pay your debts as fully!"
"If I could do so with cuffs," said the King, "my creditors
should have little reason to complain of an empty exchequer."
"And yet," said the Friar, resuming his demure hypocritical
countenance, "I know not what penance I ought to perform for that
most sacrilegious blow!------"
"Speak no more of it, brother," said the King; "after having
stood so many cuffs from Paynims and misbelievers, I were void of
reason to quarrel with the buffet of a clerk so holy as he of
Copmanhurst. Yet, mine honest Friar, I think it would be best
both for the church and thyself, that I should procure a license
to unfrock thee, and retain thee as a yeoman of our guard,
serving in care of our person, as formerly in attendance upon the
altar of Saint Dunstan."
"My Liege," said the Friar, "I humbly crave your pardon; and you
would readily grant my excuse, did you but know how the sin of
laziness has beset me. Saint Dunstan---may he be gracious to us!
---stands quiet in his niche, though I should forget my orisons
in killing a fat buck---I stay out of my cell sometimes a night,
doing I wot not what---Saint Dunstan never complains---a quiet
master he is, and a peaceful, as ever was made of wood.---But to
be a yeoman in attendance on my sovereign the King---the honour
is great, doubtless---yet, if I were but to step aside to comfort
a widow in one corner, or to kill a deer in another, it would be,
'where is the dog Priest?' says one. 'Who has seen the accursed
Tuck?' says another. 'The unfrocked villain destroys more
venison than half the country besides,' says one keeper; 'And is
hunting after every shy doe in the country!' quoth a second.
---In fine, good my Liege, I pray you to leave me as you found
me; or, if in aught you desire to extend your benevolence to me,
that I may be considered as the poor Clerk of Saint Dunstan's
cell in Copmanhurst, to whom any small donation will be most
thankfully acceptable."
"I understand thee," said the King, "and the Holy Clerk shall
have a grant of vert and venison in my woods of Warncliffe.
Mark, however, I will but assign thee three bucks every season;
but if that do not prove an apology for thy slaying thirty, I am
no Christian knight nor true king."
"Your Grace may be well assured," said the Friar, "that, with the
grace of Saint Dunstan, I shall find the way of multiplying your
most bounteous gift."
"I nothing doubt it, good brother," said the King; "and as
venison is but dry food, our cellarer shall have orders to
deliver to thee a butt of sack, a runlet of Malvoisie, and three
hogsheads of ale of the first strike, yearly---If that will not
quench thy thirst, thou must come to court, and become acquainted
with my butler."
"But for Saint Dunstan?" said the Friar---
"A cope, a stole, and an altar-cloth shalt thou also have,"
continued the King, crossing himself---"But we may not turn our
game into earnest, lest God punish us for thinking more on our
follies than on his honour and worship."
"I will answer for my patron," said the Priest, joyously.
"Answer for thyself, Friar," said King Richard, something
sternly; but immediately stretching out his hand to the Hermit,
the latter, somewhat abashed, bent his knee, and saluted it.
"Thou dost less honour to my extended palm than to my clenched
fist," said the Monarch; "thou didst only kneel to the one, and
to the other didst prostrate thyself."
But the Friar, afraid perhaps of again giving offence by
continuing the conversation in too jocose a style---a false step
to be particularly guarded against by those who converse with
monarchs--- bowed profoundly, and fell into the rear.
At the same time, two additional personages appeared on the
scene.
CHAPTER XLI
All hail to the lordlings of high degree,
Who live not more happy, though greater than we!
Our pastimes to see,
Under every green tree,
In all the gay woodland, right welcome ye be.
Macdonald
The new comers were Wilfred of Ivanhoe, on the Prior of Botolph's
palfrey, and Gurth, who attended him, on the Knight's own
war-horse. The astonishment of Ivanhoe was beyond bounds, when
he saw his master besprinkled with blood, and six or seven dead
bodies lying around in the little glade in which the battle had
taken place. Nor was he less surprised to see Richard
surrounded by so many silvan attendants, the outlaws, as they
seemed to be, of the forest, and a perilous retinue therefore for
a prince. He hesitated whether to address the King as the Black
Knight-errant, or in what other manner to demean himself towards
him. Richard saw his embarrassment.
"Fear not, Wilfred," he said, "to address Richard Plantagenet as
himself, since thou seest him in the company of true English
hearts, although it may be they have been urged a few steps aside
by warm English blood."
"Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe," said the gallant Outlaw, stepping
forward, "my assurances can add nothing to those of our
sovereign; yet, let me say somewhat proudly, that of men who have
suffered much, he hath not truer subjects than those who now
stand around him."
"I cannot doubt it, brave man," said Wilfred, "since thou art of
the number---But what mean these marks of death and danger? these
slain men, and the bloody armour of my Prince?"
"Treason hath been with us, Ivanhoe," said the King; "but,
thanks to these brave men, treason hath met its meed---But, now I
bethink me, thou too art a traitor," said Richard, smiling; "a
most disobedient traitor; for were not our orders positive, that
thou shouldst repose thyself at Saint Botolph's until thy wound
was healed?"
"It is healed," said Ivanhoe; "it is not of more consequence than
the scratch of a bodkin. But why, oh why, noble Prince, will you
thus vex the hearts of your faithful servants, and expose your
life by lonely journeys and rash adventures, as if it were of no
more value than that of a mere knight-errant, who has no interest
on earth but what lance and sword may procure him?"
"And Richard Plantagenet," said the King, "desires no more fame
than his good lance and sword may acquire him---and Richard
Plantagenet is prouder of achieving an adventure, with only his
good sword, and his good arm to speed, than if he led to battle
a host of an hundred thousand armed men."
"But your kingdom, my Liege," said Ivanhoe, "your kingdom is
threatened with dissolution and civil war---your subjects menaced
with every species of evil, if deprived of their sovereign in
some of those dangers which it is your daily pleasure to incur,
and from which you have but this moment narrowly escaped."
"Ho! ho! my kingdom and my subjects?" answered Richard,
impatiently; "I tell thee, Sir Wilfred, the best of them are most
willing to repay my follies in kind---For example, my very
faithful servant, Wilfred of Ivanhoe, will not obey my positive
commands, and yet reads his king a homily, because he does not
walk exactly by his advice. Which of us has most reason to
upbraid the other?---Yet forgive me, my faithful Wilfred. The
time I have spent, and am yet to spend in concealment, is, as I
explained to thee at Saint Botolph's, necessary to give my
friends and faithful nobles time to assemble their forces, that
when Richard's return is announced, he should be at the head of
such a force as enemies shall tremble to face, and thus subdue
the meditated treason, without even unsheathing a sword.
Estoteville and Bohun will not be strong enough to move forward
to York for twenty-four hours. I must have news of Salisbury
from the south; and of Beauchamp, in Warwickshire; and of Multon
and Percy in the north. The Chancellor must make sure of London.
Too sudden an appearance would subject me to dangers, other than
my lance and sword, though backed by the bow of bold Robin, or
the quarter-staff of Friar Tuck, and the horn of the sage Wamba,
may be able to rescue me from."
Wilfred bowed in submission, well knowing how vain it was to
contend with the wild spirit of chivalry which so often impelled
his master upon dangers which he might easily have avoided, or
rather, which it was unpardonable in him to have sought out. The
young knight sighed, therefore, and held his peace; while
Richard, rejoiced at having silenced his counsellor, though his
heart acknowledged the justice of the charge he had brought
against him, went on in conversation with Robin Hood.---"King of
Outlaws," he said, "have you no refreshment to offer to your
brother sovereign? for these dead knaves have found me both in
exercise and appetite."
"In troth," replied the Outlaw, "for I scorn to lie to your
Grace, our larder is chiefly supplied with---" He stopped, and
was somewhat embarrassed.
"With venison, I suppose?" said Richard, gaily; "better food at
need there can be none---and truly, if a king will not remain at
home and slay his own game, methinks he should not brawl too loud
if he finds it killed to his hand."
"If your Grace, then," said Robin, "will again honour with your
presence one of Robin Hood's places of rendezvous, the venison
shall not be lacking; and a stoup of ale, and it may be a cup of
reasonably good wine, to relish it withal."
The Outlaw accordingly led the way, followed by the buxom
Monarch, more happy, probably, in this chance meeting with Robin
Hood and his foresters, than he would have been in again assuming
his royal state, and presiding over a splendid circle of peers
and nobles. Novelty in society and adventure were the zest of
life to Richard Coeur-de-Lion, and it had its highest relish when
enhanced by dangers encountered and surmounted. In the
lion-hearted King, the brilliant, but useless character, of a
knight of romance, was in a great measure realized and revived;
and the personal glory which he acquired by his own deeds of
arms, was far more dear to his excited imagination, than that
which a course of policy and wisdom would have spread around his
government. Accordingly, his reign was like the course of a
brilliant and rapid meteor, which shoots along the face of
Heaven, shedding around an unnecessary and portentous light,
which is instantly swallowed up by universal darkness; his feats
of chivalry furnishing themes for bards and minstrels, but
affording none of those solid benefits to his country on which
history loves to pause, and hold up as an example to posterity.
But in his present company Richard showed to the greatest
imaginable advantage. He was gay, good-humoured, and fond of
manhood in every rank of life.
Beneath a huge oak-tree the silvan repast was hastily prepared
for the King of England, surrounded by men outlaws to his
government, but who now formed his court and his guard. As the
flagon went round, the rough foresters soon lost their awe for
the presence of Majesty. The song and the jest were exchanged
---the stories of former deeds were told with advantage; and at
length, and while boasting of their successful infraction of the
laws, no one recollected they were speaking in presence of their
natural guardian. The merry King, nothing heeding his dignity
any more than his company, laughed, quaffed, and jested among the
jolly band. The natural and rough sense of Robin Hood led him to
be desirous that the scene should be closed ere any thing should
occur to disturb its harmony, the more especially that he
observed Ivanhoe's brow clouded with anxiety. "We are honoured,"
he said to Ivanhoe, apart, "by the presence of our gallant
Sovereign; yet I would not that he dallied with time, which the
circumstances of his kingdom may render precious."
"It is well and wisely spoken, brave Robin Hood," said Wilfred,
apart; "and know, moreover, that they who jest with Majesty even
in its gayest mood are but toying with the lion's whelp, which,
on slight provocation, uses both fangs and claws."
"You have touched the very cause of my fear," said the Outlaw;
"my men are rough by practice and nature, the King is hasty as
well as good-humoured; nor know I how soon cause of offence may
arise, or how warmly it may be received---it is time this revel
were broken off."
"It must be by your management then, gallant yeoman," said
Ivanhoe; "for each hint I have essayed to give him serves only to
induce him to prolong it."
"Must I so soon risk the pardon and favour of my Sovereign?" said
Robin Hood, pausing for all instant; "but by Saint Christopher,
it shall be so. I were undeserving his grace did I not peril it
for his good.---Here, Scathlock, get thee behind yonder thicket,
and wind me a Norman blast on thy bugle, and without an instant's
delay on peril of your life."
Scathlock obeyed his captain, and in less than five minutes the
revellers were startled by the sound of his horn.
"It is the bugle of Malvoisin," said the Miller, starting to his
feet, and seizing his bow. The Friar dropped the flagon, and
grasped his quarter-staff. Wamba stopt short in the midst of a
jest, and betook himself to sword and target. All the others
stood to their weapons.
Men of their precarious course of life change readily from the
banquet to the battle; and, to Richard, the exchange seemed but a
succession of pleasure. He called for his helmet and the most
cumbrous parts of his armour, which he had laid aside; and while
Gurth was putting them on, he laid his strict injunctions on
Wilfred, under pain of his highest displeasure, not to engage in
the skirmish which he supposed was approaching.
"Thou hast fought for me an hundred times, Wilfred,---and I have
seen it. Thou shalt this day look on, and see how Richard will
fight for his friend and liegeman."
In the meantime, Robin Hood had sent off several of his followers
in different directions, as if to reconnoitre the enemy; and when
he saw the company effectually broken up, he approached Richard,
who was now completely armed, and, kneeling down on one knee,
craved pardon of his Sovereign.
"For what, good yeoman?" said Richard, somewhat impatiently.
"Have we not already granted thee a full pardon for all
transgressions? Thinkest thou our word is a feather, to be blown
backward and forward between us? Thou canst not have had time to
commit any new offence since that time?"
"Ay, but I have though," answered the yeoman, "if it be an
offence to deceive my prince for his own advantage. The bugle
you have heard was none of Malvoisin's, but blown by my
direction, to break off the banquet, lest it trenched upon hours
of dearer import than to be thus dallied with."
He then rose from his knee, folded his arm on his bosom, and in a
manner rather respectful than submissive, awaited the answer of
the King,---like one who is conscious he may have given offence,
yet is confident in the rectitude of his motive. The blood
rushed in anger to the countenance of Richard; but it was the
first transient emotion, and his sense of justice instantly
subdued it.
"The King of Sherwood," he said, "grudges his venison and his
wine-flask to the King of England? It is well, bold Robin!---but
when you come to see me in merry London, I trust to be a less
niggard host. Thou art right, however, good fellow. Let us
therefore to horse and away---Wilfred has been impatient this
hour. Tell me, bold Robin, hast thou never a friend in thy band,
who, not content with advising, will needs direct thy motions,
and look miserable when thou dost presume to act for thyself?"
"Such a one," said Robin, "is my Lieutenant, Little John, who is
even now absent on an expedition as far as the borders of
Scotland; and I will own to your Majesty, that I am sometimes
displeased by the freedom of his councils---but, when I think
twice, I cannot be long angry with one who can have no motive for
his anxiety save zeal for his master's service."
"Thou art right, good yeoman," answered Richard; "and if I had
Ivanhoe, on the one hand, to give grave advice, and recommend it
by the sad gravity of his brow, and thee, on the other, to trick
me into what thou thinkest my own good, I should have as little
the freedom of mine own will as any king in Christendom or
Heathenesse.---But come, sirs, let us merrily on to Coningsburgh,
and think no more on't."
Robin Hood assured them that he had detached a party in the
direction of the road they were to pass, who would not fail to
discover and apprize them of any secret ambuscade; and that he
had little doubt they would find the ways secure, or, if
otherwise, would receive such timely notice of the danger as
would enable them to fall back on a strong troop of archers, with
which he himself proposed to follow on the same route.
The wise and attentive precautions adopted for his safety touched
Richard's feelings, and removed any slight grudge which he might
retain on account of the deception the Outlaw Captain had
practised upon him. He once more extended his hand to Robin
Hood, assured him of his full pardon and future favour, as well
as his firm resolution to restrain the tyrannical exercise of the
forest rights and other oppressive laws, by which so many English
yeomen were driven into a state of rebellion. But Richard's good
intentions towards the bold Outlaw were frustrated by the King's
untimely death; and the Charter of the Forest was extorted from
the unwilling hands of King John when he succeeded to his heroic
brother. As for the rest of Robin Hood's career, as well as the
tale of his treacherous death, they are to be found in those
black-letter garlands, once sold at the low and easy rate of one
halfpenny,
"Now cheaply purchased at their weight in gold."
The Outlaw's opinion proved true; and the King, attended by
Ivanhoe, Gurth, and Wamba, arrived, without any interruption,
within view of the Castle of Coningsburgh, while the sun was yet
in the horizon.
There are few more beautiful or striking scenes in England, than
are presented by the vicinity of this ancient Saxon fortress.
The soft and gentle river Don sweeps through an amphitheatre, in
which cultivation is richly blended with woodland, and on a
mount, ascending from the river, well defended by walls and
ditches, rises this ancient edifice, which, as its Saxon name
implies, was, previous to the Conquest, a royal residence of the
kings of England. The outer walls have probably been added by the
Normans, but the inner keep bears token of very great antiquity.
It is situated on a mount at one angle of the inner court, and
forms a complete circle of perhaps twenty-five feet in diameter.
The wall is of immense thickness, and is propped or defended by
six huge external buttresses which project from the circle, and
rise up against the sides of the tower is if to strengthen or to
support it. These massive buttresses are solid when they arise
from the foundation, and a good way higher up; but are hollowed
out towards the top, and terminate in a sort of turrets
communicating with the interior of the keep itself. The distant
appearance of this huge building, with these singular
accompaniments, is as interesting to the lovers of the
picturesque, as the interior of the castle is to the eager
antiquary, whose imagination it carries back to the days of the
Heptarchy. A barrow, in the vicinity of the castle, is pointed
out as the tomb of the memorable Hengist; and various monuments,
of great antiquity and curiosity, are shown in the neighbouring
churchyard.*
* Note J. Castle of Coningsburgh.
When Coeur-de-Lion and his retinue approached this rude yet
stately building, it was not, as at present, surrounded by
external fortifications. The Saxon architect had exhausted his
art in rendering the main keep defensible, and there was no other
circumvallation than a rude barrier of palisades.
A huge black banner, which floated from the top of the tower,
announced that the obsequies of the late owner were still in the
act of being solemnized. It bore no emblem of the deceased's
birth or quality, for armorial bearings were then a novelty among
the Norman chivalry themselves and, were totally unknown to the
Saxons. But above the gate was another banner, on which the
figure of a white horse, rudely painted, indicated the nation and
rank of the deceased, by the well-known symbol of Hengist and his
Saxon warriors.
All around the castle was a scene of busy commotion; for such
funeral banquets were times of general and profuse hospitality,
which not only every one who could claim the most distant
connexion with the deceased, but all passengers whatsoever, were
invited to partake. The wealth and consequence of the deceased
Athelstane, occasioned this custom to be observed in the fullest
extent.
Numerous parties, therefore, were seen ascending and descending
the hill on which the castle was situated; and when the King and
his attendants entered the open and unguarded gates of the
external barrier, the space within presented a scene not easily
reconciled with the cause of the assemblage. In one place cooks
were toiling to roast huge oxen, and fat sheep; in another,
hogsheads of ale were set abroach, to be drained at the freedom
of all comers. Groups of every description were to be seen
devouring the food and swallowing the liquor thus abandoned to
their discretion. The naked Saxon serf was drowning the sense
of his half-year's hunger and thirst, in one day of gluttony and
drunkenness---the more pampered burgess and guild-brother was
eating his morsel with gust, or curiously criticising the
quantity of the malt and the skill of the brewer. Some few of
the poorer Norman gentry might also be seen, distinguished by
their shaven chins and short cloaks, and not less so by their
keeping together, and looking with great scorn on the whole
solemnity, even while condescending to avail themselves of the
good cheer which was so liberally supplied.
Mendicants were of course assembled by the score, together with
strolling soldiers returned from Palestine, (according to their
own account at least,) pedlars were displaying their wares,
travelling mechanics were enquiring after employment, and
wandering palmers, hedge-priests, Saxon minstrels, and Welsh
bards, were muttering prayers, and extracting mistuned dirges
from their harps, crowds, and rotes.*
* The crowth, or crowd, was a species of violin. The rote a
* sort of guitar, or rather hurdy-gurdy, the strings of
* which were managed by a wheel, from which the instrument
* took its name.
One sent forth the praises of Athelstane in a doleful panegyric;
another, in a Saxon genealogical poem, rehearsed the uncouth and
harsh names of his noble ancestry. Jesters and jugglers were not
awanting, nor was the occasion of the assembly supposed to render
the exercise of their profession indecorous or improper. Indeed
the ideas of the Saxons on these occasions were as natural as
they were rude. If sorrow was thirsty, there was drink---if
hungry, there was food---if it sunk down upon and saddened the
heart, here were the means supplied of mirth, or at least of
amusement. Nor did the assistants scorn to avail themselves of
those means of consolation, although, every now and then, as if
suddenly recollecting the cause which had brought them together,
the men groaned in unison, while the females, of whom many were
present, raised up their voices and shrieked for very woe.
Such was the scene in the castle-yard at Coningsburgh when it was
entered by Richard and his followers. The seneschal or steward
deigned not to take notice of the groups of inferior guests who
were perpetually entering and withdrawing, unless so far as was
necessary to preserve order; nevertheless he was struck by the
good mien of the Monarch and Ivanhoe, more especially as he
imagined the features of the latter were familiar to him.
Besides, the approach of two knights, for such their dress
bespoke them, was a rare event at a Saxon solemnity, and could
not but be regarded as a sort of honour to the deceased and his
family. And in his sable dress, and holding in his hand his
white wand of office, this important personage made way through
the miscellaneous assemblage of guests, thus conducting Richard
and Ivanhoe to the entrance of the tower. Gurth and Wamba
speedily found acquaintances in the court-yard, nor presumed to
intrude themselves any farther until their presence should be
required.
CHAPTER XLII
I found them winding of Marcello's corpse.
And there was such a solemn melody,
'Twixt doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies,---
Such as old grandames, watching by the dead,
Are wont to outwear the night with.
Old Play
The mode of entering the great tower of Coningsburgh Castle is
very peculiar, and partakes of the rude simplicity of the early
times in which it was erected. A flight of steps, so deep and
narrow as to be almost precipitous, leads up to a low portal in
the south side of the tower, by which the adventurous antiquary
may still, or at least could a few years since, gain access to a
small stair within the thickness of the main wall of the tower,
which leads up to the third story of the building,---the two
lower being dungeons or vaults, which neither receive air nor
light, save by a square hole in the third story, with which they
seem to have communicated by a ladder. The access to the upper
apartments in the tower which consist in all of four stories, is
given by stairs which are carried up through the external
buttresses.
By this difficult and complicated entrance, the good King
Richard, followed by his faithful Ivanhoe, was ushered into the
round apartment which occupies the whole of the third story from
the ground. Wilfred, by the difficulties of the ascent, gained
time to muffle his face in his mantle, as it had been held
expedient that he should not present himself to his father until
the King should give him the signal.
There were assembled in this apartment, around a large oaken
table, about a dozen of the most distinguished representatives of
the Saxon families in the adjacent counties. They were all old,
or, at least, elderly men; for the younger race, to the great
displeasure of the seniors, had, like Ivanhoe, broken down many
of the barriers which separated for half a century the Norman
victors from the vanquished Saxons. The downcast and sorrowful
looks of these venerable men, their silence and their mournful
posture, formed a strong contrast to the levity of the revellers
on the outside of the castle. Their grey locks and long full
beards, together with their antique tunics and loose black
mantles, suited well with the singular and rude apartment in
which they were seated, and gave the appearance of a band of
ancient worshippers of Woden, recalled to life to mourn over the
decay of their national glory.
Cedric, seated in equal rank among his countrymen, seemed yet, by
common consent, to act as chief of the assembly. Upon the
entrance of Richard (only known to him as the valorous Knight of
the Fetterlock) he arose gravely, and gave him welcome by the
ordinary salutation, "Waes hael", raising at the same time a
goblet to his head. The King, no stranger to the customs of his
English subjects, returned the greeting with the appropriate
words, "Drinc hael", and partook of a cup which was handed to him
by the sewer. The same courtesy was offered to Ivanhoe, who
pledged his father in silence, supplying the usual speech by an
inclination of his head, lest his voice should have been
recognised.
When this introductory ceremony was performed, Cedric arose, and,
extending his hand to Richard, conducted him into a small and
very rude chapel, which was excavated, as it were, out of one of
the external buttresses. As there was no opening, saving a
little narrow loop-hole, the place would have been nearly quite
dark but for two flambeaux or torches, which showed, by a red and
smoky light, the arched roof and naked walls, the rude altar of
stone, and the crucifix of the same material.
Before this altar was placed a bier, and on each side of this
bier kneeled three priests, who told their beads, and muttered
their prayers, with the greatest signs of external devotion. For
this service a splendid "soul-scat" was paid to the convent of
Saint Edmund's by the mother of the deceased; and, that it might
be fully deserved, the whole brethren, saving the lame Sacristan,
had transferred themselves to Coningsburgh, where, while six of
their number were constantly on guard in the performance of
divine rites by the bier of Athelstane, the others failed not to
take their share of the refreshments and amusements which went on
at the castle. In maintaining this pious watch and ward, the
good monks were particularly careful not to interrupt their hymns
for an instant, lest Zernebock, the ancient Saxon Apollyon,
should lay his clutches on the departed Athelstane. Now were
they less careful to prevent any unhallowed layman from touching
the pall, which, having been that used at the funeral of Saint
Edmund, was liable to be desecrated, if handled by the profane.
If, in truth, these attentions could be of any use to the
deceased, he had some right to expect them at the hands of the
brethren of Saint Edmund's, since, besides a hundred mancuses of
gold paid down as the soul-ransom, the mother of Athelstane had
announced her intention of endowing that foundation with the
better part of the lands of the deceased, in order to maintain
perpetual prayers for his soul, and that of her departed husband.
Richard and Wilfred followed the Saxon Cedric into the apartment
of death, where, as their guide pointed with solemn air to the
untimely bier of Athelstane, they followed his example in
devoutly crossing themselves, and muttering a brief prayer for
the weal of the departed soul.
This act of pious charity performed, Cedric again motioned them
to follow him, gliding over the stone floor with a noiseless
tread; and, after ascending a few steps, opened with great
caution the door of a small oratory, which adjoined to the
chapel. It was about eight feet square, hollowed, like the
chapel itself, out of the thickness of the wall; and the
loop-hole, which enlightened it, being to the west, and widening
considerably as it sloped inward, a beam of the setting sun found
its way into its dark recess, and showed a female of a dignified
mien, and whose countenance retained the marked remains of
majestic beauty. Her long mourning robes and her flowing wimple
of black cypress, enhanced the whiteness of her skin, and the
beauty of her light-coloured and flowing tresses, which time had
neither thinned nor mingled with silver. Her countenance
expressed the deepest sorrow that is consistent with resignation.
On the stone table before her stood a crucifix of ivory, beside
which was laid a missal, having its pages richly illuminated, and
its boards adorned with clasps of gold, and bosses of the same
precious metal.
"Noble Edith," said Cedric, after having stood a moment silent,
as if to give Richard and Wilfred time to look upon the lady of
the mansion, "these are worthy strangers, come to take a part in
thy sorrows. And this, in especial, is the valiant Knight who
fought so bravely for the deliverance of him for whom we this day
mourn."
"His bravery has my thanks," returned the lady; "although it be
the will of Heaven that it should be displayed in vain. I thank,
too, his courtesy, and that of his companion, which hath brought
them hither to behold the widow of Adeling, the mother of
Athelstane, in her deep hour of sorrow and lamentation. To your
care, kind kinsman, I intrust them, satisfied that they will
want no hospitality which these sad walls can yet afford."
The guests bowed deeply to the mourning parent, and withdrew from
their hospitable guide.
Another winding stair conducted them to an apartment of the same
size with that which they had first entered, occupying indeed the
story immediately above. From this room, ere yet the door was
opened, proceeded a low and melancholy strain of vocal music.
When they entered, they found themselves in the presence of about
twenty matrons and maidens of distinguished Saxon lineage. Four
maidens, Rowena leading the choir, raised a hymn for the soul of
the deceased, of which we have only been able to decipher two or
three stanzas:---
Dust unto dust,
To this all must;
The tenant hath resign'd
The faded form
To waste and worm---
Corruption claims her kind.
Through paths unknown
Thy soul hath flown,
To seek the realms of woe,
Where fiery pain
Shall purge the stain
Of actions done below.
In that sad place,
By Mary's grace,
Brief may thy dwelling be
Till prayers and alms,
And holy psalms,
Shall set the captive free.
While this dirge was sang, in a low and melancholy tone, by the
female choristers, the others were divided into two bands, of
which one was engaged in bedecking, with such embroidery as their
skill and taste could compass, a large silken pall, destined to
cover the bier of Athelstane, while the others busied themselves
in selecting, from baskets of flowers placed before them,
garlands, which they intended for the same mournful purpose. The
behaviour of the maidens was decorous, if not marked with deep
affliction; but now and then a whisper or a smile called forth
the rebuke of the severer matrons, and here and there might be
seen a damsel more interested in endeavouring to find out how her
mourning-robe became her, than in the dismal ceremony for which
they were preparing. Neither was this propensity (if we must
needs confess the truth) at all diminished by the appearance of
two strange knights, which occasioned some looking up, peeping,
and whispering. Rowena alone, too proud to be vain, paid her
greeting to her deliverer with a graceful courtesy. Her
demeanour was serious, but not dejected; and it may be doubted
whether thoughts of Ivanhoe, and of the uncertainty of his fate,
did not claim as great a share in her gravity as the death of her
kinsman.
To Cedric, however, who, as we have observed, was not remarkably
clear-sighted on such occasions, the sorrow of his ward seemed so
much deeper than any of the other maidens, that he deemed it
proper to whisper the explanation---"She was the affianced bride
of the noble Athelstane."---It may be doubted whether this
communication went a far way to increase Wilfred's disposition to
sympathize with the mourners of Coningsburgh.
Having thus formally introduced the guests to the different
chambers in which the obsequies of Athelstane were celebrated
under different forms, Cedric conducted them into a small room,
destined, as he informed them, for the exclusive accomodation of
honourable guests, whose more slight connexion with the deceased
might render them unwilling to join those who were immediately
effected by the unhappy event. He assured them of every
accommodation, and was about to withdraw when the Black Knight
took his hand.
"I crave to remind you, noble Thane," he said, "that when we last
parted, you promised, for the service I had the fortune to render
you, to grant me a boon."
"It is granted ere named, noble Knight," said Cedric; "yet, at
this sad moment------"
"Of that also," said the King, "I have bethought me---but my time
is brief---neither does it seem to me unfit, that, when closing
the grave on the noble Athelstane, we should deposit therein
certain prejudices and hasty opinions."
"Sir Knight of the Fetterlock," said Cedric, colouring, and
interrupting the King in his turn, "I trust your boon regards
yourself and no other; for in that which concerns the honour of
my house, it is scarce fitting that a stranger should mingle."
"Nor do I wish to mingle," said the King, mildly, "unless in so
far as you will admit me to have an interest. As yet you have
known me but as the Black Knight of the Fetterlock---Know me now
as Richard Plantagenet."
"Richard of Anjou!" exclaimed Cedric, stepping backward with the
utmost astonishment.
"No, noble Cedric---Richard of England!---whose deepest interest
---whose deepest wish, is to see her sons united with each other.
---And, how now, worthy Thane! hast thou no knee for thy prince?"
"To Norman blood," said Cedric, "it hath never bended."
"Reserve thine homage then," said the Monarch, "until I shall
prove my right to it by my equal protection of Normans and
English."
"Prince," answered Cedric, "I have ever done justice to thy
bravery and thy worth---Nor am I ignorant of thy claim to the
crown through thy descent from Matilda, niece to Edgar Atheling,
and daughter to Malcolm of Scotland. But Matilda, though of the
royal Saxon blood, was not the heir to the monarchy."
"I will not dispute my title with thee, noble Thane," said
Richard, calmly; "but I will bid thee look around thee, and see
where thou wilt find another to be put into the scale against
it."
"And hast thou wandered hither, Prince, to tell me so?" said
Cedric---"To upbraid me with the ruin of my race, ere the grave
has closed o'er the last scion of Saxon royalty?"---His
countenance darkened as he spoke.---"It was boldly---it was
rashly done!"
"Not so, by the holy rood!" replied the King; "it was done in the
frank confidence which one brave man may repose in another,
without a shadow of danger."
"Thou sayest well, Sir King---for King I own thou art, and wilt
be, despite of my feeble opposition.---I dare not take the only
mode to prevent it, though thou hast placed the strong temptation
within my reach!"
"And now to my boon," said the King, "which I ask not with one
jot the loss confidence, that thou hast refused to acknowledge my
lawful sovereignty. I require of thee, as a man of thy word, on
pain of being held faithless, man-sworn, and 'nidering',*
* Infamous.
to forgive and receive to thy paternal affection the good knight,
Wilfred of Ivanhoe. In this reconciliation thou wilt own I have
an interest---the happiness of my friend, and the quelling of
dissension among my faithful people."
"And this is Wilfred!" said Cedric, pointing to his son.
"My father!---my father!" said Ivanhoe, prostrating himself at
Cedric's feet, "grant me thy forgiveness!"
"Thou hast it, my son," said Cedric, raising him up. "The son of
Hereward knows how to keep his word, even when it has been passed
to a Norman. But let me see thee use the dress and costume of
thy English ancestry---no short cloaks, no gay bonnets, no
fantastic plumage in my decent household. He that would be the
son of Cedric, must show himself of English ancestry.---Thou art
about to speak," he added, sternly, "and I guess the topic. The
Lady Rowena must complete two years' mourning, as for a betrothed
husband---all our Saxon ancestors would disown us were we to
treat of a new union for her ere the grave of him she should have
wedded---him, so much the most worthy of her hand by birth and
ancestry---is yet closed. The ghost of Athelstane himself would
burst his bloody cerements and stand before us to forbid such
dishonour to his memory."
It seemed as if Cedric's words had raised a spectre; for, scarce
had he uttered them ere the door flew open, and Athelstane,
arrayed in the garments of the grave, stood before them, pale,
haggard, and like something arisen from the dead! *
* The resuscitation of Athelstane has been much criticised,
* as too violent a breach of probability, even for a work of
* such fantastic character. It was a "tour-de-force", to
* which the author was compelled to have recourse, by the
* vehement entreaties of his friend and printer, who was
* inconsolable on the Saxon being conveyed to the tomb.
The effect of this apparition on the persons present was utterly
appalling. Cedric started back as far as the wall of the
apartment would permit, and, leaning against it as one unable to
support himself, gazed on the figure of his friend with eyes that
seemed fixed, and a mouth which he appeared incapable of
shutting. Ivanhoe crossed himself, repeating prayers in Saxon,
Latin, or Norman-French, as they occurred to his memory, while
Richard alternately said, "Benedicite", and swore, "Mort de ma
vie!"
In the meantime, a horrible noise was heard below stairs, some
crying, "Secure the treacherous monks!"---others, "Down with them
into the dungeon!"---others, "Pitch them from the highest
battlements!"
"In the name of God!" said Cedric, addressing what seemed the
spectre of his departed friend, "if thou art mortal, speak!---if
a departed spirit, say for what cause thou dost revisit us, or if
I can do aught that can set thy spirit at repose.---Living or
dead, noble Athelstane, speak to Cedric!"
"I will," said the spectre, very composedly, "when I have
collected breath, and when you give me time---Alive, saidst thou?
---I am as much alive as he can be who has fed on bread and water
for three days, which seem three ages---Yes, bread and water,
Father Cedric! By Heaven, and all saints in it, better food hath
not passed my weasand for three livelong days, and by God's
providence it is that I am now here to tell it."
"Why, noble Athelstane," said the Black Knight, "I myself saw you
struck down by the fierce Templar towards the end of the storm at
Torquilstone, and as I thought, and Wamba reported, your skull
was cloven through the teeth."
"You thought amiss, Sir Knight," said Athelstane, "and Wamba
lied. My teeth are in good order, and that my supper shall
presently find---No thanks to the Templar though, whose sword
turned in his hand, so that the blade struck me flatlings, being
averted by the handle of the good mace with which I warded the
blow; had my steel-cap been on, I had not valued it a rush, and
had dealt him such a counter-buff as would have spoilt his
retreat. But as it was, down I went, stunned, indeed, but
unwounded. Others, of both sides, were beaten down and
slaughtered above me, so that I never recovered my senses until I
found myself in a coffin---(an open one, by good luck)---placed
before the altar of the church of Saint Edmund's. I sneezed
repeatedly---groaned---awakened and would have arisen, when the
Sacristan and Abbot, full of terror, came running at the noise,
surprised, doubtless, and no way pleased to find the man alive,
whose heirs they had proposed themselves to be. I asked for wine
---they gave me some, but it must have been highly medicated, for
I slept yet more deeply than before, and wakened not for many
hours. I found my arms swathed down---my feet tied so fast that
mine ankles ache at the very remembrance---the place was utterly
dark---the oubliette, as I suppose, of their accursed convent,
and from the close, stifled, damp smell, I conceive it is also
used for a place of sepulture. I had strange thoughts of what
had befallen me, when the door of my dungeon creaked, and two
villain monks entered. They would have persuaded me I was in
purgatory, but I knew too well the pursy short-breathed voice of
the Father Abbot.---Saint Jeremy! how different from that tone
with which he used to ask me for another slice of the haunch!
---the dog has feasted with me from Christmas to Twelfth-night."
"Have patience, noble Athelstane," said the King, "take breath
---tell your story at leisure---beshrew me but such a tale is as
well worth listening to as a romance."
"Ay but, by the rood of Bromeholm, there was no romance in the
matter!" said Athelstane.---"A barley loaf and a pitcher of water
---that THEY gave me, the niggardly traitors, whom my father, and
I myself, had enriched, when their best resources were the
flitches of bacon and measures of corn, out of which they
wheedled poor serfs and bondsmen, in exchange for their prayers
---the nest of foul ungrateful vipers---barley bread and ditch
water to, such a patron as I had been! I will smoke them out of
their nest, though I be excommunicated!"
"But, in the name of Our Lady, noble Athelstane," said Cedric,
grasping the hand of his friend, "how didst thou escape this
imminent danger---did their hearts relent?"
"Did their hearts relent!" echoed Athelstane.---"Do rocks melt
with the sun? I should have been there still, had not some stir
in the Convent, which I find was their procession hitherward to
eat my funeral feast, when they well knew how and where I had
been buried alive, summoned the swarm out of their hive. I
heard them droning out their death-psalms, little judging they
were sung in respect for my soul by those who were thus famishing
my body. They went, however, and I waited long for food---no
wonder---the gouty Sacristan was even too busy with his own
provender to mind mine. At length down he came, with an unstable
step and a strong flavour of wine and spices about his person.
Good cheer had opened his heart, for he left me a nook of pasty
and a flask of wine, instead of my former fare. I ate, drank,
and was invigorated; when, to add to my good luck, the Sacristan,
too totty to discharge his duty of turnkey fitly, locked the
door beside the staple, so that it fell ajar. The light, the
food, the wine, set my invention to work. The staple to which my
chains were fixed, was more rusted than I or the villain Abbot
had supposed. Even iron could not remain without consuming in
the damps of that infernal dungeon."
"Take breath, noble Athelstane," said Richard, "and partake of
some refreshment, ere you proceed with a tale so dreadful."
"Partake!" quoth Athelstane; "I have been partaking five times
to-day---and yet a morsel of that savoury ham were not altogether
foreign to the matter; and I pray you, fair sir, to do me reason
in a cup of wine."
The guests, though still agape with astonishment, pledged their
resuscitated landlord, who thus proceeded in his story:---He had
indeed now many more auditors than those to whom it was
commenced, for Edith, having given certain necessary orders for
arranging matters within the Castle, had followed the dead-alive
up to the stranger's apartment attended by as many of the guests,
male and female, as could squeeze into the small room, while
others, crowding the staircase, caught up an erroneous edition of
the story, and transmitted it still more inaccurately to those
beneath, who again sent it forth to the vulgar without, in a
fashion totally irreconcilable to the real fact. Athelstane,
however, went on as follows, with the history of his escape:---
"Finding myself freed from the staple, I dragged myself up stairs
as well as a man loaded with shackles, and emaciated with
fasting, might; and after much groping about, I was at length
directed, by the sound of a jolly roundelay, to the apartment
where the worthy Sacristan, an it so please ye, was holding a
devil's mass with a huge beetle-browed, broad-shouldered brother
of the grey-frock and cowl, who looked much more like a thief
than a clergyman. I burst in upon them, and the fashion of my
grave-clothes, as well as the clanking of my chains, made me more
resemble an inhabitant of the other world than of this. Both
stood aghast; but when I knocked down the Sacristan with my fist,
the other fellow, his pot-companion, fetched a blow at me with a
huge quarter-staff."
"This must be our Friar Tuck, for a count's ransom," said
Richard, looking at Ivanhoe.
"He may be the devil, an he will," said Athelstane. "Fortunately
he missed the aim; and on my approaching to grapple with him,
took to his heels and ran for it. I failed not to set my own
heels at liberty by means of the fetter-key, which hung amongst
others at the sexton's belt; and I had thoughts of beating out
the knave's brains with the bunch of keys, but gratitude for the
nook of pasty and the flask of wine which the rascal had imparted
to my captivity, came over my heart; so, with a brace of hearty
kicks, I left him on the floor, pouched some baked meat, and a
leathern bottle of wine, with which the two venerable brethren
had been regaling, went to the stable, and found in a private
stall mine own best palfrey, which, doubtless, had been set apart
for the holy Father Abbot's particular use. Hither I came with
all the speed the beast could compass---man and mother's son
flying before me wherever I came, taking me for a spectre, the
more especially as, to prevent my being recognised, I drew the
corpse-hood over my face. I had not gained admittance into my
own castle, had I not been supposed to be the attendant of a
juggler who is making the people in the castle-yard very merry,
considering they are assembled to celebrate their lord's funeral
---I say the sewer thought I was dressed to bear a part in the
tregetour's mummery, and so I got admission, and did but disclose
myself to my mother, and eat a hasty morsel, ere I came in quest
of you, my noble friend."
"And you have found me," said Cedric, "ready to resume our brave
projects of honour and liberty. I tell thee, never will dawn a
morrow so auspicious as the next, for the deliverance of the
noble Saxon race."
"Talk not to me of delivering any one," said Athelstane; "it is
well I am delivered myself. I am more intent on punishing that
villain Abbot. He shall hang on the top of this Castle of
Coningsburgh, in his cope and stole; and if the stairs be too
strait to admit his fat carcass, I will have him craned up from
without."
"But, my son," said Edith, "consider his sacred office."
"Consider my three days' fast," replied Athelstane; "I will have
their blood every one of them. Front-de-Boeuf was burnt alive
for a less matter, for he kept a good table for his prisoners,
only put too much garlic in his last dish of pottage. But these
hypocritical, ungrateful slaves, so often the self-invited
flatterers at my board, who gave me neither pottage nor garlic,
more or less, they die, by the soul of Hengist!"
"But the Pope, my noble friend,"---said Cedric---
"But the devil, my noble friend,"---answered Athelstane; "they
die, and no more of them. Were they the best monks upon earth,
the world would go on without them."
"For shame, noble Athelstane," said Cedric; "forget such wretches
in the career of glory which lies open before thee. Tell this
Norman prince, Richard of Anjou, that, lion-hearted as he is, he
shall not hold undisputed the throne of Alfred, while a male
descendant of the Holy Confessor lives to dispute it."
"How!" said Athelstane, "is this the noble King Richard?"
"It is Richard Plantagenet himself," said Cedric; "yet I need not
remind thee that, coming hither a guest of free-will, he may
neither be injured nor detained prisoner---thou well knowest thy
duty to him as his host."
"Ay, by my faith!" said Athelstane; "and my duty as a subject
besides, for I here tender him my allegiance, heart and hand."
"My son," said Edith, "think on thy royal rights!"
"Think on the freedom of England, degenerate Prince!" said
Cedric.
"Mother and friend," said Athelstane, "a truce to your
upbraidings---bread and water and a dungeon are marvellous
mortifiers of ambition, and I rise from the tomb a wiser man than
I descended into it. One half of those vain follies were puffed
into mine ear by that perfidious Abbot Wolfram, and you may now
judge if he is a counsellor to be trusted. Since these plots
were set in agitation, I have had nothing but hurried journeys,
indigestions, blows and bruises, imprisonments and starvation;
besides that they can only end in the murder of some thousands of
quiet folk. I tell you, I will be king in my own domains, and
nowhere else; and my first act of dominion shall be to hang the
Abbot."
"And my ward Rowena," said Cedric---"I trust you intend not to
desert her?"
"Father Cedric," said Athelstane, "be reasonable. The Lady
Rowena cares not for me---she loves the little finger of my
kinsman Wilfred's glove better than my whole person. There she
stands to avouch it---Nay, blush not, kinswoman, there is no
shame in loving a courtly knight better than a country franklin
---and do not laugh neither, Rowena, for grave-clothes and a thin
visage are, God knows, no matter of merriment---Nay, an thou wilt
needs laugh, I will find thee a better jest---Give me thy hand,
or rather lend it me, for I but ask it in the way of friendship.
---Here, cousin Wilfred of Ivanhoe, in thy favour I renounce and
abjure------Hey! by Saint Dunstan, our cousin Wilfred hath
vanished!---Yet, unless my eyes are still dazzled with the
fasting I have undergone, I saw him stand there but even now."
All now looked around and enquired for Ivanhoe, but he had
vanished. It was at length discovered that a Jew had been to
seek him; and that, after very brief conference, he had called
for Gurth and his armour, and had left the castle.
"Fair cousin," said Athelstane to Rowena, "could I think that
this sudden disappearance of Ivanhoe was occasioned by other than
the weightiest reason, I would myself resume---"
But he had no sooner let go her hand, on first observing that
Ivanhoe had disappeared, than Rowena, who had found her situation
extremely embarrassing, had taken the first opportunity to escape
from the apartment.
"Certainly," quoth Athelstane, "women are the least to be trusted
of all animals, monks and abbots excepted. I am an infidel, if I
expected not thanks from her, and perhaps a kiss to boot---These
cursed grave-clothes have surely a spell on them, every one flies
from me.---To you I turn, noble King Richard, with the vows of
allegiance, which, as a liege-subject---"
But King Richard was gone also, and no one knew whither. At
length it was learned that be had hastened to the court-yard,
summoned to his presence the Jew who had spoken with Ivanhoe, and
after a moment's speech with him, had called vehemently to horse,
thrown himself upon a steed, compelled the Jew to mount another,
and set off at a rate, which, according to Wamba, rendered the
old Jew's neck not worth a penny's purchase.
"By my halidome!" said Athelstane, "it is certain that Zernebock
hath possessed himself of my castle in my absence. I return in
my grave-clothes, a pledge restored from the very sepulchre, and
every one I speak to vanishes as soon as they hear my voice!
---But it skills not talking of it. Come, my friends---such of
you as are left, follow me to the banquet-hall, lest any more of
us disappear---it is, I trust, as yet tolerably furnished, as
becomes the obsequies of an ancient Saxon noble; and should we
tarry any longer, who knows but the devil may fly off with the
supper?"
CHAPTER XLIII
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom,
That they may break his foaming courser's back,
And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
A caitiff recreant!
Richard II
Our scene now returns to the exterior of the Castle, or
Preceptory, of Templestowe, about the hour when the bloody die
was to be cast for the life or death of Rebecca. It was a scene
of bustle and life, as if the whole vicinity had poured forth its
inhabitants to a village wake, or rural feast. But the earnest
desire to look on blood and death, is not peculiar to those dark
ages; though in the gladiatorial exercise of single combat and
general tourney, they were habituated to the bloody spectacle of
brave men failing by each other's hands. Even in our own days,
when morals are better understood, an execution, a bruising
match, a riot, or a meeting of radical reformers, collects, at
considerable hazard to themselves, immense crowds of spectators,
otherwise little interested, except to see how matters are to be
conducted, or whether the heroes of the day are, in the heroic
language of insurgent tailors, flints or dunghills.
The eyes, therefore, of a very considerable multitude, were bent
on the gate of the Preceptory of Templestowe, with the purpose of
witnessing the procession; while still greater numbers had
already surrounded the tiltyard belonging to that establishment.
This enclosure was formed on a piece of level ground adjoining to
the Preceptory, which had been levelled with care, for the
exercise of military and chivalrous sports. It occupied the brow
of a soft and gentle eminence, was carefully palisaded around,
and, as the Templars willingly invited spectators to be witnesses
of their skill in feats of chivalry, was amply supplied with
galleries and benches for their use.
On the present occasion, a throne was erected for the Grand
Master at the east end, surrounded with seats of distinction for
the Preceptors and Knights of the Order. Over these floated the
sacred standard, called "Le Beau-seant", which was the ensign, as
its name was the battle-cry, of the Templars.
At the opposite end of the lists was a pile of faggots, so
arranged around a stake, deeply fixed in the ground, as to leave
a space for the victim whom they were destined to consume, to
enter within the fatal circle, in order to be chained to the
stake by the fetters which hung ready for that purpose. Beside
this deadly apparatus stood four black slaves, whose colour and
African features, then so little known in England, appalled the
multitude, who gazed on them as on demons employed about their
own diabolical exercises. These men stirred not, excepting now
and then, under the direction of one who seemed their chief, to
shift and replace the ready fuel. They looked not on the
multitude. In fact, they seemed insensible of their presence,
and of every thing save the discharge of their own horrible duty.
And when, in speech with each other, they expanded their blubber
lips, and showed their white fangs, as if they grinned at the
thoughts of the expected tragedy, the startled commons could
scarcely help believing that they were actually the familiar
spirits with whom the witch had communed, and who, her time being
out, stood ready to assist in her dreadful punishment. They
whispered to each other, and communicated all the feats which
Satan had performed during that busy and unhappy period, not
failing, of course, to give the devil rather more than his due.
"Have you not heard, Father Dennet," quoth one boor to another
advanced in years, "that the devil has carried away bodily the
great Saxon Thane, Athelstane of Coningsburgh?"
"Ay, but he brought him back though, by the blessing of God and
Saint Dunstan."
"How's that?" said a brisk young fellow, dressed in a green
cassock embroidered with gold, and having at his heels a stout
lad bearing a harp upon his back, which betrayed his vocation.
The Minstrel seemed of no vulgar rank; for, besides the splendour
of his gaily braidered doublet, he wore around his neck a silver
chain, by which hung the "wrest", or key, with which he tuned his
harp. On his right arm was a silver plate, which, instead of
bearing, as usual, the cognizance or badge of the baron to whose
family he belonged, had barely the word SHERWOOD engraved upon
it.---"How mean you by that?" said the gay Minstrel, mingling in
the conversation of the peasants; "I came to seek one subject for
my rhyme, and, by'r Lady, I were glad to find two."
"It is well avouched," said the elder peasant, "that after
Athelstane of Coningsburgh had been dead four weeks---"
"That is impossible," said the Minstrel; "I saw him in life at
the Passage of Arms at Ashby-de-la-Zouche."
"Dead, however, he was, or else translated," said the younger
peasant; "for I heard the Monks of Saint Edmund's singing the
death's hymn for him; and, moreover, there was a rich death-meal
and dole at the Castle of Coningsburgh, as right was; and thither
had I gone, but for Mabel Parkins, who---"
"Ay, dead was Athelstane," said the old man, shaking his head,
"and the more pity it was, for the old Saxon blood---"
"But, your story, my masters---your story," said the Minstrel,
somewhat impatiently.
"Ay, ay---construe us the story," said a burly Friar, who stood
beside them, leaning on a pole that exhibited an appearance
between a pilgrim's staff and a quarter-staff, and probably acted
as either when occasion served,---"Your story," said the stalwart
churchman; "burn not daylight about it---we have short time to
spare."
"An please your reverence," said Dennet, "a drunken priest came
to visit the Sacristan at Saint Edmund's------"
"It does not please my reverence," answered the churchman, "that
there should be such an animal as a drunken priest, or, if there
were, that a layman should so speak him. Be mannerly, my friend,
and conclude the holy man only wrapt in meditation, which makes
the head dizzy and foot unsteady, as if the stomach were filled
with new wine---I have felt it myself."
"Well, then," answered Father Dennet, "a holy brother came to
visit the Sacristan at Saint Edmund's---a sort of hedge-priest is
the visitor, and kills half the deer that are stolen in the
forest, who loves the tinkling of a pint-pot better than the
sacring-bell, and deems a flitch of bacon worth ten of his
breviary; for the rest, a good fellow and a merry, who will
flourish a quarter-staff, draw a bow, and dance a Cheshire round,
with e'er a man in Yorkshire."
"That last part of thy speech, Dennet," said the Minstrel, "has
saved thee a rib or twain."
"Tush, man, I fear him not," said Dennet; "I am somewhat old and
stiff, but when I fought for the bell and ram at Doncaster---"
"But the story---the story, my friend," again said the Minstrel.
"Why, the tale is but this---Athelstane of Coningsburgh was
buried at Saint Edmund's."
"That's a lie, and a loud one," said the Friar, "for I saw him
borne to his own Castle of Coningsburgh."
"Nay, then, e'en tell the story yourself, my masters," said
Dennet, turning sulky at these repeated contradictions; and it
was with some difficulty that the boor could be prevailed on, by
the request of his comrade and the Minstrel, to renew his tale.
---"These two 'sober' friars," said he at length, "since this
reverend man will needs have them such, had continued drinking
good ale, and wine, and what not, for the best part for a
summer's day, when they were aroused by a deep groan, and a
clanking of chains, and the figure of the deceased Athelstane
entered the apartment, saying, 'Ye evil shep-herds!---'"
"It is false," said the Friar, hastily, "he never spoke a word."
"So ho! Friar Tuck," said the Minstrel, drawing him apart from
the rustics; "we have started a new hare, I find."
"I tell thee, Allan-a-Dale," said the Hermit, "I saw Athelstane
of Coningsburgh as much as bodily eyes ever saw a living man. He
had his shroud on, and all about him smelt of the sepulchre---A
butt of sack will not wash it out of my memory."
"Pshaw!" answered the Minstrel; "thou dost but jest with me!"
"Never believe me," said the Friar, "an I fetched not a knock at
him with my quarter-staff that would have felled an ox, and it
glided through his body as it might through a pillar of smoke!"
"By Saint Hubert," said the Minstrel, "but it is a wondrous tale,
and fit to be put in metre to the ancient tune, 'Sorrow came to
the old Friar.'"
"Laugh, if ye list," said Friar Tuck; "but an ye catch me singing
on such a theme, may the next ghost or devil carry me off with
him headlong! No, no---I instantly formed the purpose of
assisting at some good work, such as the burning of a witch, a
judicial combat, or the like matter of godly service, and
therefore am I here."
As they thus conversed, the heavy bell of the church of Saint
Michael of Templestowe, a venerable building, situated in a
hamlet at some distance from the Preceptory, broke short their
argument. One by one the sullen sounds fell successively on the
ear, leaving but sufficient space for each to die away in distant
echo, ere the air was again filled by repetition of the iron
knell. These sounds, the signal of the approaching ceremony,
chilled with awe the hearts of the assembled multitude, whose
eyes were now turned to the Preceptory, expecting the approach of
the Grand Master, the champion, and the criminal.
At length the drawbridge fell, the gates opened, and a knight,
bearing the great standard of the Order, sallied from the castle,
preceded by six trumpets, and followed by the Knights Preceptors,
two and two, the Grand Master coming last, mounted on a stately
horse, whose furniture was of the simplest kind. Behind him came
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, armed cap-a-pie in bright armour, but
without his lance, shield, and sword, which were borne by his two
esquires behind him. His face, though partly hidden by a long
plume which floated down from his barrel-cap, bore a strong and
mingled expression of passion, in which pride seemed to contend
with irresolution. He looked ghastly pale, as if he had not
slept for several nights, yet reined his pawing war-horse with
the habitual ease and grace proper to the best lance of the Order
of the Temple. His general appearance was grand and commanding;
but, looking at him with attention, men read that in his dark
features, from which they willingly withdrew their eyes.
On either side rode Conrade of Mont-Fitchet, and Albert de
Malvoisin, who acted as godfathers to the champion. They were in
their robes of peace, the white dress of the Order. Behind them
followed other Companions of the Temple, with a long train of
esquires and pages clad in black, aspirants to the honour of
being one day Knights of the Order. After these neophytes came a
guard of warders on foot, in the same sable livery, amidst whose
partisans might be seen the pale form of the accused, moving with
a slow but undismayed step towards the scene of her fate. She
was stript of all her ornaments, lest perchance there should be
among them some of those amulets which Satan was supposed to
bestow upon his victims, to deprive them of the power of
confession even when under the torture. A coarse white dress, of
the simplest form, had been substituted for her Oriental
garments; yet there was such an exquisite mixture of courage and
resignation in her look, that even in this garb, and with no
other ornament than her long black tresses, each eye wept that
looked upon her, and the most hardened bigot regretted the fate
that had converted a creature so goodly into a vessel of wrath,
and a waged slave of the devil.
A crowd of inferior personages belonging to the Preceptory
followed the victim, all moving with the utmost order, with arms
folded, and looks bent upon the ground.
This slow procession moved up the gentle eminence, on the summit
of which was the tiltyard, and, entering the lists, marched once
around them from right to left, and when they had completed the
circle, made a halt. There was then a momentary bustle, while
the Grand Master and all his attendants, excepting the champion
and his godfathers, dismounted from their horses, which were
immediately removed out of the lists by the esquires, who were in
attendance for that purpose.
The unfortunate Rebecca was conducted to the black chair placed
near the pile. On her first glance at the terrible spot where
preparations were making for a death alike dismaying to the mind
and painful to the body, she was observed to shudder and shut her
eyes, praying internally doubtless, for her lips moved though no
speech was heard. In the space of a minute she opened her eyes,
looked fixedly on the pile as if to familiarize her mind with the
object, and then slowly and naturally turned away her head.
Meanwhile, the Grand Master had assumed his seat; and when the
chivalry of his order was placed around and behind him, each in
his due rank, a loud and long flourish of the trumpets announced
that the Court were seated for judgment. Malvoisin, then, acting
as godfather of the champion, stepped forward, and laid the glove
of the Jewess, which was the pledge of battle, at the feet of the
Grand Master.
"Valorous Lord, and reverend Father," said he, "here standeth the
good Knight, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Knight Preceptor of the
Order of the Temple, who, by accepting the pledge of battle which
I now lay at your reverence's feet, hath become bound to do his
devoir in combat this day, to maintain that this Jewish maiden,
by name Rebecca, hath justly deserved the doom passed upon her in
a Chapter of this most Holy Order of the Temple of Zion,
condemning her to die as a sorceress;---here, I say, he standeth,
such battle to do, knightly and honourable, if such be your noble
and sanctified pleasure."
"Hath he made oath," said the Grand Master, "that his quarrel is
just and honourable? Bring forward the Crucifix and the 'Te
igitur'."
"Sir, and most reverend father," answered Malvoisin, readily,
"our brother here present hath already sworn to the truth of his
accusation in the hand of the good Knight Conrade de
Mont-Fitchet; and otherwise he ought not to be sworn, seeing that
his adversary is an unbeliever, and may take no oath."
This explanation was satisfactory, to Albert's great joy; for the
wily knight had foreseen the great difficulty, or rather
impossibility, of prevailing upon Brian de Bois-Guilbert to take
such an oath before the assembly, and had invented this excuse to
escape the necessity of his doing so.
The Grand Master, having allowed the apology of Albert Malvoisin,
commanded the herald to stand forth and do his devoir. The
trumpets then again flourished, and a herald, stepping forward,
proclaimed aloud,---"Oyez, oyez, oyez.---Here standeth the good
Knight, Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, ready to do battle with any
knight of free blood, who will sustain the quarrel allowed and
allotted to the Jewess Rebecca, to try by champion, in respect of
lawful essoine of her own body; and to such champion the reverend
and valorous Grand Master here present allows a fair field, and
equal partition of sun and wind, and whatever else appertains to
a fair combat." The trumpets again sounded, and there was a dead
pause of many minutes.
"No champion appears for the appellant," said the Grand Master.
"Go, herald, and ask her whether she expects any one to do battle
for her in this her cause." The herald went to the chair in which
Rebecca was seated, and Bois-Guilbert suddenly turning his
horse's head toward that end of the lists, in spite of hints on
either side from Malvoisin and Mont-Fitchet, was by the side of
Rebecca's chair as soon as the herald.
"Is this regular, and according to the law of combat?" said
Malvoisin, looking to the Grand Master.
"Albert de Malvoisin, it is," answered Beaumanoir; "for in this
appeal to the judgment of God, we may not prohibit parties from
having that communication with each other, which may best tend to
bring forth the truth of the quarrel."
In the meantime, the herald spoke to Rebecca in these terms:
---"Damsel, the Honourable and Reverend the Grand Master demands
of thee, if thou art prepared with a champion to do battle this
day in thy behalf, or if thou dost yield thee as one justly
condemned to a deserved doom?"
"Say to the Grand Master," replied Rebecca, "that I maintain my
innocence, and do not yield me as justly condemned, lest I become
guilty of mine own blood. Say to him, that I challenge such delay
as his forms will permit, to see if God, whose opportunity is in
man's extremity, will raise me up a deliverer; and when such
uttermost space is passed, may His holy will be done!" The
herald retired to carry this answer to the Grand Master.
"God forbid," said Lucas Beaumanoir, "that Jew or Pagan should
impeach us of injustice!---Until the shadows be cast from the
west to the eastward, will we wait to see if a champion shall
appear for this unfortunate woman. When the day is so far
passed, let her prepare for death."
The herald communicated the words of the Grand Master to Rebecca,
who bowed her head submissively, folded her arms, and, looking up
towards heaven, seemed to expect that aid from above which she
could scarce promise herself from man. During this awful pause,
the voice of Bois-Guilbert broke upon her ear---it was but a
whisper, yet it startled her more than the summons of the herald
had appeared to do.
"Rebecca," said the Templar, "dost thou hear me?"
"I have no portion in thee, cruel, hard-hearted man," said the
unfortunate maiden.
"Ay, but dost thou understand my words?" said the Templar; "for
the sound of my voice is frightful in mine own ears. I scarce
know on what ground we stand, or for what purpose they have
brought us hither.---This listed space---that chair---these
faggots---I know their purpose, and yet it appears to me like
something unreal---the fearful picture of a vision, which appals
my sense with hideous fantasies, but convinces not my reason."
"My mind and senses keep touch and time," answered Rebecca, "and
tell me alike that these faggots are destined to consume my
earthly body, and open a painful but a brief passage to a better
world."
"Dreams, Rebecca,---dreams," answered the Templar; "idle visions,
rejected by the wisdom of your own wiser Sadducees. Hear me,
Rebecca," he said, proceeding with animation; "a better chance
hast thou for life and liberty than yonder knaves and dotard
dream of. Mount thee behind me on my steed---on Zamor, the
gallant horse that never failed his rider. I won him in single
fight from the Soldan of Trebizond---mount, I say, behind me---in
one short hour is pursuit and enquiry far behind---a new world of
pleasure opens to thee---to me a new career of fame. Let them
speak the doom which I despise, and erase the name of
Bois-Guilbert from their list of monastic slaves! I will wash
out with blood whatever blot they may dare to cast on my
scutcheon."
"Tempter," said Rebecca, "begone!---Not in this last extremity
canst thou move me one hair's-breadth from my resting place
---surrounded as I am by foes, I hold thee as my worst and most
deadly enemy---avoid thee, in the name of God!"
Albert Malvoisin, alarmed and impatient at the duration of their
conference, now advanced to interrupt it.
"Hath the maiden acknowledged her guilt?" he demanded of
Bois-Guilbert; "or is she resolute in her denial?"
"She is indeed resolute," said Bois-Guilbert.
"Then," said Malvoisin, "must thou, noble brother, resume thy
place to attend the issue---The shades are changing on the circle
of the dial---Come, brave Bois-Guilbert---come, thou hope of our
holy Order, and soon to be its head."
As he spoke in this soothing tone, he laid his hand on the
knight's bridle, as if to lead him back to his station.
"False villain! what meanest thou by thy hand on my rein?" said
Sir Brian, angrily. And shaking off his companion's grasp, he
rode back to the upper end of the lists.
"There is yet spirit in him," said Malvoisin apart to
Mont-Fitchet, "were it well directed---but, like the Greek fire,
it burns whatever approaches it."
The Judges had now been two hours in the lists, awaiting in vain
the appearance of a champion.
"And reason good," said Friar Tuck, "seeing she is a Jewess---and
yet, by mine Order, it is hard that so young and beautiful a
creature should perish without one blow being struck in her
behalf! Were she ten times a witch, provided she were but the
least bit of a Christian, my quarter-staff should ring noon on
the steel cap of yonder fierce Templar, ere he carried the matter
off thus."
It was, however, the general belief that no one could or would
appear for a Jewess, accused of sorcery; and the knights,
instigated by Malvoisin, whispered to each other, that it was
time to declare the pledge of Rebecca forfeited. At this instant
a knight, urging his horse to speed, appeared on the plain
advancing towards the lists. A hundred voices exclaimed, "A
champion! a champion!" And despite the prepossessions and
prejudices of the multitude, they shouted unanimously as the
knight rode into the tiltyard, The second glance, however, served
to destroy the hope that his timely arrival had excited. His
horse, urged for many miles to its utmost speed, appeared to reel
from fatigue, and the rider, however undauntedly he presented
himself in the lists, either from weakness, weariness, or both,
seemed scarce able to support himself in the saddle.
To the summons of the herald, who demanded his rank, his name,
and purpose, the stranger knight answered readily and boldly, "I
am a good knight and noble, come hither to sustain with lance and
sword the just and lawful quarrel of this damsel, Rebecca,
daughter of Isaac of York; to uphold the doom pronounced against
her to be false and truthless, and to defy Sir Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, as a traitor, murderer, and liar; as I will prove
in this field with my body against his, by the aid of God, of Our
Lady, and of Monseigneur Saint George, the good knight."
"The stranger must first show," said Malvoisin, "that he is good
knight, and of honourable lineage. The Temple sendeth not forth
her champions against nameless men."
"My name," said the Knight, raising his helmet, "is better known,
my lineage more pure, Malvoisin, than thine own. I am Wilfred
of Ivanhoe."
"I will not fight with thee at present," said the Templar, in a
changed and hollow voice. "Get thy wounds healed, purvey thee a
better horse, and it may be I will hold it worth my while to
scourge out of thee this boyish spirit of bravade."
"Ha! proud Templar," said Ivanhoe, "hast thou forgotten that
twice didst thou fall before this lance? Remember the lists at
Acre---remember the Passage of Arms at Ashby---remember thy proud
vaunt in the halls of Rotherwood, and the gage of your gold chain
against my reliquary, that thou wouldst do battle with Wilfred of
Ivanhoe, and recover the honour thou hadst lost! By that
reliquary and the holy relic it contains, I will proclaim thee,
Templar, a coward in every court in Europe---in every Preceptory
of thine Order--unless thou do battle without farther delay."
Bois-Guilbert turned his countenance irresolutely towards
Rebecca, and then exclaimed, looking fiercely at Ivanhoe, "Dog of
a Saxon! take thy lance, and prepare for the death thou hast
drawn upon thee!"
"Does the Grand Master allow me the combat?" said Ivanhoe.
"I may not deny what thou hast challenged," said the Grand
Master, "provided the maiden accepts thee as her champion. Yet I
would thou wert in better plight to do battle. An enemy of our
Order hast thou ever been, yet would I have thee honourably met
with."
"Thus---thus as I am, and not otherwise," said Ivanhoe; "it is
the judgment of God---to his keeping I commend myself.
---Rebecca," said he, riding up to the fatal chair, "dost thou
accept of me for thy champion?"
"I do," she said---"I do," fluttered by an emotion which the fear
of death had been unable to produce, "I do accept thee as the
champion whom Heaven hath sent me. Yet, no---no---thy wounds are
uncured---Meet not that proud man---why shouldst thou perish
also?"
But Ivanhoe was already at his post, and had closed his visor,
and assumed his lance. Bois-Guilbert did the same; and his
esquire remarked, as he clasped his visor, that his face, which
had, notwithstanding the variety of emotions by which he had been
agitated, continued during the whole morning of an ashy paleness,
was now become suddenly very much flushed.
The herald, then, seeing each champion in his place, uplifted his
voice, repeating thrice---"Faites vos devoirs, preux chevaliers!"
After the third cry, he withdrew to one side of the lists, and
again proclaimed, that none, on peril of instant death, should
dare, by word, cry, or action, to interfere with or disturb this
fair field of combat. The Grand Master, who held in his hand the
gage of battle, Rebecca's glove, now threw it into the lists, and
pronounced the fatal signal words, "Laissez aller".
The trumpets sounded, and the knights charged each other in full
career. The wearied horse of Ivanhoe, and its no less exhausted
rider, went down, as all had expected, before the well-aimed
lance and vigorous steed of the Templar. This issue of the
combat all had foreseen; but although the spear of Ivanhoe did
but, in comparison, touch the shield of Bois-Guilbert, that
champion, to the astonishment of all who beheld it reeled in his
saddle, lost his stirrups, and fell in the lists.
Ivanhoe, extricating himself from his fallen horse, was soon on
foot, hastening to mend his fortune with his sword; but his
antagonist arose not. Wilfred, placing his foot on his breast,
and the sword's point to his throat, commanded him to yield him,
or die on the spot. Bois-Guilbert returned no answer.
"Slay him not, Sir Knight," cried the Grand Master, "unshriven
and unabsolved---kill not body and soul! We allow him
vanquished."
He descended into the lists, and commanded them to unhelm the
conquered champion. His eyes were closed---the dark red flush
was still on his brow. As they looked on him in astonishment,
the eyes opened---but they were fixed and glazed. The flush
passed from his brow, and gave way to the pallid hue of death.
Unscathed by the lance of his enemy, he had died a victim to the
violence of his own contending passions.
"This is indeed the judgment of God," said the Grand Master,
looking upwards---"'Fiat voluntas tua!'"
CHAPTER XLIV
So! now 'tis ended, like an old wife's story.
Webster
When the first moments of surprise were over, Wilfred of Ivanhoe
demanded of the Grand Master, as judge of the field, if he had
manfully and rightfully done his duty in the combat? "Manfully
and rightfully hath it been done," said the Grand Master. "I
pronounce the maiden free and guiltless---The arms and the body
of the deceased knight are at the will of the victor."
"I will not despoil him of his weapons," said the Knight of
Ivanhoe, "nor condemn his corpse to shame---he hath fought for
Christendom---God's arm, no human hand, hath this day struck him
down. But let his obsequies be private, as becomes those of a
man who died in an unjust quarrel.---And for the maiden---"
He was interrupted by a clattering of horses' feet, advancing in
such numbers, and so rapidly, as to shake the ground before them;
and the Black Knight galloped into the lists. He was followed by
a numerous band of men-at-arms, and several knights in complete
armour.
"I am too late," he said, looking around him. "I had doomed
Bois-Guilbert for mine own property.---Ivanhoe, was this well,
to take on thee such a venture, and thou scarce able to keep thy
saddle?"
"Heaven, my Liege," answered Ivanhoe, "hath taken this proud man
for its victim. He was not to be honoured in dying as your will
had designed."
"Peace be with him," said Richard, looking steadfastly on the
corpse, "if it may be so---he was a gallant knight, and has died
in his steel harness full knightly. But we must waste no time
---Bohun, do thine office!"
A Knight stepped forward from the King's attendants, and, laying
his hand on the shoulder of Albert de Malvoisin, said, "I arrest
thee of High Treason."
The Grand Master had hitherto stood astonished at the appearance
of so many warriors.---He now spoke.
"Who dares to arrest a Knight of the Temple of Zion, within the
girth of his own Preceptory, and in the presence of the Grand
Master? and by whose authority is this bold outrage offered?"
"I make the arrest," replied the Knight---"I, Henry Bohun, Earl
of Essex, Lord High Constable of England."
"And he arrests Malvoisin," said the King, raising his visor, "by
the order of Richard Plantagenet, here present.---Conrade
Mont-Fitchet, it is well for thee thou art born no subject of
mine.---But for thee, Malvoisin, thou diest with thy brother
Philip, ere the world be a week older."
"I will resist thy doom," said the Grand Master.
"Proud Templar," said the King, "thou canst not---look up, and
behold the Royal Standard of England floats over thy towers
instead of thy Temple banner!---Be wise, Beaumanoir, and make no
bootless opposition---Thy hand is in the lion's mouth."
"I will appeal to Rome against thee," said the Grand Master, "for
usurpation on the immunities and privileges of our Order."
"Be it so," said the King; "but for thine own sake tax me not
with usurpation now. Dissolve thy Chapter, and depart with thy
followers to thy next Preceptory, (if thou canst find one), which
has not been made the scene of treasonable conspiracy against the
King of England---Or, if thou wilt, remain, to share our
hospitality, and behold our justice."
"To be a guest in the house where I should command?" said the
Templar; "never!---Chaplains, raise the Psalm, 'Quare fremuerunt
Gentes?'---Knights, squires, and followers of the Holy Temple,
prepare to follow the banner of 'Beau-seant!'"
The Grand Master spoke with a dignity which confronted even that
of England's king himself, and inspired courage into his
surprised and dismayed followers. They gathered around him like
the sheep around the watch-dog, when they hear the baying of the
wolf. But they evinced not the timidity of the scared flock
---there were dark brows of defiance, and looks which menaced the
hostility they dared not to proffer in words. They drew together
in a dark line of spears, from which the white cloaks of the
knights were visible among the dusky garments of their retainers,
like the lighter-coloured edges of a sable cloud. The multitude,
who had raised a clamorous shout of reprobation, paused and gazed
in silence on the formidable and experienced body to which they
had unwarily bade defiance, and shrunk back from their front.
The Earl of Essex, when he beheld them pause in their assembled
force, dashed the rowels into his charger's sides, and galloped
backwards and forwards to array his followers, in opposition to a
band so formidable. Richard alone, as if he loved the danger his
presence had provoked, rode slowly along the front of the
Templars, calling aloud, "What, sirs! Among so many gallant
knights, will none dare splinter a spear with Richard?---Sirs of
the Temple! your ladies are but sun-burned, if they are not worth
the shiver of a broken lance?"
"The Brethren of the Temple," said the Grand Master, riding
forward in advance of their body, "fight not on such idle and
profane quarrel---and not with thee, Richard of England, shall a
Templar cross lance in my presence. The Pope and Princes of
Europe shall judge our quarrel, and whether a Christian prince
has done well in bucklering the cause which thou hast to-day
adopted. If unassailed, we depart assailing no one. To thine
honour we refer the armour and household goods of the Order which
we leave behind us, and on thy conscience we lay the scandal and
offence thou hast this day given to Christendom."
With these words, and without waiting a reply, the Grand Master
gave the signal of departure. Their trumpets sounded a wild
march, of an Oriental character, which formed the usual signal
for the Templars to advance. They changed their array from a
line to a column of march, and moved off as slowly as their
horses could step, as if to show it was only the will of their
Grand Master, and no fear of the opposing and superior force,
which compelled them to withdraw.
"By the splendour of Our Lady's brow!" said King Richard, "it is
pity of their lives that these Templars are not so trusty as they
are disciplined and valiant."
The multitude, like a timid cur which waits to bark till the
object of its challenge has turned his back, raised a feeble
shout as the rear of the squadron left the ground.
During the tumult which attended the retreat of the Templars,
Rebecca saw and heard nothing---she was locked in the arms of her
aged father, giddy, and almost senseless, with the rapid change
of circumstances around her. But one word from Isaac at length
recalled her scattered feelings.
"Let us go," he said, "my dear daughter, my recovered treasure
---let us go to throw ourselves at the feet of the good youth."
"Not so," said Rebecca, "O no---no---no---I must not at this
moment dare to speak to him---Alas! I should say more than---No,
my father, let us instantly leave this evil place."
"But, my daughter," said Isaac, "to leave him who hath come forth
like a strong man with his spear and shield, holding his life as
nothing, so he might redeem thy captivity; and thou, too, the
daughter of a people strange unto him and his---this is service
to be thankfully acknowledged."
"It is---it is---most thankfully---most devoutly acknowledged,"
said Rebecca---"it shall be still more so---but not now---for the
sake of thy beloved Rachel, father, grant my request---not now!"
"Nay, but," said Isaac, insisting, "they will deem us more
thankless than mere dogs!"
"But thou seest, my dear father, that King Richard is in
presence, and that------"
"True, my best---my wisest Rebecca!---Let us hence---let us
hence!---Money he will lack, for he has just returned from
Palestine, and, as they say, from prison---and pretext for
exacting it, should he need any, may arise out of my simple
traffic with his brother John. Away, away, let us hence!"
And hurrying his daughter in his turn, he conducted her from the
lists, and by means of conveyance which he had provided,
transported her safely to the house of the Rabbi Nathan.
The Jewess, whose fortunes had formed the principal interest of
the day, having now retired unobserved, the attention of the
populace was transferred to the Black Knight. They now filled
the air with "Long life to Richard with the Lion's Heart, and
down with the usurping Templars!"
"Notwithstanding all this lip-loyalty," said Ivanhoe to the Earl
of Essex, "it was well the King took the precaution to bring thee
with him, noble Earl, and so many of thy trusty followers."
The Earl smiled and shook his head.
"Gallant Ivanhoe," said Essex, "dost thou know our Master so
well, and yet suspect him of taking so wise a precaution! I was
drawing towards York having heard that Prince John was making
head there, when I met King Richard, like a true knight-errant,
galloping hither to achieve in his own person this adventure of
the Templar and the Jewess, with his own single arm. I
accompanied him with my band, almost maugre his consent."
"And what news from York, brave Earl?" said Ivanhoe; "will the
rebels bide us there?"
"No more than December's snow will bide July's sun," said the
Earl; "they are dispersing; and who should come posting to bring
us the news, but John himself!"
"The traitor! the ungrateful insolent traitor!" said Ivanhoe;
"did not Richard order him into confinement?"
"O! he received him," answered the Earl, "as if they had met
after a hunting party; and, pointing to me and our men-at-arms,
said, 'Thou seest, brother, I have some angry men with me---thou
wert best go to our mother, carry her my duteous affection, and
abide with her until men's minds are pacified.'"
"And this was all he said?" enquired Ivanhoe; "would not any one
say that this Prince invites men to treason by his clemency?"
"Just," replied the Earl, "as the man may be said to invite
death, who undertakes to fight a combat, having a dangerous
wound unhealed."
"I forgive thee the jest, Lord Earl," said Ivanhoe; "but,
remember, I hazarded but my own life---Richard, the welfare of
his kingdom."
"Those," replied Essex, "who are specially careless of their own
welfare, are seldom remarkably attentive to that of others---But
let us haste to the castle, for Richard meditates punishing some
of the subordinate members of the conspiracy, though he has
pardoned their principal."
>From the judicial investigations which followed on this occasion,
and which are given at length in the Wardour Manuscript, it
appears that Maurice de Bracy escaped beyond seas, and went into
the service of Philip of France; while Philip de Malvoisin, and
his brother Albert, the Preceptor of Templestowe, were executed,
although Waldemar Fitzurse, the soul of the conspiracy, escaped
with banishment; and Prince John, for whose behoof it was
undertaken, was not even censured by his good-natured brother.
No one, however, pitied the fate of the two Malvoisins, who only
suffered the death which they had both well deserved, by many
acts of falsehood, cruelty, and oppression.
Briefly after the judicial combat, Cedric the Saxon was summoned
to the court of Richard, which, for the purpose of quieting the
counties that had been disturbed by the ambition of his brother,
was then held at York. Cedric tushed and pshawed more than once
at the message---but he refused not obedience. In fact, the
return of Richard had quenched every hope that he had entertained
of restoring a Saxon dynasty in England; for, whatever head the
Saxons might have made in the event of a civil war, it was plain
that nothing could be done under the undisputed dominion of
Richard, popular as he was by his personal good qualities and
military fame, although his administration was wilfully careless,
now too indulgent, and now allied to despotism.
But, moreover, it could not escape even Cedric's reluctant
observation, that his project for an absolute union among the
Saxons, by the marriage of Rowena and Athelstane, was now
completely at an end, by the mutual dissent of both parties
concerned. This was, indeed, an event which, in his ardour for
the Saxon cause, he could not have anticipated, and even when the
disinclination of both was broadly and plainly manifested, he
could scarce bring himself to believe that two Saxons of royal
descent should scruple, on personal grounds, at an alliance so
necessary for the public weal of the nation. But it was not the
less certain: Rowena had always expressed her repugnance to
Athelstane, and now Athelstane was no less plain and positive in
proclaiming his resolution never to pursue his addresses to the
Lady Rowena. Even the natural obstinacy of Cedric sunk beneath
these obstacles, where he, remaining on the point of junction,
had the task of dragging a reluctant pair up to it, one with each
hand. He made, however, a last vigorous attack on Athelstane,
and he found that resuscitated sprout of Saxon royalty engaged,
like country squires of our own day, in a furious war with the
clergy.
It seems that, after all his deadly menaces against the Abbot of
Saint Edmund's, Athelstane's spirit of revenge, what between the
natural indolent kindness of his own disposition, what through
the prayers of his mother Edith, attached, like most ladies, (of
the period,) to the clerical order, had terminated in his keeping
the Abbot and his monks in the dungeons of Coningsburgh for three
days on a meagre diet. For this atrocity the Abbot menaced him
with excommunication, and made out a dreadful list of complaints
in the bowels and stomach, suffered by himself and his monks, in
consequence of the tyrannical and unjust imprisonment they had
sustained. With this controversy, and with the means he had
adopted to counteract this clerical persecution, Cedric found the
mind of his friend Athelstane so fully occupied, that it had no
room for another idea. And when Rowena's name was mentioned the
noble Athelstane prayed leave to quaff a full goblet to her
health, and that she might soon be the bride of his kinsman
Wilfred. It was a desperate case therefore. There was obviously
no more to be made of Athelstane; or, as Wamba expressed it, in a
phrase which has descended from Saxon times to ours, he was a
cock that would not fight.
There remained betwixt Cedric and the determination which the
lovers desired to come to, only two obstacles---his own
obstinacy, and his dislike of the Norman dynasty. The former
feeling gradually gave way before the endearments of his ward,
and the pride which he could not help nourishing in the fame of
his son. Besides, he was not insensible to the honour of allying
his own line to that of Alfred, when the superior claims of the
descendant of Edward the Confessor were abandoned for ever.
Cedric's aversion to the Norman race of kings was also much
undermined,---first, by consideration of the impossibility of
ridding England of the new dynasty, a feeling which goes far to
create loyalty in the subject to the king "de facto"; and,
secondly, by the personal attention of King Richard, who
delighted in the blunt humour of Cedric, and, to use the language
of the Wardour Manuscript, so dealt with the noble Saxon, that,
ere he had been a guest at court for seven days, he had given his
consent to the marriage of his ward Rowena and his son Wilfred of
Ivanhoe.
The nuptials of our hero, thus formally approved by his father,
were celebrated in the most august of temples, the noble Minster
of York. The King himself attended, and from the countenance
which he afforded on this and other occasions to the distressed
and hitherto degraded Saxons, gave them a safer and more certain
prospect of attaining their just rights, than they could
reasonably hope from the precarious chance of a civil war. The
Church gave her full solemnities, graced with all the splendour
which she of Rome knows how to apply with such brilliant effect.
Gurth, gallantly apparelled, attended as esquire upon his young
master whom he had served so faithfully, and the magnanimous
Wamba, decorated with a new cap and a most gorgeous set of silver
bells. Sharers of Wilfred's dangers and adversity, they
remained, as they had a right to expect, the partakers of his
more prosperous career.
But besides this domestic retinue, these distinguished nuptials
were celebrated by the attendance of the high-born Normans, as
well as Saxons, joined with the universal jubilee of the lower
orders, that marked the marriage of two individuals as a pledge
of the future peace and harmony betwixt two races, which, since
that period, have been so completely mingled, that the
distinction has become wholly invisible. Cedric lived to see
this union approximate towards its completion; for as the two
nations mixed in society and formed intermarriages with each
other, the Normans abated their scorn, and the Saxons were
refined from their rusticity. But it was not until the reign of
Edward the Third that the mixed language, now termed English, was
spoken at the court of London, and that the hostile distinction
of Norman and Saxon seems entirely to have disappeared.
It was upon the second morning after this happy bridal, that the
Lady Rowena was made acquainted by her handmaid Elgitha, that a
damsel desired admission to her presence, and solicited that
their parley might be without witness. Rowena wondered,
hesitated, became curious, and ended by commanding the damsel to
be admitted, and her attendants to withdraw.
She entered---a noble and commanding figure, the long white veil,
in which she was shrouded, overshadowing rather than concealing
the elegance and majesty of her shape. Her demeanour was that of
respect, unmingled by the least shade either of fear, or of a
wish to propitiate favour. Rowena was ever ready to acknowledge
the claims, and attend to the feelings, of others. She arose,
and would have conducted her lovely visitor to a seat; but the
stranger looked at Elgitha, and again intimated a wish to
discourse with the Lady Rowena alone. Elgitha had no sooner
retired with unwilling steps, than, to the surprise of the Lady
of Ivanhoe, her fair visitant kneeled on one knee, pressed her
hands to her forehead, and bending her head to the ground, in
spite of Rowena's resistance, kissed the embroidered hem of her
tunic.
"What means this, lady?" said the surprised bride; "or why do you
offer to me a deference so unusual?"
"Because to you, Lady of Ivanhoe," said Rebecca, rising up and
resuming the usual quiet dignity of her manner, "I may lawfully,
and without rebuke, pay the debt of gratitude which I owe to
Wilfred of Ivanhoe. I am---forgive the boldness which has
offered to you the homage of my country---I am the unhappy
Jewess, for whom your husband hazarded his life against such
fearful odds in the tiltyard of Templestowe."
"Damsel," said Rowena, "Wilfred of Ivanhoe on that day rendered
back but in slight measure your unceasing charity towards him in
his wounds and misfortunes. Speak, is there aught remains in
which he or I can serve thee?"
"Nothing," said Rebecca, calmly, "unless you will transmit to
him my grateful farewell."
"You leave England then?" said Rowena, scarce recovering the
surprise of this extraordinary visit.
"I leave it, lady, ere this moon again changes. My father had a
brother high in favour with Mohammed Boabdil, King of Grenada
---thither we go, secure of peace and protection, for the payment
of such ransom as the Moslem exact from our people."
"And are you not then as well protected in England?" said Rowena.
"My husband has favour with the King---the King himself is just
and generous."
"Lady," said Rebecca, "I doubt it not---but the people of England
are a fierce race, quarrelling ever with their neighbours or
among themselves, and ready to plunge the sword into the bowels
of each other. Such is no safe abode for the children of my
people. Ephraim is an heartless dove---Issachar an over-laboured
drudge, which stoops between two burdens. Not in a land of war
and blood, surrounded by hostile neighbours, and distracted by
internal factions, can Israel hope to rest during her
wanderings."
"But you, maiden," said Rowena---"you surely can have nothing to
fear. She who nursed the sick-bed of Ivanhoe," she continued,
rising with enthusiasm---"she can have nothing to fear in
England, where Saxon and Norman will contend who shall most do
her honour."
"Thy speech is fair, lady," said Rebecca, "and thy purpose
fairer; but it may not be---there is a gulf betwixt us. Our
breeding, our faith, alike forbid either to pass over it.
Farewell---yet, ere I go indulge me one request. The bridal-veil
hangs over thy face; deign to raise it, and let me see the
features of which fame speaks so highly."
"They are scarce worthy of being looked upon," said Rowena; "but,
expecting the same from my visitant, I remove the veil."
She took it off accordingly; and, partly from the consciousness
of beauty, partly from bashfulness, she blushed so intensely,
that cheek, brow, neck, and bosom, were suffused with crimson.
Rebecca blushed also, but it was a momentary feeling; and,
mastered by higher emotions, past slowly from her features like
the crimson cloud, which changes colour when the sun sinks
beneath the horizon.
"Lady," she said, "the countenance you have deigned to show me
will long dwell in my remembrance. There reigns in it
gentleness and goodness; and if a tinge of the world's pride or
vanities may mix with an expression so lovely, how should we
chide that which is of earth for bearing some colour of its
original? Long, long will I remember your features, and bless
God that I leave my noble deliverer united with---"
She stopped short---her eyes filled with tears. She hastily
wiped them, and answered to the anxious enquiries of Rowena
---"I am well, lady---well. But my heart swells when I think of
Torquilstone and the lists of Templestowe.---Farewell. One, the
most trifling part of my duty, remains undischarged. Accept this
casket---startle not at its contents."
Rowena opened the small silver-chased casket, and perceived a
carcanet, or neck lace, with ear-jewels, of diamonds, which were
obviously of immense value.
"It is impossible," she said, tendering back the casket. "I dare
not accept a gift of such consequence."
"Yet keep it, lady," returned Rebecca.---"You have power, rank,
command, influence; we have wealth, the source both of our
strength and weakness; the value of these toys, ten times
multiplied, would not influence half so much as your slightest
wish. To you, therefore, the gift is of little value,---and to
me, what I part with is of much less. Let me not think you deem
so wretchedly ill of my nation as your commons believe. Think ye
that I prize these sparkling fragments of stone above my liberty?
or that my father values them in comparison to the honour of his
only child? Accept them, lady---to me they are valueless. I
will never wear jewels more."
"You are then unhappy!" said Rowena, struck with the manner in
which Rebecca uttered the last words. "O, remain with us---the
counsel of holy men will wean you from your erring law, and I
will be a sister to you."
"No, lady," answered Rebecca, the same calm melancholy reigning
in her soft voice and beautiful features---"that---may not be. I
may not change the faith of my fathers like a garment unsuited to
the climate in which I seek to dwell, and unhappy, lady, I will
not be. He, to whom I dedicate my future life, will be my
comforter, if I do His will."
"Have you then convents, to one of which you mean to retire?"
asked Rowena.
"No, lady," said the Jewess; "but among our people, since the
time of Abraham downwards, have been women who have devoted their
thoughts to Heaven, and their actions to works of kindness to
men, tending the sick, feeding the hungry, and relieving the
distressed. Among these will Rebecca be numbered. Say this to
thy lord, should he chance to enquire after the fate of her whose
life he saved."
There was an involuntary tremour on Rebecca's voice, and a
tenderness of accent, which perhaps betrayed more than she would
willingly have expressed. She hastened to bid Rowena adieu.
"Farewell," she said. "May He, who made both Jew and Christian,
shower down on you his choicest blessings! The bark that waits
us hence will be under weigh ere we can reach the port."
She glided from the apartment, leaving Rowena surprised as if a
vision had passed before her. The fair Saxon related the
singular conference to her husband, on whose mind it made a deep
impression. He lived long and happily with Rowena, for they were
attached to each other by the bonds of early affection, and they
loved each other the more, from the recollection of the obstacles
which had impeded their union. Yet it would be enquiring too
curiously to ask, whether the recollection of Rebecca's beauty
and magnanimity did not recur to his mind more frequently than
the fair descendant of Alfred might altogether have approved.
Ivanhoe distinguished himself in the service of Richard, and was
graced with farther marks of the royal favour. He might have
risen still higher, but for the premature death of the heroic
Coeur-de-Lion, before the Castle of Chaluz, near Limoges. With
the life of a generous, but rash and romantic monarch, perished
all the projects which his ambition and his generosity had
formed; to whom may be applied, with a slight alteration, the
lines composed by Johnson for Charles of Sweden---
His fate was destined to a foreign strand,
A petty fortress and an "humble" hand;
He left the name at which the world grew pale,
To point a moral, or adorn a TALE.
NOTE TO CHAPTER I.
Note A.---The Ranger or the Forest, that cuts the foreclaws off
our dogs.
A most sensible grievance of those aggrieved times were the
Forest Laws. These oppressive enactments were the produce of the
Norman Conquest, for the Saxon laws of the chase were mild and
humane; while those of William, enthusiastically attached to the
exercise and its rights, were to the last degree tyrannical. The
formation of the New Forest, bears evidence to his passion for
hunting, where he reduced many a happy village to the condition
of that one commemorated by my friend, Mr William Stewart Rose:
"Amongst the ruins of the church
The midnight raven found a perch,
A melancholy place;
The ruthless Conqueror cast down,
Woe worth the deed, that little town,
To lengthen out his chase."
The disabling dogs, which might be necessary for keeping flocks
and herds, from running at the deer, was called "lawing", and was
in general use. The Charter of the Forest designed to lessen
those evils, declares that inquisition, or view, for lawing dogs,
shall be made every third year, and shall be then done by the
view and testimony of lawful men, not otherwise; and they whose
dogs shall be then found unlawed, shall give three shillings for
mercy, and for the future no man's ox shall be taken for lawing.
Such lawing also shall be done by the assize commonly used, and
which is, that three claws shall be cut off without the ball of
the right foot. See on this subject the Historical Essay on the
Magna Charta of King John, (a most beautiful volume), by Richard
Thomson.
NOTE TO CHAPTER II.
Note B.---Negro Slaves.
The severe accuracy of some critics has objected to the
complexion of the slaves of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as being
totally out of costume and propriety. I remember the same
objection being made to a set of sable functionaries, whom my
friend, Mat Lewis, introduced as the guards and mischief-doing
satellites of the wicked Baron, in his Castle Spectre. Mat
treated the objection with great contempt, and averred in reply,
that he made the slaves black in order to obtain a striking
effect of contrast, and that, could he have derived a similar
advantage from making his heroine blue, blue she should have
been.
I do not pretend to plead the immunities of my order so highly
as this; but neither will I allow that the author of a modern
antique romance is obliged to confine himself to the introduction
of those manners only which can be proved to have absolutely
existed in the times he is depicting, so that he restrain himself
to such as are plausible and natural, and contain no obvious
anachronism. In this point of view, what can be more natural,
than that the Templars, who, we know, copied closely the luxuries
of the Asiatic warriors with whom they fought, should use the
service of the enslaved Africans, whom the fate of war
transferred to new masters? I am sure, if there are no precise
proofs of their having done so, there is nothing, on the other
hand, that can entitle us positively to conclude that they never
did. Besides, there is an instance in romance.
John of Rampayne, an excellent juggler and minstrel, undertook
to effect the escape of one Audulf de Bracy, by presenting
himself in disguise at the court of the king, where he was
confined. For this purpose, "he stained his hair and his whole
body entirely as black as jet, so that nothing was white but his
teeth," and succeeded in imposing himself on the king, as an
Ethiopian minstrel. He effected, by stratagem, the escape of the
prisoner. Negroes, therefore, must have been known in England in
the dark ages.*
* Dissertation on Romance and Minstrelsy, prefixed to
* Ritson's Ancient Metrical Romances, p. clxxxvii.
NOTE TO CHAPTER XVII.
Note C.---Minstrelsy.
The realm of France, it is well known, was divided betwixt the
Norman and Teutonic race, who spoke the language in which the
word Yes is pronounced as "oui", and the inhabitants of the
southern regions, whose speech bearing some affinity to the
Italian, pronounced the same word "oc". The poets of the former
race were called "Minstrels", and their poems "Lays": those of
the latter were termed "Troubadours", and their compositions
called "sirventes", and other names. Richard, a professed
admirer of the joyous science in all its branches, could imitate
either the minstrel or troubadour. It is less likely that he
should have been able to compose or sing an English ballad; yet
so much do we wish to assimilate Him of the Lion Heart to the
band of warriors whom he led, that the anachronism, if there be
one may readily be forgiven.
NOTE TO CHAPTER XXI.
Note D.---Battle of Stamford.
A great topographical blunder occurred here in former editions.
The bloody battle alluded to in the text, fought and won by King
Harold, over his brother the rebellious Tosti, and an auxiliary
force of Danes or Norsemen, was said, in the text, and a
corresponding note, to have taken place at Stamford, in
Leicestershire, and upon the river Welland. This is a mistake,
into which the author has been led by trusting to his memory, and
so confounding two places of the same name. The Stamford,
Strangford, or Staneford, at which the battle really was fought,
is a ford upon the river Derwent, at the distance of about seven
miles from York, and situated in that large and opulent county.
A long wooden bridge over the Derwent, the site of which, with
one remaining buttress, is still shown to the curious traveller,
was furiously contested. One Norwegian long defended it by his
single arm, and was at length pierced with a spear thrust through
the planks of the bridge from a boat beneath.
The neighbourhood of Stamford, on the Derwent, contains some
memorials of the battle. Horseshoes, swords, and the heads of
halberds, or bills, are often found there ; one place is called
the "Danes' well," another the "Battle flats." From a tradition
that the weapon with which the Norwegian champion was slain,
resembled a pear, or, as others say, that the trough or boat in
which the soldier floated under the bridge to strike the blow,
had such a shape, the country people usually begin a great
market, which is held at Stamford, with an entertainment called
the Pear-pie feast, which after all may be a corruption of the
Spear-pie feast. For more particulars, Drake's History of York
may be referred to. The author's mistake was pointed out to him,
in the most obliging manner, by Robert Belt, Esq. of Bossal
House. The battle was fought in 1066.
NOTE TO CHAPTER XXII.
Note E.---The range of iron bars above that glowing charcoal.
This horrid species of torture may remind the reader of that to
which the Spaniards subjected Guatimozin, in order to extort a
discovery of his concealed wealth. But, in fact, an instance of
similar barbarity is to be found nearer home, and occurs in the
annals of Queen Mary's time, containing so many other examples of
atrocity. Every reader must recollect, that after the fall of
the Catholic Church, and the Presbyterian Church Government had
been established by law, the rank, and especially the wealth, of
the Bishops, Abbots, Priors, and so forth, were no longer vested
in ecclesiastics, but in lay impropriators of the church
revenues, or, as the Scottish lawyers called them, titulars of
the temporalities of the benefice, though having no claim to the
spiritual character of their predecessors in office.
Of these laymen, who were thus invested with ecclesiastical
revenues, some were men of high birth and rank, like the famous
Lord James Stewart, the Prior of St Andrews, who did not fail to
keep for their own use the rents, lands, and revenues of the
church. But if, on the other hand, the titulars were men of
inferior importance, who had been inducted into the office by the
interest of some powerful person, it was generally understood
that the new Abbot should grant for his patron's benefit such
leases and conveyances of the church lands and tithes as might
afford their protector the lion's share of the booty. This was
the origin of those who were wittily termed Tulchan*
* A "Tulchan" is a calf's skin stuffed, and placed before a
* cow who has lost its calf, to induce the animal to part
* with her milk. The resemblance between such a Tulchan and
* a Bishop named to transmit the temporalities of a benefice
* to some powerful patron, is easily understood.
Bishops, being a sort of imaginary prelate, whose image was set
up to enable his patron and principal to plunder the benefice
under his name.
There were other cases, however, in which men who had got grants
of these secularised benefices, were desirous of retaining them
for their own use, without having the influence sufficient to
establish their purpose; and these became frequently unable to
protect themselves, however unwilling to submit to the exactions
of the feudal tyrant of the district.
Bannatyne, secretary to John Knox, recounts a singular course of
oppression practised on one of those titulars abbots, by the Earl
of Cassilis in Ayrshire, whose extent of feudal influence was so
wide that he was usually termed the King of Carrick. We give the
fact as it occurs in Bannatyne's Journal, only premising that the
Journalist held his master's opinions, both with respect to the
Earl of Cassilis as an opposer of the king's party, and as being
a detester of the practice of granting church revenues to
titulars, instead of their being devoted to pious uses, such as
the support of the clergy, expense of schools, and the relief of
the national poor. He mingles in the narrative, therefore, a
well deserved feeling of execration against the tyrant who
employed the torture, which a tone of ridicule towards the
patient, as if, after all, it had not been ill bestowed on such
an equivocal and amphibious character as a titular abbot. He
entitles his narrative,
THE EARL OF CASSILIS' TYRANNY AGAINST A QUICK (i.e. LIVING) MAN.
"Master Allan Stewart, friend to Captain James Stewart of
Cardonall, by means of the Queen's corrupted court, obtained the
Abbey of Crossraguel. The said Earl thinking himself greater
than any king in those quarters, determined to have that whole
benefice (as he hath divers others) to pay at his pleasure; and
because he could not find sic security as his insatiable appetite
required, this shift was devised. The said Mr Allan being in
company with the Laird of Bargany, (also a Kennedy,) was, by the
Earl and his friends, enticed to leave the safeguard which he had
with the Laird, and come to make good cheer with the said Earl.
The simplicity of the imprudent man was suddenly abused; and so
he passed his time with them certain days, which he did in
Maybole with Thomas Kennedie, uncle to the said Earl; after which
the said Mr Allan passed, with quiet company, to visit the place
and bounds of Crossraguel, [his abbacy,] of which the said Earl
being surely advertised, determined to put in practice the
tyranny which long before he had conceived. And so, as king of
the country, apprehended the said Mr Allan, and carried him to
the house of Denure, where for a season he was honourably
treated, (gif a prisoner can think any entertainment pleasing;)
but after that certain days were spent, and that the Earl could
not obtain the feus of Crossraguel according to his awin
appetite, he determined to prove gif a collation could work that
which neither dinner nor supper could do for a long time. And so
the said Mr Allan was carried to a secret chamber: with him
passed the honourable Earl, his worshipful brother, and such as
were appointed to be servants at that banquet. In the chamber
there was a grit iron chimlay, under it a fire; other grit
provision was not seen. The first course was,---'My Lord Abbot,'
(said the Earl,) 'it will please you confess here, that with your
own consent you remain in my company, because ye durst not commit
yourself to the hands of others.' The Abbot answered, 'Would
you, my lord, that I should make a manifest lie for your
pleasure? The truth is, my lord, it is against my will that I am
here; neither yet have I any pleasure in your company.' 'But ye
shall remain with me, nevertheless, at this time,' said the Earl.
'l am not able to resist your will and pleasure,' said the Abbot,
'in this place.' 'Ye must then obey me,' said the Earl,---and
with that were presented unto him certain letters to subscribe,
amongst which there was a five years' tack, and a nineteen years'
tack, and a charter of feu of all the lands (of Crossraguel, with
all the clauses necessary for the Earl to haste him to hell. For
gif adultery, sacrilege, oppression, barbarous cruelty, and theft
heaped upon theft, deserve hell, the great King of Carrick can no
more escape hell for ever, than the imprudent Abbot escaped the
fire for a season as follows.
"After that the Earl spied repugnance, and saw that he could not
come to his purpose by fair means, he commanded his cooks to
prepare the banquet: and so first they flayed the sheep, that is,
they took off the Abbot's cloathes even to his skin, and next
they bound him to the chimney---his legs to the one end, and his
arms to the other; and so they began to beet [i.e. feed] the fire
sometimes to his buttocks, sometimes to his legs, sometimes to
his shoulders and arms; and that the roast might not burn, but
that it might rest in soppe, they spared not flambing with oil,
(basting as a cook bastes roasted meat); Lord, look thou to sic
cruelty! And that the crying of the miserable man should not be
heard, they dosed his mouth that the voice might be stopped. It
may be suspected that some partisan of the King's [Darnley's]
murder was there. In that torment they held the poor man, till
that often he cried for God's sake to dispatch him; for he had as
meikle gold in his awin purse as would buy powder enough to
shorten his pain. The famous King of Carrick and his cooks
perceiving the roast to be aneuch, commanded it to be tane fra
the fire, and the Earl himself began the grace in this manner:
---'Benedicite, Jesus Maria, you are the most obstinate man that
ever I saw; gif I had known that ye had been so stubborn, I would
not for a thousand crowns have handled you so; I never did so to
man before you.' And yet he returned to the same practice within
two days, and ceased not till that he obtained his formost
purpose, that is, that he had got all his pieces subscryvit
alsweill as ane half-roasted hand could do it. The Earl thinking
himself sure enough so long as be had the half-roasted Abbot in
his awin keeping, and yet being ashamed of his presence by reason
of his former cruelty, left the place of Denure in the hands of
certain of his servants, and the half-roasted Abbot to be kept
there as prisoner. The Laird of Bargany, out of whose company
the said Abbot had been enticed, understanding, (not the
extremity,) but the retaining of the man, sent to the court, and
raised letters of deliverance of the person of the man according
to the order, which being disobeyed, the said Earl for his
contempt was denounced rebel, and put to the horne. But yet hope
was there none, neither to the afflicted to be delivered, neither
yet to the purchaser [i.e. procurer] of the letters to obtain any
comfort thereby; for in that time God was despised, and the
lawful authority was contemned in Scotland, in hope of the sudden
return and regiment of that cruel murderer of her awin husband,
of whose lords the said Earl was called one; and yet, oftener
than once, he was solemnly sworn to the King and to his Regent."
The Journalist then recites the complaint of the injured Allan
Stewart, Commendator of Crossraguel, to the Regent and Privy
Council, averring his having been carried, partly by flattery,
partly by force, to the black vault of Denure, a strong
fortalice, built on a rock overhanging the Irish channel, where
to execute leases and conveyances of the whole churches and
parsonages belonging to the Abbey of Crossraguel, which he
utterly refused as an unreasonable demand, and the more so that
he had already conveyed them to John Stewart of Cardonah, by
whose interest he had been made Commendator. The complainant
proceeds to state, that he was, after many menaces, stript,
bound, and his limbs exposed to fire in the manner already
described, till, compelled by excess of agony, he subscribed the
charter and leases presented to him, of the contents of which he
was totally ignorant. A few days afterwards, being again
required to execute a ratification of these deeds before a notary
and witnesses, and refusing to do so, he was once more subjected
to the same torture, until his agony was so excessive that he
exclaimed, "Fye on you, why do you not strike your whingers into
me, or blow me up with a barrel of powder, rather than torture me
thus unmercifully?" upon which the Earl commanded Alexander
Richard, one of his attendants, to stop the patient's mouth with
a napkin, which was done accordingly. Thus he was once more
compelled to submit to their tyranny. The petition concluded
with stating, that the Earl, under pretence of the deeds thus
iniquitously obtained, had taken possession of the whole place
and living of Crossraguel, and enjoyed the profits thereof for
three years.
The doom of the Regent and Council shows singularly the total
interruption of justice at this calamitous period, even in the
most clamant cases of oppression. The Council declined
interference with the course of the ordinary justice of the
county, (which was completely under the said Earl of Cassilis'
control,) and only enacted, that he should forbear molestation of
the unfortunate Comendator, under the surety of two thousand
pounds Scots. The Earl was appointed also to keep the peace
towards the celebrated George Buchanan, who had a pension out of
the same Abbacy, to a similar extent, and under the like penalty.
The consequences are thus described by the Journalist already
quoted.---
"The said Laird of Bargany perceiving that the ordiner justice
could neither help the oppressed, nor yet the afflicted, applied
his mind to the next remedy, and in the end, by his servants,
took the house of Denure, where the poor Abbot was kept prisoner.
The bruit flew fra Carrick to Galloway, and so suddenly assembled
herd and hyre-man that pertained to the band of the Kennedies;
and so within a few hours was the house of Denure environed
again. The master of Cassilis was the frackast [i.e. the
readiest or boldest) and would not stay, but in his heat would
lay fire to the dungeon, with no small boasting that all enemies
within the house should die.
"He was required and admonished by those that were within to be
more moderate, and not to hazard himself so foolishly. But no
admonition would help, till that the wind of an hacquebute
blasted his shoulder, and then ceased he from further pursuit in
fury. The Laird of Bargany had before purchest [obtained] of the
authorities, letters, charging all faithfull subjects to the
King's Majesty, to assist him against that cruel tyrant and
mansworn traitor, the Earl of Cassilis; which letters, with his
private writings, he published, and shortly found sic concurrence
of Kyle and Cunynghame with his other friends, that the Carrick
company drew back fra the house: and so the other approached,
furnished the house with more men, delivered the said Mr Allan,
and carried him to Ayr, where, publicly at the market cross of
the said town, he declared how cruelly he was entreated, and how
the murdered King suffered not sic torment as he did, excepting
only he escaped the death: and, therefore, publickly did revoke
all things that were done in that extremity, and especially
revoked the subscription of the three writings, to wit, of a fyve
yeir tack and nineteen year tack, and of a charter of feu. And so
the house remained, and remains (till this day, the 7th of
February, 1571,) in the custody of the said Laird of Bargany and of
his servants. And so cruelty was disappointed of proffeit present,
and shall be eternallie punished, unless he earnestly repent. And
this far for the cruelty committed, to give occasion unto others,
and to such as hate the monstrous dealing of degenerate nobility,
to look more diligently upon their behaviuours, and to paint them
forth unto the world, that they themselves may be ashamed of
their own beastliness, and that the world may be advertised and
admonished to abhor, detest, and avoid the company of all sic
tyrants, who are not worthy of the society of men, but ought to
be sent suddenly to the devil, with whom they must burn without
end, for their contempt of God, and cruelty committed against his
creatures. Let Cassilis and his brother be the first to be the
example unto others. Amen. Amen."*
* Bannatyne's Journal.
This extract has been somewhat amended or modernized in
orthography, to render it more intelligible to the general
reader. I have to add, that the Kennedies of Bargany, who
interfered in behalf of the oppressed Abbot, were themselves a
younger branch of the Cassilis family, but held different
politics, and were powerful enough in this, and other instances,
to bid them defiance.
The ultimate issue of this affair does not appear; but as the
house of Cassilis are still in possession of the greater part of
the feus and leases which belonged to Crossraguel Abbey, it is
probable the talons of the King of Carrick were strong enough,
in those disorderly times, to retain the prey which they had so
mercilessly fixed upon.
I may also add, that it appears by some papers in my possession,
that the officers or Country Keepers on the border, were
accustomed to torment their prisoners by binding them to the
iron bars of their chimneys, to extort confession.
NOTE TO CHAPTER XXIX
Note F.---Heraldry
The author has been here upbraided with false heraldry, as having
charged metal upon metal. It should be remembered, however, that
heraldry had only its first rude origin during the crusades, and
that all the minutiae of its fantastic science were the work of
time, and introduced at a much later period. Those who think
otherwise must suppose that the Goddess of "Armoirers", like the
Goddess of Arms, sprung into the world completely equipped in all
the gaudy trappings of the department she presides over.
Additional Note
In corroboration of said note, it may be observed, that the arms,
which were assumed by Godfrey of Boulogne himself, after the
conquest of Jerusalem, was a cross counter patent cantoned with
four little crosses or, upon a field azure, displaying thus metal
upon metal. The heralds have tried to explain this undeniable
fact in different modes---but Ferne gallantly contends, that a
prince of Godfrey's qualities should not be bound by the ordinary
rules. The Scottish Nisbet, and the same Ferne, insist that the
chiefs of the Crusade must have assigned to Godfrey this
extraordinary and unwonted coat-of-arms, in order to induce those
who should behold them to make enquiries; and hence give them the
name of "arma inquirenda". But with reverence to these grave
authorities, it seems unlikely that the assembled princes of
Europe should have adjudged to Godfrey a coat armorial so much
contrary to the general rule, if such rule had then existed; at
any rate, it proves that metal upon metal, now accounted a
solecism in heraldry, was admitted in other cases similar to that
in the text. See Ferne's "Blazon of Gentrie" p. 238. Edition
1586. Nisbet's "Heraldry", vol. i. p. 113. Second Edition.
NOTE TO CHAPTER XXXI
Note G.---Ulrica's Death song.
It will readily occur to the antiquary, that these verses are
intended to imitate the antique poetry of the Scalds---the
minstrels of the old Scandinavians---the race, as the Laureate so
happily terms them,
"Stern to inflict, and stubborn to endure,
Who smiled in death."
The poetry of the Anglo-Saxons, after their civilisation and
conversion, was of a different and softer character; but in the
circumstances of Ulrica, she may be not unnaturally supposed to
return to the wild strains which animated her forefathers during
the time of Paganism and untamed ferocity.
NOTE TO CHAPTER XXXII
Note H.---Richard Coeur-de-Lion.
The interchange of a cuff with the jolly priest is not entirely
out of character with Richard I., if romances read him aright.
In the very curious romance on the subject of his adventures in
the Holy Land, and his return from thence, it is recorded how he
exchanged a pugilistic favour of this nature, while a prisoner in
Germany. His opponent was the son of his principal warder, and
was so imprudent as to give the challenge to this barter of
buffets. The King stood forth like a true man, and received a
blow which staggered him. In requital, having previously waxed
his hand, a practice unknown, I believe, to the gentlemen of the
modern fancy, he returned the box on the ear with such interest
as to kill his antagonist on the spot.
---See, in Ellis's Specimens of English Romance, that of
Coeur-de-Lion.
NOTE TO CHAPTER XXXIII
Note I.---Hedge-Priests.
It is curious to observe, that in every state of society, some
sort of ghostly consolation is provided for the members of the
community, though assembled for purposes diametrically opposite
to religion. A gang of beggars have their Patrico, and the
banditti of the Apennines have among them persons acting as monks
and priests, by whom they are confessed, and who perform mass
before them. Unquestionably, such reverend persons, in such a
society, must accommodate their manners and their morals to the
community in which they live; and if they can occasionally obtain
a degree of reverence for their supposed spiritual gifts, are, on
most occasions, loaded with unmerciful ridicule, as possessing a
character inconsistent with all around them.
Hence the fighting parson in the old play of Sir John Oldcastle,
and the famous friar of Robin Hood's band. Nor were such
characters ideal. There exists a monition of the Bishop of
Durham against irregular churchmen of this class, who associated
themselves with Border robbers, and desecrated the holiest
offices of the priestly function, by celebrating them for the
benefit of thieves, robbers, and murderers, amongst ruins and in
caverns of the earth, without regard to canonical form, and with
torn and dirty attire, and maimed rites, altogether improper for
the occasion.
NOTE TO CHAPTER XLI.
Note J.---Castle of Coningsburgh.
When I last saw this interesting ruin of ancient days, one of the
very few remaining examples of Saxon fortification, I was
strongly impressed with the desire of tracing out a sort of
theory on the subject, which, from some recent acquaintance with
the architecture of the ancient Scandinavians, seemed to me
peculiarly interesting. I was, however, obliged by circumstances
to proceed on my journey, without leisure to take more than a
transient view of Coningsburgh. Yet the idea dwells so strongly
in my mind, that I feel considerably tempted to write a page or
two in detailing at least the outline of my hypothesis, leaving
better antiquaries to correct or refute conclusions which are
perhaps too hastily drawn.
Those who have visited the Zetland Islands, are familiar with the
description of castles called by the inhabitants Burghs; and by
the Highlanders---for they are also to be found both in the
Western Isles and on the mainland---Duns. Pennant has engraved a
view of the famous Dun-Dornadilla in Glenelg; and there are many
others, all of them built after a peculiar mode of architecture,
which argues a people in the most primitive state of society.
The most perfect specimen is that upon the island of Mousa, near
to the mainland of Zetland, which is probably in the same state
as when inhabited.
It is a single round tower, the wall curving in slightly, and
then turning outward again in the form of a dice-box, so that the
defenders on the top might the better protect the base. It is
formed of rough stones, selected with care, and laid in courses
or circles, with much compactness, but without cement of any
kind. The tower has never, to appearance, had roofing of any
sort; a fire was made in the centre of the space which it
encloses, and originally the building was probably little more
than a wall drawn as a sort of screen around the great council
fire of the tribe. But, although the means or ingenuity of the
builders did not extend so far as to provide a roof, they
supplied the want by constructing apartments in the interior of
the walls of the tower itself. The circumvallation formed a
double enclosure, the inner side of which was, in fact, two feet
or three feet distant from the other, and connected by a
concentric range of long flat stones, thus forming a series of
concentric rings or stories of various heights, rising to the top
of the tower. Each of these stories or galleries has four
windows, facing directly to the points of the compass, and rising
of course regularly above each other. These four perpendicular
ranges of windows admitted air, and, the fire being kindled,
heat, or smoke at least, to each of the galleries. The access
from gallery to gallery is equally primitive. A path, on the
principle of an inclined plane, turns round and round the
building like a screw, and gives access to the different stories,
intersecting each of them in its turn, and thus gradually rising
to the top of the wall of the tower. On the outside there are no
windows; and I may add, that an enclosure of a square, or
sometimes a round form, gave the inhabitants of the Burgh an
opportunity to secure any sheep or cattle which they might
possess.
Such is the general architecture of that very early period when
the Northmen swept the seas, and brought to their rude houses,
such as I have described them, the plunder of polished nations.
In Zetland there are several scores of these Burghs, occupying in
every case, capes, headlands, islets, and similar places of
advantage singularly well chosen. I remember the remains of one
upon an island in a small lake near Lerwick, which at high tide
communicates with the sea, the access to which is very ingenious,
by means of a causeway or dike, about three or four inches under
the surface of the water. This causeway makes a sharp angle in
its approach to the Burgh. The inhabitants, doubtless, were well
acquainted with this, but strangers, who might approach in a
hostile manner, and were ignorant of the curve of the causeway,
would probably plunge into the lake, which is six or seven feet
in depth at the least. This must have been the device of some
Vauban or Cohorn of those early times.
The style of these buildings evinces that the architect possessed
neither the art of using lime or cement of any kind, nor the
skill to throw an arch, construct a roof, or erect a stair; and
yet, with all this ignorance, showed great ingenuity in selecting
the situation of Burghs, and regulating the access to them, as
well as neatness and regularity in the erection, since the
buildings themselves show a style of advance in the arts scarcely
consistent with the ignorance of so many of the principal
branches of architectural knowledge.
I have always thought, that one of the most curious and valuable
objects of antiquaries has been to trace the progress of society,
by the efforts made in early ages to improve the rudeness of
their first expedients, until they either approach excellence,
or, as is more frequently the case, are supplied by new and
fundamental discoveries, which supersede both the earlier and
ruder system, and the improvements which have been ingrafted
upon it. For example, if we conceive the recent discovery of
gas to be so much improved and adapted to domestic use, as to
supersede all other modes of producing domestic light; we can
already suppose, some centuries afterwards, the heads of a whole
Society of Antiquaries half turned by the discovery of a pair of
patent snuffers, and by the learned theories which would be
brought forward to account for the form and purpose of so
singular an implement.
Following some such principle, I am inclined to regard the
singular Castle of Coningsburgh---I mean the Saxon part of it
---as a step in advance from the rude architecture, if it
deserves the name, which must have been common to the Saxons as
to other Northmen. The builders had attained the art of using
cement, and of roofing a building,---great improvements on the
original Burgh. But in the round keep, a shape only seen in the
most ancient castles---the chambers excavated in the thickness of
the walls and buttresses---the difficulty by which access is
gained from one story to those above it, Coningsburgh still
retains the simplicity of its origin, and shows by what slow
degrees man proceeded from occupying such rude and inconvenient
lodgings, as were afforded by the galleries of the Castle of
Mousa, to the more splendid accommodations of the Norman castles,
with all their stern and Gothic graces.
I am ignorant if these remarks are new, or if they will be
confirmed by closer examination; but I think, that, on a hasty
observation, Coningsburgh offers means of curious study to
those who may wish to trace the history of architecture back to
the times preceding the Norman Conquest.
It would be highly desirable that a cork model should be taken of
the Castle of Mousa, as it cannot be well understood by a plan.
The Castle of Coningsburgh is thus described:---
"The castle is large, the outer walls standing on a pleasant
ascent from the river, but much overtopt by a high hill, on which
the town stands, situated at the head of a rich and magnificent
vale, formed by an amphitheatre of woody hills, in which flows
the gentle Don. Near the castle is a barrow, said to be
Hengist's tomb. The entrance is flanked to the left by a round
tower, with a sloping base, and there are several similar in the
outer wall the entrance has piers of a gate, and on the east side
the ditch and bank are double and very steep. On the top of the
churchyard wall is a tombstone, on which are cut in high relief,
two ravens, or such-like birds. On the south side of the
churchyard lies an ancient stone, ridged like a coffin, on which
is carved a man on horseback; and another man with a shield
encountering a vast winged serpent, and a man bearing a shield
behind him. It was probably one of the rude crosses not uncommon
in churchyards in this county. See it engraved on the plate of
crosses for this volume, plate 14. fig. 1. The name of
Coningsburgh, by which this castle goes in the old editions of
the Britannia, would lead one to suppose it the residence of the
Saxon kings. It afterwards belonged to King Harold. The
Conqueror bestowed it on William de Warren, with all its
privileges and jurisdiction, which are said to have extended over
twenty-eight towns. At the corner of the area, which is of an
irregular form, stands the great tower, or keep, placed on a
small hill of its own dimensions, on which lies six vast
projecting buttresses, ascending in a steep direction to prop and
support the building, and continued upwards up the side as
turrets. The tower within forms a complete circle, twenty-one
feet in diameter, the walls fourteen feet thick. The ascent into
the tower is by an exceeding deep flight of steep steps, four
feet and a half wide, on the south side leading to a low doorway,
over which is a circular arch crossed by a great transom stone.
Within this door is the staircase which ascends straight through
the thickness of the wall, not communicating with the room on the
first floor, in whose centre is the opening to the dungeon.
Neither of these lower rooms is lighted except from a hole in the
floor of the third story; the room in which, as well as in that
above it, is finished with compact smooth stonework, both having
chimney-pieces, with an arch resting on triple clustered pillars.
In the third story, or guard-chamber, is a small recess with a
loop-hole, probably a bedchamber, and in that floor above a niche
for a saint or holy-water pot. Mr. King imagines this a Saxon
castle of the first ages of the Heptarchy. Mr. Watson thus
describes it. From the first floor to the second story, (third
from the ground,) is a way by a stair in the wall five feet wide.
The next staircase is approached by a ladder, and ends at the
fourth story from the ground. Two yards from the door, at the
head of this stair, is an opening nearly east, accessible by
treading on the ledge of the wall, which diminishes eight inches
each story ; and this last opening leads into a room or chapel
ten feet by twelve, and fifteen or sixteen high, arched with
free-stone, and supported by small circular columns of the same,
the capitals and arches Saxon. It has an east window, and on
each side in the wall, about four feet from the ground, a stone
basin with a hole and iron pipe to convey the water into or
through the wall. This chapel is one of the buttresses, but no
sign of it without, for even the window, though large within, is
only a long narrow loop-hole, scarcely to be seen without. On
the left side of this chapel is a small oratory, eight by six in
the thickness of the wall, with a niche in the wall, and
enlightened by a like loop-hole. The fourth stair from the
ground, ten feet west from the chapel door, leads to the top of
the tower through the thickness of the wall, which at top is but
three yards. Each story is about fifteen feet high, so that the
tower will be seventy-five feet from the ground. The inside
forms a circle, whose diameter may be about twelve feet. The well
at the bottom of the dungeon is piled with stones."---Gough's
"Edition Of Camden's Britannia". Second Edition, vol. iii. p.
267.
Walter Scott: Ivanhoe