Ivanhoe
by Walter Scott
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman
Return to Part 1 of 2

Front-de-Buf heard the words imperfectly, but
the action was suspicious---``Archers,'' he called to
the warders on the outward battlements, ``send me
an arrow through yon monk's frock!---yet stay,'' he
said, as his retainers were bending their bows, ``it
avails not--we must thus far trust him since we
have no better shift. I think he dares not betray
me---at the worst I can but treat with these Saxon
dogs whom I have safe in kennel.---Ho! Giles
jailor, let them bring Cedric of Rotherwood before
me, and the other churl, his companion---him I
mean of Coningsburgh---Athelstane there, or what
call they him? Their very names are an encumbrance
to a Norman knight's mouth, and have, as
it were, a flavour of bacon---Give me a stoup of
wine, as jolly Prince John said, that I may wash
away the relish---place it in the armoury, and thither
lead the prisoners.''

His commands were obeyed; and, upon entering
that Gothic apartment, hung with many spoils
won by his own valour and that of his father, he
found a flagon of wine on the massive oaken table,
and the two Saxon captives under the guard of
four of his dependants. Front-de-Buf took a long
drought of wine, and then addressed his prisoners;
---for the manner in which Wamba drew the cap
over his face, the change of dress, the gloomy and
broken light, and the Baron's imperfect acquaintance
with the features of Cedric, (who avoided his
Norman neighbours, and seldom stirred beyond
his own domains,) prevented him from discovering
that the most important of his captives had made
his escape.

``Gallants of England,'' said Front-de-Buf,
``how relish ye your entertainment at Torquilstone?
---Are ye yet aware what your _surquedy_ and
_outrecuidance_* merit, for scoffing at the entertainment

*  _Surquedy_ and _outrecuidance_---insolence and presumption.

of a prince of the House of Anjou?---Have
ye forgotten how ye requited the unmerited hospitality
of the royal John? By God and St Dennis,
an ye pay not the richer ransom, I will hang
ye up by the feet from the iron bars of these windows,
till the kites and hooded crows have made
skeletons of you!---Speak out, ye Saxon dogs---
what bid ye for your worthless lives?---How say
you, you of Rotherwood?

``Not a doit I,'' answered poor Wamba---``and
for hanging up by the feet, my brain has been topsy-turvy,
they say, ever since the biggin was bound
first round my head; so turning me upside down
may peradventure restore it again.''

``Saint Genevieve!'' said  Front-de-Buf, ``what
have we got here?''

And with the back of his hand he struck Cedric's
cap from the head of the Jester, and throwing open
his collar, discovered the fatal badge of servitude,
the silver collar round his neck.

``Giles---Clement---dogs and varlets!'' exclaimed
the furious Norman, ``what have you brought
me here?''

``I think I can tell you,'' said De Bracy, who
just entered the apartment. ``This is Cedric's
clown, who fought so manful a skirmish with Isaac
of York about a question of precedence.''

``I shall settle it for them both,'' replied Front-de-Buf;
``they shall hang on the same gallows,
unless his master and this boar of Coningsburgh will
pay well for their lives. Their wealth is the least
they can surrender; they must also carry off with
them the swarms that are besetting the castle, subscribe
a surrender of their pretended immunities,
and live under us as serfs and vassals; too happy
if, in the new world that is about to begin, we leave
them the breath of their nostrils.---Go,'' said he to
two of his attendants, ``fetch me the right Cedric
hither, and I pardon your error for once; the rather
that you but mistook a fool for a Saxon franklin.''

``Ay, but,'' said Wamba, ``your chivalrous excellency
will find there are more fools than franklins
among us.''

``What means the knave?'' said Front-de-Buf,
looking towards his followers, who, lingering and
loath, faltered forth their belief, that if this were
not Cedric who was there in presence, they knew
not what was become of him.

``Saints of Heaven!'' exclaimed De Bracy, ``he
must have escaped in the monk's garments!''

``Fiends of hell!'' echoed Front-de-Buf, ``it
was then the boar of Rotherwood whom I ushered
to the postern, and dismissed with my own hands!
---And thou,'' he said to Wamba, ``whose folly
could overreach the wisdom of idiots yet more gross
than thyself---I will give thee holy orders---I will
shave thy crown for thee!---Here, let them tear the
scalp from his head, and then pitch him headlong
from the battlements---Thy trade is to jest, canst
thou jest now?''

``You deal with me better than your word, noble
knight,'' whimpered forth poor Wamba, whose
habits of buffoonery were not to be overcome even
by the immediate prospect of death; ``if you give
me the red cap you propose, out of a simple monk
you will make a cardinal.''

``The poor wretch,'' said De Bracy, ``is resolved
to die in his vocation.---Front-de-Buf, you shall
not slay him. Give him to me to make sport for my
Free Companions.---How sayst thou, knave? Wilt
thou take heart of grace, and go to the wars with
me?''

``Ay, with my master's leave,'' said Wamba;
``for, look you, I must not slip collar'' (and he
touched that which he wore) ``without his permission.''

``Oh, a Norman  saw  will  soon  cut  a  Saxon  collar.''
said De Bracy.

``Ay, noble sir,'' said Wamba, ``and thence
goes the proverb---

`Norman saw on English oak,
On English neck a Norman yoke;
Norman spoon in English dish,
And England ruled as Normans wish;
Blithe world to England never will be more,
Till England's rid of all the four.' ''

``Thou dost well, De Bracy,' said Front-de-Buf,
``to stand there listening to a fool's jargon,
when destruction is gaping for us! Seest thou not
we are overreached, and that our proposed mode
of communicating with our friends without has
been disconcerted by this same motley gentleman
thou art so fond to brother? What views have we
to expect but instant storm?''

``To the battlements then,'' said De Bracy;
``when didst thou ever see me the graver for the
thoughts of battle? Call the Templar yonder, and
let him fight but half so well for his life as he has
done for his Order---Make thou to the walls thyself
with thy huge body---Let me do my poor endeavour
in my own way, and I tell thee the Saxon
outlaws may as well attempt to scale the clouds, as
the castle of Torquilstone; or, if you will treat
with the banditti, why not employ the mediation of
this worthy franklin, who seems in such deep contemplation
of the wine-flagon?---Here, Saxon,''
he continued, addressing Athelstane, and handing
the cup to him, ``rinse thy throat with that noble
liquor, and rouse up thy soul to say what thou wilt
do for thy liberty.''

``What a man of mould may,'' answered Athelstane,
``providing it be what a man of manhood
ought.---Dismiss me free, with my companions, and
I will pay a ransom of a thousand marks.''

``And wilt moreover assure us the retreat of that
scum of mankind who are swarming around the castle,
contrary to God's peace and the king's?'' said
Front-de-Buf.

``In so far as I can,'' answered Athelstane, ``I
will withdraw them; and I fear not but that my
father Cedric will do his best to assist me.''

``We are agreed then,'' said Front-de-Buf---
``thou and they are to be set at freedom, and peace
is to be on both sides, for payment of a thousand
marks. It is a trifling ransom, Saxon, and thou
wilt owe gratitude to the moderation which accepts
of it in exchange of your persons. But mark, this
extends not to the Jew Isaac.''

``Nor to the Jew Isaac's daughter,'' said the
Templar, who had now joined them

``Neither,'' said Front-de-Buf, ``belong to this
Saxon's company.''

``I were unworthy to be called Christian, if they
did,'' replied Athelstane: ``deal with the unbelievers
as ye list.''

``Neither does the ransom include the Lady
Rowena,'' said De Bracy. ``It shall never be said
I was scared out of a fair prize without  striking  a
blow for it.''

``Neither,'' said Front-de-Buf, ``does our treaty
refer to this wretched Jester, whom I retain,
that I may make him an example to every knave
who turns jest into earnest.''

``The Lady Rowena,'' answered Athelstane,
with the most steady countenance, ``is my affianced
bride. I will be drawn by wild horses before I consent
to part with her. The slave Wamba has this
day saved the life of my father Cedric---I will lose
mine ere a hair of his head be injured.''

``Thy affianced bride?---The Lady Rowena the
affianced bride of a vassal like thee?'' said De
Bracy; ``Saxon, thou dreamest that the days of
thy seven kingdoms are returned again. I tell thee,
the Princes of the House of Anjou confer not their
wards on men of such lineage as thine.''

``My lineage, proud Norman,'' replied Athelstane,
``is drawn from a source more pure and ancient
than that of a beggarly Frenchman, whose
living is won by selling the blood of the thieves
whom he assembles under his paltry standard.
Kings were my ancestors, strong in war and wise
in council, who every day feasted in their hall more
hundreds than thou canst number individual followers;
whose names have been sung by minstrels,
and their laws recorded by Wittenagemotes; whose
bones were interred amid the prayers of saints, and
over whose tombs minsters have been builded.''

``Thou hast it, De Bracy,'' said Front-de-Buf,
well pleased with the rebuff which his companion
had received; ``the Saxon hath hit thee fairly.''

``As fairly as a captive can strike,'' said De
Bracy, with apparent carelessness; ``for he whose
hands are tied should have his tongue at freedom.
---But thy glibness of reply, comrade,'' rejoined he,
speaking to Athelstane, ``will not win the freedom
of the Lady Rowena.''

To this Athelstane, who had already made a
longer speech than was his custom to do on any
topic, however interesting, returned no answer.
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of
a menial, who announced that a monk demanded
admittance at the postern gate.

``In the name of Saint Bennet, the prince of
these bull-beggars,'' said Front-de-Buf, ``have we
a real monk this time, or another impostor? Search
him, slaves---for an ye suffer a second impostor to
be palmed upon you, I will have your eyes torn
out, and hot coals put into the sockets.''

``Let me endure the extremity of your anger,
my lord,'' said Giles, ``if this be not a real shaveling.
Your squire Jocelyn knows him well, and
will vouch him to be brother Ambrose, a monk in
attendance upon the Prior of Jorvaulx.''

``Admit him,'' said Front-de-Buf; ``most likely
he brings us news from his jovial master. Surely
the devil keeps holiday, and the priests are relieved
from duty, that they are strolling thus wildly
through the country. Remove these prisoners;
and, Saxon, think on what thou hast heard.''

``I claim,'' said Athelstane, ``an honourable imprisonment,
with due care of my board and of my
couch, as becomes my rank, and as is due to one
who is in treaty for ransom. Moreover, I hold
him that deems himself the best of you, bound to
answer to me with his body for this aggression on
my freedom. This defiance hath already been sent
to thee by thy sewer; thou underliest it, and art
bound to answer me---There lies my glove.''

``I answer not the challenge of my prisoner,''
said Front-de-Buf; ``nor shalt thou, Maurice de
Bracy.---Giles,'' he continued, ``hang the franklin's
glove upon the tine of yonder branched antlers:
there shall it remain until he is a free man. Should
he then presume to demand it, or to affirm he was
unlawfully made my prisoner, by the belt of Saint
Christopher, he will speak to one who hath never
refused to meet a foe on foot or on horseback, alone
or with his vassals at his back!''

The Saxon prisoners were accordingly removed,
just as they introduced the monk Ambrose, who
appeared to be in great perturbation.

``This is the real _Deus vobiscum_,'' said Wamba,
as he passed the reverend brother; ``the others
were but counterfeits.''

``Holy Mother,'' said the monk, as he addressed
the assembled knights, ``I am at last safe and
in Christian keeping!''

``Safe thou art,'' replied De Bracy; ``and for
Christianity, here is the stout Baron Reginald
Front-de-Buf, whose utter abomination is a Jew;
and the good Knight Templar, Brian de Bois-Guilbert,
whose trade is to slay Saracens---If these are
not good marks of Christianity, I know no other
which they bear about them.''
``Ye are friends and allies of our reverend father
in God, Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx,'' said the monk,
without noticing the tone of De Bracy's reply; ``ye
owe him aid both by knightly faith and holy charity;
for what saith the blessed Saint Augustin,
in his treatise _De Civitate Dei_------''

``What saith the devil!'' interrupted Front-de-Buf;
``or rather what dost thou say, Sir Priest?
We have little time to hear texts from the holy
fathers.''

``_Sancta Maria!_'' ejaculated Father Ambrose,
``how prompt to ire are these unhallowed laymen!
---But be it known to you, brave knights, that certain
murderous caitiffs, casting behind them fear
of God, and reverence of his church, and not regarding
the bull of the holy see, _Si quis, suadende
Diabolo_------''

``Brother priest,'' said the Templar, ``all this
we know or guess at---tell us plainly, is thy master,
the Prior, made prisoner, and to whom?''

``Surely,'' said Ambrose, ``he is in the hands
of the men of Belial, infesters of these woods, and
contemners of the holy text, `Touch not mine
anointed, and do my prophets naught of evil.' ''

``Here is a new argument for our swords, sirs,''
said Front-de-Buf, turning to his companions;
``and so, instead of reaching us any assistance, the
Prior of Jorvaulx requests aid at our hands? a man
is well helped of these lazy churchmen when he
hath most to do!---But speak out, priest, and say
at once, what doth thy master expect from us?''

``So please you,'' said Ambrose, ``violent hands
having been imposed on my reverend superior,
contrary to the holy ordinance which I did already
quote, and the men of Belial having rifled his mails
and budgets, and stripped him of two hundred
marks of pure refined gold, they do yet demand of
him a large sum beside, ere they will suffer him to
depart from their uncircumcised hands. Wherefore
the reverend father in God prays you, as his dear
friends, to rescue him, either by paying down the
ransom at which they hold him, or by force of arms,
at your best discretion.''

``The foul fiend quell the Prior!'' said Front-de-Buf;
``his morning's drought has been a deep
one. When did thy master hear of a Norman baron
unbuckling his purse to relieve a churchman,
whose bags are ten times as weighty as ours?---
And how can we do aught by valour to free him,
that are cooped up here by ten times our number,
and expect an assault every moment?''

``And that was what I was about to tell you,''
said the monk, ``had your hastiness allowed me
time. But, God help me, I am old, and these foul
onslaughts distract an aged man's brain. Nevertheless,
it is of verity that they assemble a camp,
and raise a bank against the walls of this castle.''

``To the battlements!'' cried De Bracy, ``and
let us mark what these knaves do without;'' and
so saying, he opened a latticed window which led
to a sort of bartisan or projecting balcony, and immediately
called from thence to those in the apartment---
``Saint Dennis, but the old monk hath
brought true tidings!---They bring forward mantelets
and pavisses,* and the archers muster on the

*  Mantelets were temporary and movable defences formed
*  of planks, under cover of which the assailants advanced to the
*  attack of fortified places of old. Pavisses were a species of large
*  shields covering the whole person, employed on the same occasions.

skirts of the wood like a dark cloud before a hailstorm.''

Reginald Front-de-Buf also looked out upon
the field, and immediately snatched his bugle; and,
after winding a long and loud blast, commanded
his men to their posts on the walls.

``De Bracy, look to the eastern side, where the
walls are lowest---Noble Bois-Guilbert, thy trade
hath well taught thee how to attack and defend,
look thou to the western side---I myself will take
post at the barbican. Yet, do not confine your
exertions to any one spot, noble friends!---we must
this day be everywhere, and multiply ourselves,
were it possible, so as to carry by our presence
succour and relief wherever the attack is hottest.
Our numbers are few, but activity and courage may
supply that defect, since we have only to do with
rascal clowns.''

``But, noble knights,'' exclaimed Father Ambrose,
amidst the bustle and confusion occasioned
by the preparations for defence, ``will none of ye
hear the message of the reverend father in God
Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx?---I beseech thee to hear
me, noble Sir Reginald!''

``Go patter thy petitions to heaven,'' said the
fierce Norman, ``for we on earth have no time to
listen to them.---Ho! there, Anselm I see that seething
pitch and oil are ready to pour on the heads of
these audacious traitors---Look that the cross-bowmen
lack not bolts.*---Fling abroad my banner with

*  The bolt was the arrow peculiarly fitted to the cross-bow,
*  as that of the long-bow was called a shaft. Hence the English
*  proverb---``I will either make a shaft or bolt of it,'' signifying a
*  determination to make one use or other of the thing spoken of.

the old bull's head---the knaves shall soon find with
whom they have to do this day!''

``But, noble sir,'' continued the monk, persevering
in his endeavours to draw attention, ``consider
my vow of obedience, and let me discharge myself
of my Superior's errand.''

``Away with this prating dotard,'' said Front-de Buf,
``lock him up in the chapel, to tell his
beads till the broil be over. It will be a new thing
to the saints in Torquilstone to hear aves and paters;
they have not been so honoured, I trow, since
they were cut out of stone.''

``Blaspheme not the holy saints, Sir Reginald,''
said De Bracy, ``we shall have need of their aid
to-day before yon rascal rout disband.''

``I expect little aid from their hand,'' said Front-de-Buf,
``unless we were to hurl them from the
battlements on the heads of the villains. There is
a huge lumbering Saint Christopher yonder, sufficient
to bear a whole company to the earth.''

The Templar had in the meantime been looking
out on the proceedings of the besiegers, with rather
more attention than the brutal Front-de-Buf or
his giddy companion.

``By the faith of mine order,'' he said, ``these
men approach with more touch of discipline than
could have been judged, however they come by it.
See ye how dexterously they avail themselves of
every cover which a tree or bush affords, and shun
exposing themselves to the shot of our cross-bows?
I spy neither banner nor pennon among them, and
yet will I gage my golden chain, that they are led
on by some noble knight  or  gentleman,  skilful  in
the practice of wars.''

``I espy him,'' said De Bracy; ``I see the waving
of a knight's crest, and the  gleam of  his  armour.
See yon tall man in the black mail, who is
busied marshalling the farther troop of the rascaille
yeomen---by Saint Dennis, I hold him to be the
same whom we called _Le Noir Faineant_, who overthrew
thee, Front-de-Buf, in the lists at Ashby.''
``So much the better,'' said Front-de-Buf,
``that he comes here to give me my revenge. Some
hilding fellow he must be, who dared not stay to
assert his claim to the tourney prize which chance
had assigned him. I should in vain have sought
for him where knights and nobles seek their foes,
and right glad am I he hath here shown himself
among yon villain yeomanry.''

The  demonstrations of the enemy's immediate
approach cut off all farther discourse. Each knight
repaired to his post, and at the head of the few followers
whom they were able to muster, and who
were in numbers inadequate to defend the whole
extent of the walls, they awaited with calm determination
the threatened assault.

CHAPTER XXVIII

This wandering race, sever'd from other men,
Boast yet their intercourse with human arts;
The seas, the woods, the deserts, which they haunt,
Find them acquainted with their secret treasures:
And unregarded herbs, and flowers, and blossoms,
Display undreamt-of powers when gather'd by them.
                            _The Jew._

Our history must needs retrograde for the space
of a few pages, to inform the reader of certain passages
material to his understanding the rest of this
important narrative. His own intelligence may
indeed have easily anticipated that, when Ivanhoe
sunk down, and seemed abandoned by all the world,
it was the importunity of Rebecca which prevailed
on her father to have the gallant young warrior
transported from the lists to the house which for
the time the Jews inhabited in the suburbs of
Ashby.

It would not have been difficult to have persuaded
Isaac to this step in any other circumstances,
for his disposition was kind and grateful. But he
had also the prejudices and scrupulous timidity
of his persecuted people, and those were to be
conquered.

``Holy Abraham!'' he exclaimed, ``he is a good
youth, and my heart bleeds to see the gore trickle
down his rich embroidered hacqueton, and his corslet
of goodly price---but to carry him to our house!
---damsel, hast thou well considered?---he is a
Christian, and by our law we may not deal with
the stranger and Gentile, save for the advantage
of our commerce.''

``Speak not so, my dear father,'' replied Rebecca;
``we may not indeed mix with them in banquet
and in jollity; but in wounds and in misery,
the Gentile becometh the Jew's brother.''

``I would I knew what the Rabbi Jacob Ben
Tudela would opine on it,'' replied Isaac;---``nevertheless,
the good youth must not bleed to death.
Let Seth and Reuben bear him to Ashby.''

``Nay, let them place him in my litter,'' said
Rebecca; ``I will mount one of the palfreys.''

``That were to expose thee to the gaze of those
dogs of Ishmael and of Edom,'' whispered Isaac,
with a suspicious glance towards the crowd of
knights and squires. But Rebecca was already busied
in carrying her charitable purpose into effect,
and listed not what he said, until Isaac, seizing the
sleeve of her mantle, again exclaimed, in a hurried
voice---``Beard of Aaron!---what if the youth perish!
---if he die in our custody, shall we not be
held guilty of his blood, and be torn to pieces by
the multitude?''

``He will not die, my father,'' said Rebecca,
gently extricating herself from the grasp of Isaac
``he will not die unless we abandon him; and if
so, we are indeed answerable for his blood to God
and to man.''

``Nay,'' said Isaac, releasing his hold, ``it grieveth
me as much to see the drops of his blood, as
if they were so many golden byzants from mine
own purse; and I well know, that the lessons of
Miriam, daughter of the Rabbi Manasses of Byzantium
whose soul is in Paradise, have made thee
skilful in the art of healing, and that thou knowest
the craft of herbs, and the force of elixirs. Therefore,
do as thy mind giveth thee---thou art a good
damsel, a blessing, and a crown, and a song of rejoicing
unto me and unto my house, and unto the
people of my fathers.''

The apprehensions of Isaac, however, were not
ill founded; and the generous and grateful benevolence
of his daughter exposed her, on her return
to Ashby, to the unhallowed gaze of Brian de Bois-Guilbert.
The Templar twice passed and repassed
them on the road, fixing his bold and ardent look on
the beautiful Jewess; and we have already seen the
consequences of the admiration which her charms
excited when accident threw her into the power of
that unprincipled voluptuary.

Rebecca lost no time in causing the patient to
be transported to their temporary dwelling, and
proceeded with her own hands to examine and to
bind up his wounds. The youngest reader of romances
and romantic ballads, must recollect how
often the females, during the dark ages, as they
are called, were initiated into the mysteries of surgery,
and how frequently the gallant knight submitted
the wounds of his person to her cure, whose
eyes had yet more deeply penetrated his heart.

But the Jews, both male and female, possessed
and practised the medical science in all its branches,
and the monarchs and powerful barons of the time
frequently committed themselves to the charge of
some experienced sage among this despised people,
when wounded or in sickness. The aid of the Jewish
physicians was not the less eagerly sought after,
though a general belief prevailed among the
Christians, that the Jewish Rabbins were deeply
acquainted with the occult sciences, and particularly
with the cabalistical art, which had its name
and origin in the studies of the sages of Israel.
Neither did the Rabbins disown such acquaintance
with supernatural arts, which added nothing (for
what could add aught?) to the hatred with which
their nation was regarded, while it diminished the
contempt with which that malevolence was mingled.
A Jewish magician might be the subject of equal
abhorrence with a Jewish usurer, but he could not
be equally despised. It is besides probable, considering
the wonderful cures they are said to have
performed, that the Jews possessed some secrets of
the healing art peculiar to themselves, and which,
with the exclusive spirit arising out of their condition,
they took great care to conceal from the Christians
amongst whom they dwelt.

The beautiful Rebecca had been heedfully brought
up in all the knowledge proper to her nation, which
her apt and powerful mind had retained, arranged,
and enlarged, in the course of a progress beyond
her years, her sex, and even the age in which she
lived. Her knowledge of medicine and of the healing
art had been acquired under an aged Jewess,
the daughter of one of their most celebrated doctors,
who loved Rebecca as her own child, and was
believed to have communicated to her secrets, which
had been left to herself by her sage father at the
same time, and under the same circumstances. The
fate of Miriam had indeed been to fall a sacrifice
to the fanaticism of the times; but her secrets had
survived in her apt pupil.

Rebecca, thus endowed with knowledge as with
beauty, was universally revered and admired by her
own tribe, who almost regarded her as one of those
gifted women mentioned in the sacred history. Her
father himself, out of reverence for her talents,
which involuntarily mingled itself with his unbounded
affection, permitted the maiden a greater
liberty than was usually indulged to those of her
sex by the habits of her people, and was, as we
have just seen, frequently guided by her opinion,
even in preference to his own.

When Ivanhoe reached the habitation of Isaac,
he was still in a state of unconsciousness, owing to
the profuse loss of blood which had taken place during
his exertions in the lists. Rebecca examined
the wound, and having applied to it such vulnerary
remedies as her art prescribed, informed her father
that if fever could be averted, of which the great
bleeding rendered her little apprehensive, and if
the healing balsam of Miriam retained its virtue,
there was nothing to fear for his guest's life, and
that he might with safety travel to York with them
on the ensuing day. Isaac looked a little blank at
this annunciation. His charity would willingly have
stopped short at Ashby, or at most would have left
the wounded Christian to be tended in the house
where he was residing at present, with an assurance
to the Hebrew to whom it belonged, that all expenses
should be duly discharged. To this, however,
Rebecca opposed many reasons, of which we
shall only mention two that had peculiar weight
with Isaac. The one was, that she would on no
account put the phial of precious balsam into the
hands of another physician even of her own tribe,
lest that valuable mystery should be discovered;
the other, that this wounded knight, Wilfred of
Ivanhoe, was an intimate favourite of Richard
Cur-de-Lion, and that, in case the monarch should
return, Isaac, who had supplied his brother John
with treasure to prosecute his rebellious purposes,
would stand in no small need of a powerful protector
who enjoyed Richard's favour.

``Thou art speaking but sooth, Rebecca,'' said
Isaac, giving way to these weighty arguments---``it
were an offending of Heaven to betray the secrets
of the blessed Miriam; for the good which Heaven
giveth, is not rashly to be squandered upon
others, whether it be talents of gold and shekels of
silver, or whether it be the secret mysteries of a wise
physician---assuredly they should be preserved to
those to whom Providence hath vouchsafed them.
And him whom the Nazarenes of England call the
Lion's Heart, assuredly it were better for me to
fall into the hands of a strong lion of Idumea than
into his, if he shall have got assurance of my dealing
with his brother. Wherefore I will lend ear
to thy counsel, and this youth shall journey with
us unto York, and our house shall be as a home to
him until his wounds shall be healed. And if he of
the Lion Heart shall return to the land, as is now
noised abroad, then shall this Wilfred of Ivanhoe
be unto me as a wall of defence, when the king's
displeasure shall burn high against thy father. And
if he doth not return, this Wilfred may natheless
repay us our charges when he shall gain treasure
by the strength of his spear and of his sword, even
as he did yesterday and this day also. For the
youth is a good youth, and keepeth the day which
he appointeth, and restoreth that which he borroweth,
and succoureth the Israelite, even the child of
my father's house, when he is encompassed by
strong thieves and sons of Belial.''

It was not until evening was nearly closed that
Ivanhoe was restored to consciousness of his situation.
He awoke from a broken slumber, under the
confused impressions which are naturally attendant
on the recovery from a state of insensibility. He
was unable for some time to recall exactly to memory
the circumstances which had preceded his fall
in the lists, or to make out any connected chain of
the events in which he had been engaged upon the
yesterday. A sense of wounds and injury, joined
to great weakness and exhaustion, was mingled
with the recollection of blows dealt and received,
of steeds rushing upon each other, overthrowing
and overthrown---of shouts and clashing of arms,
and all the heady tumult of a confused fight. An
effort to draw aside the curtain of his conch was in
some degree successful, although rendered difficult
by the pain of his wound.

To his great surprise he found himself in a room
magnificently furnished, but having cushions instead
of chairs to rest upon, and in other respects
partaking so much of Oriental costume, that he
began to doubt whether he had not, during his
sleep, been transported back again to the land of
Palestine. The impression was increased, when,
the tapestry being drawn aside, a female form,
dressed in a rich habit, which partook more of the
Eastern taste than that of Europe, glided through
the door which it concealed, and was followed by
a swarthy domestic.

As the wounded knight was about to address
this fair apparition, she imposed silence by placing
her slender finger upon her ruby lips, while the
attendant, approaching him, proceeded to uncover
Ivanhoe's side, and the lovely Jewess satisfied herself
that the bandage was in its place, and the
wound doing well. She performed her task with
a graceful and dignified simplicity and modesty,
which might, even in more civilized days, have
served to redeem it from whatever might seem repugnant
to female delicacy. The idea of so young
and beautiful a person engaged in attendance on a
sick-bed, or in dressing the wound of one of a different
sex, was melted away and lost in that of a
beneficent being contributing her effectual aid to
relieve pain, and to avert the stroke of death. Rebecca's
few and brief directions were given in the
Hebrew language to the old domestic; and he, who
had been frequently her assistant in similar cases,
obeyed them without reply.

The accents of an unknown tongue, however
harsh they might have sounded when uttered by
another, had, coming from the beautiful Rebecca,
the romantic and pleasing effect which fancy ascribes
to the charms pronounced by some beneficent
fairy, unintelligible, indeed, to the ear, but, from
the sweetness of utterance, and benignity of aspect,
which accompanied them, touching and affecting to
the heart. Without making an attempt at further
question, Ivanhoe suffered them in silence to take
the measures they thought most proper for his recovery;
and it was not until those were completed,
and this kind physician about to retire. that his curiosity
could no longer be suppressed.---``Gentle
maiden,'' be began in the Arabian tongue, with
which his Eastern travels had rendered him familiar,
and which he thought most likely to be understood
by the turban'd and caftan'd damsel who stood before
him---``I pray you, gentle maiden, of your
courtesy------''

But here he was interrupted by his fair physician,
a smile which she could scarce suppress dimpling
for an instant a face, whose general expression
was that of contemplative melancholy. ``I am of
England, Sir Knight, and speak the English tongue,
although my dress and my lineage belong to another
climate.''

``Noble  damsel,''---again  the Knight of Ivanhoe
began; and  again  Rebecca  hastened  to  interrupt
him.

``Bestow not on me, Sir Knight,'' she said, ``the
epithet of noble. It is well you should speedily
know that your handmaiden is a poor Jewess, the
daughter of that Isaac of York, to whom you were
so lately a good and kind lord. It well becomes
him, and those of his household, to render to you
such careful tendance as your present state necessarily
demands.''

I know not whether the fair Rowena would have
been altogether satisfied with the species of emotion
with which her devoted knight had hitherto
gazed on the beautiful features, and fair form, and
lustrous eyes, of the lovely Rebecca; eyes whose
brilliancy was shaded, and, as it were, mellowed, by
the fringe of her long silken eyelashes, and which
a minstrel would have compared to the evening
star darting its rays through a bower of jessamine.
But Ivanhoe was too good a Catholic to retain the
same class of feelings towards a Jewess. This
Rebecca had foreseen, and for this very purpose she
had hastened to mention her father's name and lineage;
yet---for the fair and wise daughter of Isaac
was not without a touch of female weakness---she
could not but sigh internally when the glance of
respectful admiration, not altogether unmixed with
tenderness, with which Ivanhoe had hitherto regarded
his unknown benefactress, was exchanged
at once for a manner cold, composed, and collected,
and fraught with no deeper feeling than that which
expressed a grateful sense of courtesy received from
an unexpected quarter, and from one of an inferior
race. It was not that Ivanhoe's former carriage expressed
more than that general devotional homage
which youth always pays to beauty; yet it was
mortifying that one word should operate as a spell
to remove poor Rebecca, who could not be supposed
altogether ignorant of her title to such homage,
into a degraded class, to whom it could not be honourably
rendered.

But the gentleness and candour of Rebecca's
nature imputed no fault to Ivanhoe for sharing in
the universal prejudices of his age and religion. On
the contrary the fair Jewess, though sensible her
patient now regarded her as one of a race of reprobation,
with whom it was disgraceful to hold any
beyond the most necessary intercourse, ceased not
to pay the same patient and devoted attention to
his safety and convalescence. She informed him of
the necessity they were under of removing to York,
and of her father's resolution to transport him thither,
and tend him in his own house until his health
should be restored. Ivanhoe expressed great repugnance
to this plan, which he grounded on unwillingness
to give farther trouble to his benefactors.

``Was there not,'' he said, ``in Ashby, or near
it, some Saxon franklin, or even some wealthy peasant,
who would endure the burden of a wounded
countryman's residence with him until he should
be again able to bear his armour?---Was there no
convent of Saxon endowment, where he could be
received?---Or could he not be transported as far as
Burton, where he was sure to find hospitality with
Waltheoff, the Abbot of St Withold's, to whom
he was related?''

``Any, the worst of these harbourages,'' said
Rebecca, with a melancholy smile, ``would unquestionably
be more fitting for your residence than the
abode of a despised Jew; yet, Sir Knight, unless
you would dismiss your physician, you cannot
change your lodging. Our nation, as you well
know, can cure wounds, though we deal not in inflicting
them; and in our own family, in particular,
are secrets which have been handed down since the
days of Solomon, and of which you have already
experienced the advantages. No Nazarene---I
crave your forgiveness, Sir Knight---no Christian
leech, within the four seas of Britain, could enable
you to bear your corslet within a month.''

``And how soon wilt thou enable me to brook
it?'' said Ivanhoe, impatiently.

``Within eight days, if thou wilt be patient and
conformable to my directions,'' replied Rebecca.

``By Our Blessed Lady,'' said Wilfred, ``if it
be not a sin to name her here, it is no time for me
or any true knight to be bedridden; and if thou
accomplish thy promise, maiden, I will pay thee
with my casque full of crowns, come by them as I
may.''

``I will accomplish my promise,'' said Rebecca,
and thou shalt bear thine armour on the eighth
day from hence, if thou will grant me but one boon
in the stead of the silver thou dost promise me.''

`If it be within my power, and such as a true
Christian knight may yield to one of thy people,''
replied Ivanhoe, ``I will grant thy boon blithely
and thankfully.''

``Nay,'' answered Rebecca, ``I will but pray of
thee to believe henceforward that a Jew may do
good service to a Christian, without desiring other
guerdon than the blessing of the Great Father who
made both Jew and Gentile.''

``It were sin to doubt it, maiden,'' replied Ivanhoe;
``and I repose myself on thy skill without
further scruple or question, well trusting you will
enable me to bear my corslet on the eighth day.
And now, my kind leech, let me enquire of the news
abroad. What of the noble Saxon Cedric and his
household?---what of the lovely Lady---'' He
stopt, as if unwilling to speak Rowena's name in
the house of a Jew---``Of her, I mean, who was
named Queen of the tournament?''

``And who was selected by you, Sir Knight, to
hold that dignity, with judgment which was admired
as much as your valour,'' replied Rebecca.

The blood which Ivanhoe had lost did not prevent
a flush from crossing his cheek, feeling that
he had incautiously betrayed a deep interest in
Rowena by the awkward attempt he had made to
conceal it.''

``It was less of her I would speak,'' said he,
``than of Prince John; and I would fain know
somewhat of a faithful squire, and why he now attends
me not?''

``Let me use my authority as a leech,'' answered
Rebecca, ``and enjoin you to keep silence, and
avoid agitating reflections, whilst I apprize you of
what you desire to know. Prince John hath broken
off the tournament, and set forward in all haste towards
York, with the nobles, knights, and churchmen
of his party, after collecting such sums as they
could wring, by fair means or foul, from those who
are esteemed the wealthy of the land. It is said be
designs to assume his brother's crown.''

``Not without a blow struck in its defence,''
said Ivanhoe, raising himself upon the couch, ``if
there were but one true subject in England I will
fight for Richard's title with the best of them---
ay, one or two, in his just quarrel!''

``But that you may be able to do so,'' said Rebecca
touching his shoulder with her hand, ``you
must now observe my directions, and remain quiet.''

``True, maiden,'' said Ivanhoe, ``as quiet as
these disquieted times will permit---And of Cedric
and his household?''

``His steward came but brief while since,'' said
the Jewess, ``panting with haste, to ask my father
for certain monies, the price of wool the growth of
Cedric's flocks, and from him I learned that Cedric
and Athelstane of Coningsburgh had left Prince
John's lodging in high displeasure, and were about
to set forth on their return homeward.''

``Went any lady with them to the banquet?''
said Wilfred.

``The Lady Rowena,'' said Rebecca, answering
the question with more precision than it had been
asked---``The Lady Rowena went not to the
Prince's feast, and, as the steward reported to us,
she  is  now  on  her  journey back  to  Rotherwood,
with her guardian Cedric. And touching  your
faithful squire Gurth------''

``Ha!'' exclaimed the knight, ``knowest thou
his name?---But thou dost,'' he immediately added,
``and well thou mayst, for it was from thy
hand, and, as I am now convinced, from thine own
generosity of spirit, that he received but yesterday
a hundred zecchins.''

``Speak not of that,'' said Rebecca, blushing
deeply; ``I see how easy it is for the tongue to
betray what the heart would gladly conceal.''

``But this sum of gold,'' said Ivanhoe, gravely,
``my honour is concerned in repaying it to your
father.''

``Let it be as thou wilt,'' said Rebecca, ``when
eight days have passed away; but think not, and
speak not now, of aught that may retard thy recovery.''

``Be it so, kind maiden,'' said Ivanhoe; ``I were
most ungrateful to dispute thy commands. But
one word of the fate of poor Gurth, and I have done
with questioning thee.''

``I grieve to tell thee, Sir Knight,'' answered
the Jewess, `` that he is in custody by the order of
Cedric.''---And then observing the distress which
her communication gave to Wilfred, she instantly
added, ``But the steward Oswald said, that if nothing
occurred to renew his master's displeasure
against him, he was sure that Cedric would pardon
Gurth, a faithful serf, and one who stood high
in favour, and who had but committed this error
out of the love which he bore to Cedric's son. And
he said, moreover, that he and his comrades, and
especially Wamba the Jester, were resolved to
warn Gurth to make his escape by the way, in case
Cedric's ire against him could not be mitigated.''

``Would to God they may keep their purpose!''
said Ivanhoe; ``but it seems as if I were destined
to bring ruin on whomsoever hath shown kindness
to me. My king, by whom I was honoured and
distinguished, thou seest that the brother most
indebted to him is raising his arms to grasp his
crown;---my regard hath brought restraint and
trouble on the fairest of her sex;---and now my
father in his mood may slay this poor bondsman
but for his love and loyal service to me!---Thou
seest, maiden, what an ill-fated wretch thou dost
labour to assist; be wise, and let me go, ere the
misfortunes which track my footsteps like slot-hounds,
shall involve thee also in their pursuit.''

``Nay,'' said Rebecca, ``thy weakness and thy
grief, Sir Knight, make thee miscalculate the purposes
of Heaven. Thou hast been restored to thy
country when it most needed the assistance of a
strong hand and a true heart, and thou hast humbled
the pride of thine enemies and those of thy
king, when their horn was most highly exalted .
and for the evil which thou hast sustained, seest
thou not that Heaven has raised thee a helper and
a physician, even among the most despised of the
land?---Therefore, be of good courage, and trust
that thou art preserved for some marvel which thine
arm shall work before this people. Adieu---and
having taken the medicine which I shall send thee
by the hand of Reuben, compose thyself again to
rest, that thou mayest be the more able to endure
the journey on the succeeding day.''

Ivanhoe was convinced by the reasoning, and
obeyed the directions, of Rebecca. The drought
which Reuben administered was of a sedative and
narcotic quality, and secured the patient sound and
undisturbed slumbers. In the morning his kind
physician found him entirely free from feverish
symptoms, and fit to undergo the fatigue of a
journey.

He was deposited in the horse-litter which had
brought him from the lists, and every precaution
taken for his travelling with ease. In one circumstance
only even the entreaties of Rebecca were
unable to secure sufficient attention to the accommodation
of the wounded knight. Isaac, like the
enriched traveller of Juvenal's tenth satire, had
ever the fear of robbery before his eyes, conscious
that he would be alike accounted fair game by the
marauding Norman noble, and by the Saxon outlaw.
He therefore journeyed at a great rate, and
made short halts, and shorter repasts, so that he
passed by Cedric and Athelstane who had several
hours the start of him, but who had been delayed
by their protracted feasting at the convent of Saint
Withold's. Yet such was the virtue of Miriam's
balsam, or such the strength of Ivanhoe's constitution,
that he did not sustain from the hurried journey
that inconvenience which his kind physician
had apprehended.

In another point of view, however, the Jew's
haste proved somewhat more than good speed. The
rapidity with which he insisted on travelling, bred
several disputes between him and the party whom
he had hired to attend him as a guard. These men
were Saxons, and not free by any means from the
national love of ease and good living which the
Normans stigmatized as laziness and gluttony. Reversing
Shylock's position, they had accepted the
employment in hopes of feeding upon the wealthy
Jew, and were very much displeased when they
found themselves disappointed, by the rapidity with
which he insisted on their proceeding. They remonstrated
also upon the risk of damage to their
horses by these forced marches. Finally, there arose
betwixt Isaac and his satellites a deadly feud, concerning
the quantity of wine and ale to be allowed
for consumption at each meal. And thus it happened,
that when the alarm of danger approached,
and that which Isaac feared was likely to come upon
him, he was deserted by the discontented mercenaries
on whose protection he had relied, without
using the means necessary to secure their attachment.

In this deplorable condition the Jew, with his
daughter and her wounded patient, were found by
Cedric, as has already been noticed, and soon afterwards
fell into the power of De Bracy and his confederates.
Little notice was at first taken of the
horse-litter, and it might have remained behind but
for the curiosity of De Bracy, who looked into it
under the impression that it might contain the object
of his enterprise, for Rowena had not unveiled
herself. But De Bracy's astonishment was considerable,
when he discovered that the litter contained
a wounded man, who, conceiving himself to have
fallen into the power of Saxon outlaws, with whom
his name might be a protection for himself and his
friends, frankly avowed himself to be Wilfred of
Ivanhoe.

The ideas of chivalrous honour, which, amidst his
wildness and levity, never utterly abandoned De
Bracy, prohibited him from doing the knight any
injury in his defenceless condition, and equally interdicted
his betraying him to Front-de-Buf, who
would have had no scruples to put to death, under
any circumstances, the rival claimant of the fief of
Ivanhoe. On the other hand, to liberate a suitor
preferred by the Lady Rowena, as the events of the
tournament, and indeed Wilfred's previous banishment
from his father's house, had made matter of
notoriety, was a pitch far above the flight of De
Bracy's generosity. A middle course betwixt good
and evil was all which he found himself capable of
adopting, and he commanded two of his own squires
to keep close by the litter, and to suffer no one to
approach it. If questioned, they were directed by
their master to say, that the empty litter of the
Lady Rowena was employed to transport one of
their comrades who had been wounded in the scuffle.
On arriving at Torquilstone, while the Knight Templar
and the lord of that castle were each intent
upon their own schemes, the one on the Jew's treasure,
and the other on his daughter, De Bracy's
squires conveyed Ivanhoe, still under the name of
a wounded comrade, to a distant apartment. This
explanation was accordingly returned by these men
to Front-de-Buf, when he questioned them why
they did not make for the battlements upon the
alarm.

``A wounded companion!'' he replied in great
wrath and astonishment. ``No wonder that churls
and yeomen wax so presumptuous as even to lay
leaguer before castles, and that clowns and swineherds
send defiances to nobles, since men-at-arms
have turned sick men's nurses, and Free Companions
are grown keepers of dying folk's curtains,
when the castle is about to be assailed.---To the
battlements, ye loitering villains!'' he exclaimed,
raising his stentorian voice till the arches around
rung again, ``to the battlements, or I will splinter
your bones with this truncheon!''

The men sulkily replied, ``that they desired
nothing better than to go to the battlements, providing
Front-de-Buf would bear them out with
their master, who had commanded them to tend
the dying man.''

``The dying man, knaves!'' rejoined the Baron;
``I promise thee we shall all  be dying men an we
stand not to it the more stoutly. But I will relieve
the guard upon this caitiff companion of yours.---
Here, Urfried---hag---fiend of a Saxon witch---
hearest me not?---tend me this bedridden fellow
since he must needs be tended, whilst these knaves
use their weapons.---Here be two arblasts, comrades,
with windlaces and quarrells*---to the barbican with

*   The arblast was a cross-bow, the windlace the machine
*   used in bending that weapon, and the quarrell, so called from
*   its square or diamond-shaped head, was the bolt adapted to it.

you, and see you drive each bolt through a Saxon
brain.''

The men, who, like most of their description,
were fond of enterprise and detested inaction, went
joyfully to the scene of danger as they were commanded,
and thus the charge of Ivanhoe was transferred
to Urfried, or Ulrica. But she, whose brain
was burning with remembrance of injuries and with
hopes of vengeance, was readily induced to devolve
upon Rebecca the care of her patient.

CHAPTER XXIX

Ascend the watch-tower yonder, valiant soldier,
Look on the field, and say how goes the battle.
          Schiller's _Maid of Orleans_.

A moment of peril is often also a moment of open-hearted
kindness and affection. We are thrown
off our guard by the general agitation of our feelings,
and betray the intensity of those, which, at
more tranquil periods, our prudence at least conceals,
if it cannot altogether suppress them. In
finding herself once more by the side of Ivanhoe,
Rebecca was astonished at the keen sensation of
pleasure which she experienced, even at a time
when all around them both was danger, if not despair.
As she felt his pulse, and enquired after his
health, there was a softness in her touch and in her
accents implying a kinder interest than she would
herself have been pleased to have voluntarily expressed.
Her voice faltered and her hand trembled,
and it was only the cold question of Ivanhoe, ``Is
it you, gentle maiden?'' which recalled her to herself,
and reminded her the sensations which she felt
were not and could not be mutual. A sigh escaped,
but it was scarce audible; and the questions which
she asked the knight concerning his state of health
were put in the tone of calm friendship. Ivanhoe
answered her hastily that he was, in point of health,
as well, and better than he could have expected---
``Thanks,'' he said, ``dear Rebecca, to thy helpful
skill.''

``He calls me _dear_ Rebecca,'' said the maiden
to herself, ``but it is in the cold and careless tone
which ill suits the word. His war-horse---his hunting
hound, are dearer to him than the despised
Jewess!''

``My mind, gentle maiden,'' continued Ivanhoe,
``is more disturbed by anxiety, than my body with
pain. From the speeches of those men who were
my warders just now, I learn that I am a prisoner,
and, if I judge aright of the loud hoarse voice which
even now dispatched them hence on some military
duty, I am in the castle of Front-de-Buf---If so,
how will this end, or how can I protect Rowena
and my father?''

``He names not the Jew or Jewess,'' said Rebecca
internally; ``yet what is our portion in him,
and how justly am I punished by Heaven for letting
my thoughts dwell upon him!'' She hastened
after this brief self-accusation to give Ivanhoe what
information she could; but it amounted only to
this, that the Templar Bois-Guilbert, and the Baron
Front-de-Buf, were commanders within the
castle; that it was beleaguered from without, but
by whom she knew not. She added, that there was
a Christian priest within the castle who might be
possessed of more information.

``A Christian priest!'' said the knight, joyfully;
``fetch him hither, Rebecca, if thou canst---say a
sick man desires his ghostly counsel---say what thou
wilt, but bring him---something I must do or attempt,
but how can I determine until I know how
matters stand without?''

Rebecca in compliance with the wishes of Ivanhoe,
made that attempt to bring Cedric into the
wounded Knight's chamber, which was defeated as
we have already seen by the interference of Urfried,
who had also been on the watch to intercept the
supposed monk. Rebecca retired to communicate
to Ivanhoe the result of her errand.

They had not much leisure to regret the failure
of this source of intelligence, or to contrive by what
means it might be supplied; for the noise within
the castle, occasioned by the defensive preparations
which had been considerable for some time, now
increased into tenfold bustle and clamour. The
heavy, yet hasty step of the men-at-arms, traversed
the battlements or resounded on the narrow and
winding passages and stairs which led to the various
bartisans and points of defence. The voices of the
knights were heard, animating their followers, or
directing means of defence, while their commands
were often drowned in the clashing of armour, or
the clamorous shouts of those whom they addressed.
Tremendous as these sounds were, and yet more
terrible from the awful event which they presaged,
there was a sublimity mixed with them, which
Rebecca's high-toned mind could feel even in that
moment of terror. Her eye kindled, although the
blood fled from her cheeks; and there was a strong
mixture of fear, and of a thrilling sense of the sublime,
as she repeated, half whispering to herself,
half speaking to her companion, the sacred text,---
``The quiver rattleth---the glittering spear and the
shield---the noise of the captains and the shouting!''

But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime
passage, glowing with impatience at his inactivity,
and with his ardent desire to mingle in the
affray of which these sounds were the introduction.
``If I could but drag myself,'' he said, ``to yonder
window, that I might see how this brave game is
like to go---If I had but bow to shoot a shaft, or
battle-axe to strike were it but a single blow for our
deliverance!---It is in vain---it is in vain---I am
alike nerveless and weaponless!''

``Fret not thyself, noble knight,'' answered Rebecca,
``the sounds have ceased of a sudden---it may
be they join not battle.''

``Thou knowest nought of it,'' said Wilfred,
impatiently; ``this dead pause only shows that the
men are at their posts on the walls, and expecting
an instant attack; what we have heard was but
the instant muttering of the storm---it will burst
anon in all its fury.---Could I but reach yonder
window!''

``Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt,
noble knight,'' replied his attendant. Observing
his extreme solicitude, she firmly added, ``I myself
will stand at the lattice, and describe to you as I
can what passes without.''

``You must not---you shall not!'' exclaimed
Ivanhoe; ``each lattice, each aperture, will be soon
a mark for the archers; some random shaft---''

``It shall be welcome!'' murmured Rebecca, as
with firm pace she ascended two or three steps,
which led to the window of which they spoke.

``Rebecca, dear Rebecca!'' exclaimed Ivanhoe,
``this is no maiden's pastime---do not expose thyself
to wounds and death, and render me for ever
miserable for having given the occasion; at least,
cover thyself with yonder ancient buckler, and show
as little of your person at the lattice as may be.''

Following with wonderful promptitude the directions
of Ivanhoe, and availing herself of the protection
of the large ancient shield, which she placed
against the lower part of the window, Rebecca,
with tolerable security to herself, could witness part
of what was passing without the castle, and report
to Ivanhoe the preparations which the assailants
were making for the storm. Indeed the situation
which she thus obtained was peculiarly favourable
for this purpose, because, being placed on an angle
of the main building, Rebecca could not only see
what passed beyond the precincts of the castle, but
also commanded a view of the outwork likely to
be the first object of the meditated assault. It
was an exterior fortification of no great height  or
strength, intended to protect the postern-gate,
through which Cedric had been recently dismissed
by Front-de-Buf. The castle moat divided this
species of barbican from the rest of the fortress, so
that, in case of its being taken, it was easy to cut
off the communication with the main building, by
withdrawing the temporary bridge. In the outwork
was a sallyport corresponding to the postern
of the castle, and the whole was surrounded by a
strong palisade. Rebecca could observe, from the
number of men placed for the defence of this post,
that the besieged entertained apprehensions for its
safety; and from the mustering of the assailants in
a direction nearly opposite to the outwork, it seemed
no less plain that it had been selected as a vulnerable
point of attack.

These appearances she hastily communicated to
Ivanhoe, and added, ``The skirts of the wood seem
lined with archers, although only a few are advanced
from its dark shadow.''

``Under what banner?'' asked Ivanhoe.

``Under no ensign of war which I can observe,''
answered Rebecca.

``A singular novelty,'' muttered the knight, ``to
advance to storm such a castle without pennon or
banner displayed!---Seest thou who they be that
act as leaders?''

``A knight, clad in sable armour, is the most
conspicuous,'' said the Jewess; ``he alone is armed
from head to heel, and seems to assume the direction
of all around him.''

``What device does he bear on his shield?'' replied
Ivanhoe.

``Something resembling a bar of iron, and a padlock
painted blue on the black shield.''*

*  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 minuti 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.

``A fetterlock and shacklebolt azure,'' said Ivanhoe;
``I know not who may bear the device, but
well I  ween  it  might  now  be  mine  own. Canst  thou
not see the motto?''

``Scarce the device itself at this distance,'' replied
Rebecca; ``but when the sun glances fair upon his
shield, it shows as I tell you.''

``Seem  there  no  other  leaders?''  exclaimed  the
anxious enquirer.

``None of mark and distinction that I can behold
from this station,'' said Rebecca; ``but, doubtless,
the other side of the castle is also assailed. They
appear even now preparing to advance---God of
Zion, protect us!---What a dreadful sight!---Those
who advance first bear huge shields and defences
made of plank; the others follow, bending their
bows as they come on.---They raise their bows!---
God of Moses, forgive the creatures thou hast
made!''

Her description was here suddenly interrupted
by the signal for assault, which was given by the
blast of a shrill bugle, and at once answered by a
flourish of the Norman trumpets from the battlements,
which, mingled with the deep and hollow
clang of the nakers, (a species of kettle-drum,) retorted
in notes of defiance the challenge of the enemy.
The shouts of both parties augmented the
fearful din, the assailants crying, ``Saint George
for merry England!'' and the Normans answering
them with loud cries of ``_En avant De Bracy!
---Beau-seant! Beau-seant!---Front-de-Buf la
rescousse!'' according to the war-cries of their different
commanders.

It was not, however, by clamour that the contest
was to be decided, and the desperate efforts of the
assailants were met by an equally vigorous defence
on the part of the besieged. The archers, trained
by their woodland pastimes to the most effective
use of the long-bow, shot, to use the appropriate
phrase of the time, so ``wholly together,'' that no
point at which a defender could show the least part
of his person, escaped their cloth-yard shafts. By
this heavy discharge, which continued as thick and
sharp as hail, while, notwithstanding, every arrow
had its individual aim, and flew by scores together
against each embrasure and opening in the parapets,
as well as at every window where a defender either
occasionally had post, or might be suspected to be
stationed,---by this sustained discharge, two or three
of the garrison were slain, and several others wounded.
But, confident in their armour of proof, and in
the cover which their situation afforded, the followers
of Front-de-Buf, and his allies, showed an obstinacy
in defence proportioned to the fury of the
attack and replied with the discharge of their large
cross-bows, as well as with their long-bows, slings,
and other missile weapons, to the close and continued
shower of arrows; and, as the assailants were
necessarily but indifferently protected, did considerably
more damage than they received at their hand.
The whizzing of shafts and of missiles, on both
sides, was only interrupted by the shouts which
arose when either side inflicted or sustained some
notable loss.

``And I must lie here like a bedridden monk,''
exclaimed Ivanhoe, ``while the game that gives me
freedom or death is played out by the hand of
others!---Look from the window once again, kind
maiden, but beware that you are not marked by
the archers beneath---Look out once more, and tell
me if they yet advance to the storm.''

With patient courage, strengthened by the interval
which she had employed in mental devotion,
Rebecca again took post at the lattice, sheltering
herself, however, so as not to be visible from beneath.

``What dost thou see, Rebecca?'' again demanded
the wounded knight.

``Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick
as to dazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen
who shoot them.''

``That cannot endure,'' said Ivanhoe; ``if they
press not right on to carry the castle by pure force
of arms, the archery may avail but little against
stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the Knight
of the Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how he
bears himself; for as the leader is, so will his followers
be.''

``I see him not,'' said Rebecca.

``Foul craven!'' exclaimed Ivanhoe; ``does he
blench from the helm when the wind blows highest?''

``He blenches not! he blenches not!'' said Rebecca,
``I see him now; he leads a body of men
close under the outer barrier of the barbican.*---

*  Every Gothic castle and city had, beyond the outer-walls,
*  a fortification composed of palisades, called the barriers, which
*  were often the scene of severe skirmishes, as these must necessarily
*  be carried before the walls themselves could be approached.
*  Many of those valiant feats of arms which adorn the chivalrous
*  pages of Froissart took place at the barriers of besieged
*  places.

They pull down the piles and palisades; they hew
down the barriers with axes.---His high black plume
floats abroad over the throng, like a raven over the
field of the slain.---They have made a breach in the
barriers---they rush in---they are thrust back!---
Front-de-Buf heads the defenders; I see his gigantic
form above the press. They throng again to
the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand,
and man to man. God of Jacob! it is the meeting
of two fierce tides---the conflict of two oceans moved
by adverse winds!''

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable
longer to endure a sight so terrible.

``Look forth again, Rebecca,'' said Ivanhoe,
mistaking the cause of her retiring; ``the archery
must in some degree have ceased, since they are
now fighting hand to hand.---Look again, there is
now less danger.''

Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately
exclaimed, ``Holy prophets of the law!
Front-de-Buf and the Black Knight fight hand to
hand on the breach, amid the roar of their followers,
who watch the progress of the strife---Heaven
strike with the cause of the oppressed and of the
captive!'' She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed,
``He is down!---he is down!''

``Who is down?'' cried Ivanhoe; ``for our dear
Lady's sake, tell me which has fallen?''

``The Black Knight,'' answered Rebecca, faintly;
then instantly again shouted with joyful eagerness---
``But no---but no!---the name of the Lord
of Hosts be blessed!---he is on foot again, and
fights as if there were twenty men's strength in his
single arm---His sword is broken---he snatches an
axe from a yeoman---he presses Front-de-Buf
with blow on blow---The giant stoops and totters
like an oak under the steel of the woodman---he
falls---he falls!''

``Front-de-Buf?'' exclaimed Ivanhoe.

``Front-de-Buf!'' answered the Jewess; ``his
men rush to the rescue, headed by the haughty
Templar---their united force compels the champion
to pause---They drag Front-de-Buf within the
walls.''

``The assailants have won the barriers, have they
not?'' said Ivanhoe.

``They have---they have!'' exclaimed Rebecca---
``and they press the besieged hard upon the outer
wall; some plant ladders, some swarm like bees,
and endeavour to ascend upon the shoulders of each
other---down go stones, beams, and trunks of trees
upon their heads, and as fast as they bear the
wounded to the rear, fresh men supply their places
in the assault---Great God! hast thou given men
thine own image, that it should be thus cruelly defaced
by the hands of their brethren!''

``Think not of that,'' said Ivanhoe; ``this is no
time for such thoughts---Who yield?---who push
their way?''

``The ladders are thrown down,'' replied Rebecca,
shuddering; ``the soldiers lie grovelling under
them like crushed reptiles---The besieged have the
better.''

``Saint George strike for us!'' exclaimed the
knight; ``do the false yeomen give way?''

``No!'' exclaimed Rebecca, ``they bear themselves
right yeomanly---the Black Knight approaches
the postern with his huge axe---the thundering
blows which he deals, you may hear them
above all the din and shouts of the battle---Stones
and beams are hailed down on the bold champion---
he regards them no more than if they were thistle-down
or feathers!''

``By Saint John of Acre,'' said Ivanhoe, raising
himself joyfully on his couch, ``methought there
was but one man in England that might do such a
deed!''

``The postern gate shakes,'' continued Rebecca;
``it crashes---it is splintered by his blows---they
rush in---the outwork is won---Oh, God!---they
hurl the defenders from the battlements---they
throw them into the moat---O men, if ye be indeed
men, spare them that 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!_*---a fetterlock, and a shacklebolt on

*  _Derring-do_---desperate courage.

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 assoilzie him of the sin of
bloodshed!---it is fearful, yet magnificent, to behold
bow 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 _mle_ 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.

Addition to Note attached to page **.

In corroboration of what is above stated in Note at page **, 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.

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-Buf?'' 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-Buf 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-Buf'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
swanned 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-Buf
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-Buf'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-Buf,
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-Buf 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-Buf 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-Buf 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 tinhouseled!---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-Buf,'' 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-Buf 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-Buf,''
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-Buf,''
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-Buf,
``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-Buf, 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-Buf; ``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-Buf---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-Buf;
``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-Buf,'' 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-Buf!---Think of my wrongs, Front-de-Buf,
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-Buf,
``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-Buf'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 _mle_, 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-Buf;
``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-Buf,
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-Buf!
---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-Buf
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-Buf 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-Buf
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-Buf, 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-Buf.

``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-Buf. 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 _mele_, 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 F. 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-Buf'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-Buf, 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=* art thou no longer,''

*  Thrall and bondsman.

said Cedric touching him with a wand; ``=Folkfree=
and =Sacless=*  art thou in town and from

*  A lawful freeman.

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-Buf 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* upon the horn thus, _Wa-sa-hoa!_

*  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.

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 wellnigh 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* as a loan, but I will

*   Note G. Richard Cur-de-Lion.

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-Buf'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 best 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 be 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* my two priests.''

*   Borghs, or borrows, signifies pledges. Hence our word to
*  borrow, because we pledge ourselves to restore what is lent.

``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 Dominii projecterunt, 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 hredibus
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,''* said the Prior, in

*   Note H. Hedge-Priests.

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 enis
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-Buf; 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-Buf, 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-Buf, 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-Buf, 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-Buf?''

``The Templar is fled,'' said De Bracy; ``Front-de-Buf
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 Cur-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 * loyal and daring subjects, your names, your

*    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.

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 Cur-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 be 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_.* But by the Holy Temple! the zeal

*   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
*   month.

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.* The soldiers of the

*   See the 13th chapter of Leviticus.

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-Buf'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 ltificat 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 cun 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 It 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---thou
knowest 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-Buf---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 hill, 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 wellnigh 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 be 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 wellnigh 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_* of her body as being

*   _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.

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,* and I will be at York within as

*   _Capul_, i.e. horse; in a more limited sense, work-horse.

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 Cur-de-Lion, and the tidings
that he hath returned are constant in the land. It
may be that be 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.