IVANHOE.

CHAPTER I

Thus communed these; while to their lowly dome,The full-fed swine return'd with evening home;Compell'd, reluctant, to the several sties,With din obstreperous, and ungrateful cries. Pope's _Odyssey_.

In that pleasant district of merry England whichis watered by the river Don, there extended in ancienttimes a large forest, covering the greater partof the beautiful hills and valleys which lie betweenSheffield and the pleasant town of Doncaster. Theremains of this extensive wood are still to be seenat the noble seats of Wentworth, of WarncliffePark, and around Rotherham. Here haunted ofyore the fabulous Dragon of Wantley; here werefought many of the most desperate battles duringthe Civil Wars of the Roses; and here also flourishedin ancient times those bands of gallant outlaws,whose deeds have been rendered so popularin English song.

Such being our chief scene, the date of our storyrefers to a period towards the end of the reign ofRichard I., when his return from his long captivityhad become an event rather wished than hopedfor by his despairing subjects, who were in themeantime subjected to every species of subordinateoppression. The nobles, whose power had becomeexorbitant during the reign of Stephen, and whomthe prudence of Henry the Second had scarce reducedto some degree of subjection to the crown,had now resumed their ancient license in its utmostextent; despising the feeble interference of theEnglish Council of State, fortifying their castles,increasing the number of their dependants, reducing

all around them to a state of vassalage, andstriving by every means in their power, to placethemselves each at the head of such forces as mightenable him to make a figure in the national convulsionswhich appeared to be impending.

The situation of the inferior gentry, or Franklins,as they were called, who, by the law and spiritof the English constitution, were entitled to holdthemselves independent of feudal tyranny, becamenow unusually precarious. If, as was most generallythe case, they placed themselves under theprotection of any of the petty kings in their vicinity,accepted of feudal offices in his household, orbound themselves by mutual treaties of allianceand protection, to support him in his enterprises,they might indeed purchase temporary repose; butit must be with the sacrifice of that independencewhich was so dear to every English bosom, and atthe certain hazard of being involved as a party inwhatever rash expedition the ambition of their protectormight lead him to undertake. On the otherhand, such and so multiplied were the means ofvexation and oppression possessed by the greatBarons, that they never wanted the pretext, andseldom the will, to harass and pursue, even to thevery edge of destruction, any of their less powerfulneighbours, who attempted to separate themselvesfrom their authority, and to trust for their protection,during the dangers of the times, to their owninoffensive conduct, and to the laws of the land.

A circumstance which greatly tended to enhancethe tyranny of the nobility, and the sufferings ofthe inferior classes, arose from the consequencesof the Conquest by Duke William of Normandy.Four generations had not sufficed to blend the hostileblood of the Normans and Anglo-Saxons, or tounite, by common language and mutual interests,two hostile races, one of which still felt the elationof triumph, while the other groaned under all theconsequences of defeat. The power bad been completelyplaced in the hands of the Norman nobility,by the event of the battle of Hastings, and it hadbeen used, as our histories assure us, with no moderate

hand. The whole race of Saxon princes andnobles had been extirpated or disinherited, withfew or no exceptions; nor were the numbers greatwho possessed land in the country of their fathers,even as proprietors of the second, or of yet inferiorclasses. The royal policy had long been to weaken,by every means, legal or illegal, the strength of apart of the population which was justly consideredas nourishing the most inveterate antipathy to theirvictor. All the monarchs of the Norman race hadshown the most marked predilection for their Normansubjects; the laws of the chase, and manyothers equally unknown to the milder and morefree spirit of the Saxon constitution, had been fixedupon the necks of the subjugated inhabitants, to addweight, as it were, to the feudal chains with whichthey were loaded. At court, and in the castles ofthe great nobles, where the pomp and state of a courtwas emulated, Norman-French was the only languageemployed; in courts of law, the pleadingsand judgments were delivered in the same tongue.In short, French was the language of honour, ofchivalry, and even of justice, while the far moremanly and expressive Anglo-Saxon was abandonedto the use of rustics and hinds, who knew no other.Still, however, the necessary intercourse betweenthe lords of the soil, and those oppressed inferiorbeings by whom that soil was cultivated, occasionedthe gradual formation of a dialect, compoundedbetwixt the French and the Anglo-Saxon, in whichthey could render themselves mutually intelligibleto each other; and from this necessity arose bydegrees the structure of our present English language,in which the speech of the victors and thevanquished have been so happily blended together;and which has since been so richly improved byimportations from the classical languages, and fromthose spoken by the southern nations of Europe.

This state of things I have thought it necessaryto premise for the information of the general reader,who might be apt to forget, that, although no greathistorical events, such as war or insurrection, markthe existence of the Anglo-Saxons as a separatepeople subsequent to the reign of William the Second;

yet the great national distinctions betwixtthem and their conquerors, the recollection of whatthey had formerly been, and to what they werenow reduced, continued down to the reign of Edwardthe Third, to keep open the wounds whichthe Conquest had inflicted, and to maintain a lineof separation betwixt the descendants of the victorNormans and the vanquished Saxons.

--

The sun was setting upon one of the rich grassyglades of that forest, which we have mentioned inthe beginning of the chapter. Hundreds of broad-headed,short-stemmed, wide-branched oaks, whichhad witnessed perhaps the stately march of the Romansoldiery, flung their gnarled arms over a thickcarpet of the most delicious green sward; in someplaces they were intermingled with beeches, hollies,and copsewood of various descriptions, so closelyas totally to intercept the level beams of the sinkingsun; in others they receded from each other,forming those long sweeping vistas, in the intricacyof which the eye delights to lose itself, while imaginationconsiders them as the paths to yet wilderscenes of silvan solitude. Here the red rays ofthe sun shot a broken and discoloured light, thatpartially hung upon the shattered boughs and mossytrunks of the trees, and there they illuminated inbrilliant patches the portions of turf to which theymade their way. A considerable open space, in themidst of this glade, seemed formerly to have beendedicated to the rites of Druidical superstition;for, on the summit of a hillock, so regular as toseem artificial, there still remained part of a circleof rough unhewn stones, of large dimensions. Sevenstood upright; the rest had been dislodged fromtheir places, probably by the zeal of some convertto Christianity, and lay, some prostrate near theirformer site, and others on the side of the hill. Onelarge stone only had found its way to the bottom,and in stopping the course of a small brook, whichglided smoothly round the foot of the eminence,gave, by its opposition, a feeble voice of murmurto the placid and elsewhere silent streamlet.

The human figures which completed this landscape,were in number two, partaking, in their dressand appearance, of that wild and rustic character,which belonged to the woodlands of the West-Ridingof Yorkshire at that early period. Theeldest of these men had a stern, savage, and wildaspect. His garment was of the simplest formimaginable, being a close jacket with sleeves, composedof the tanned skin of some animal, on whichthe hair had been originally left, but which hadbeen worn of in so many places, that it wouldhave been difficult to distinguish from the patchesthat remained, to what creature the fur had belonged.This primeval vestment reached from thethroat to the knees, and served at once all theusual purposes of body-clothing; there was no wideropening at the collar, than was necessary toadmit the passage of the head, from which it maybe inferred, that it was put on by slipping it overthe head and shoulders, in the manner of a modernshirt, or ancient hauberk. Sandals, bound withthongs made of boars' hide, protected the feet, anda roll of thin leather was twined artificially roundthe legs, and, ascending above the calf, left theknees bare, like those of a Scottish Highlander.To make the jacket sit yet more close to the body,it was gathered at the middle by a broad leathernbelt, secured by a brass buckle; to one side ofwhich was attached a sort of scrip, and to the othera ram's horn, accoutred with a mouthpiece, for thepurpose of blowing. In the same belt was stuckone of those long, broad, sharp-pointed, and two-edgedknives, with a buck's-horn handle, whichwere fabricated in the neighbourhood, and boreeven at this early period the name of a Sheffieldwhittle. The man had no covering upon his head,which was only defended by his own thick hair,matted and twisted together, and scorched by theinfluence of the sun into a rusty dark-red colour,forming a contrast with the overgrown beard uponhis cheeks, which was rather of a yellow or amberhue. One part of his dress only remains, but it istoo remarkable to be suppressed; it was a brassring, resembling a dog's collar, but without any

opening, and soldered fast round his neck, so looseas to form no impediment to his breathing, yet sotight as to be incapable of being removed, exceptingby the use of the file. On this singular gorgetwas engraved, in Saxon characters, an inscriptionof the following purport:---``Gurth, the son ofBeowulph, is the born thrall of Cedric of Rotherwood.''

Beside the swine-herd, for such was Gurth's occupation,was seated, upon one of the fallen Druidical monuments,a person about ten years younger in appearance,and whose dress, though resembling his companion's in form,was of better materials, and of a more fantastic appearance.His jacket had been stained of a bright purple hue,upon which there had been some attempt to paintgrotesque ornaments in different colours.To the jacket he added a short cloak, whichscarcely reached half way down his thigh;it was of crimson cloth, though a good deal soiled,lined with bright yellow; and as he could transfer itfrom one shoulder to the other, or at his pleasure draw itall around him, its width, contrasted with its want oflongitude, formed a fantastic piece of drapery.He had thin silver bracelets upon his arms, and on hisneck a collar of the same metal bearing the inscription,``Wamba, the son of Witless, is the thrall ofCedric of Rotherwood.'' This personage had thesame sort of sandals with his companion, but insteadof the roll of leather thong, his legs werecased in a sort of gaiters, of which one was redand the other yellow. He was provided also witha cap, having around it more than one bell, aboutthe size of those attached to hawks, which jingledas he turned his head to one side or other; and ashe seldom remained a minute in the same posture,the sound might be considered as incessant. Aroundthe edge of this cap was a stiff bandeau of leather,cut at the top into open work, resembling a coronet,while a prolonged bag arose from within it,and fell down on one shoulder like an old-fashionednightcap, or a jelly-bag, or the head-gear of amodern hussar. It was to this part of the cap thatthe bells were attached; which circumstance, aswell as the shape of his head-dress, and his ownhalf-crazed, half-cunning expression of countenance,

sufficiently pointed him out as belonging tothe race of domestic clowns or jesters, maintainedin the houses of the wealthy, to help away thetedium of those lingering hours which they wereobliged to spend within doors. He bore, like hiscompanion, a scrip, attached to his belt, but hadneither horn nor knife, being probably consideredas belonging to a class whom it is esteemed dangerousto intrust with edge-tools. In place of these,he was equipped with a sword of lath, resemblingthat with which Harlequin operates his wondersupon the modern stage.

The outward appearance of these two men formedscarce a stronger contrast than their look anddemeanour. That of the serf, or bondsman, wassad and sullen; his aspect was bent on the groundwith an appearance of deep dejection, which mightbe almost construed into apathy, had not the firewhich occasionally sparkled in his red eye manifestedthat there slumbered, under the appearance ofsullen despondency, a sense of oppression, and a dispositionto resistance. The looks of Wamba, onthe other hand, indicated, as usual with his class,a sort of vacant curiosity, and fidgetty impatienceof any posture of repose, together with the utmostself-satisfaction respecting his own situation, andthe appearance which he made. The dialogue whichthey maintained between them, was carried on inAnglo-Saxon, which, as we said before, was universallyspoken by the inferior classes, exceptingthe Norman soldiers, and the immediate personaldependants of the great feudal nobles. But to givetheir conversation in the original would convey butlittle information to the modern reader, for whosebenefit we beg to offer the following translation:

``The curse of St Withold upon these infernalporkers!'' said the swine-herd, after blowing hishorn obstreperously, to collect together the scatteredherd of swine, which, answering his call withnotes equally melodious, made, however, no hasteto remove themselves from the luxurious banquetof beech-mast and acorns on which they had fattened,or to forsake the marshy banks of the rivulet,

where several of them, half plunged in mud,lay stretched at their ease, altogether regardless ofthe voice of their keeper. ``The curse of St Witholdupon them and upon me!'' said Gurth; ``if the two-leggedwolf snap not up some of them ere nightfall,I am no true man. Here, Fangs! Fangs!'' heejaculated at the top of his voice to a ragged wolfish-lookingdog, a sort of lurcher, half mastiff, halfgreyhound, which ran limping about as if with thepurpose of seconding his master in collecting therefractory grunters; but which, in fact, from misapprehensionof the swine-herd's signals, ignoranceof his own duty, or malice prepense, only drovethem hither and thither, and increased the evil whichhe seemed to design to remedy. ``A devil drawthe teeth of him,'' said Gurth, ``and the mother ofmischief confound the Ranger of the forest, that cutsthe foreclaws off our dogs, and makes them unfitfor their trade!* Wamba, up and help me an thou

* Note A. The Ranger of the Forest, that cuts the fore-claws* off our dogs.

beest a man; take a turn round the back o' thehill to gain the wind on them; and when thous'tgot the weather-gage, thou mayst drive them beforethee as gently as so many innocent lambs.''

``Truly,'' said Wamba, without stirring from thespot, ``I have consulted my legs upon this matter,and they are altogether of opinion, that to carrymy gay garments through these sloughs, would bean act of unfriendship to my sovereign person androyal wardrobe; wherefore, Gurth, I advise theeto call off Fangs, and leave the herd to their destiny,which, whether they meet with bands of travellingsoldiers, or of outlaws, or of wanderingpilgrims, can be little else than to be converted intoNormans before morning, to thy no small easeand comfort.''

``The swine turned Normans to my comfort!''quoth Gurth; ``expound that to me, Wamba, formy brain is too dull, and my mind too vexed, toread riddles.''

``Why, how call you those grunting brutes runningabout on their four legs?'' demanded Wamba.

``Swine, fool, swine,'' said the herd, ``every fool knows that.''

``And swine is good Saxon,'' said the Jester;``but how call you the sow when she is flayed,and drawn, and quartered, and hung up by the heels,like a traitor?''

``Pork,'' answered the swine-herd.

``I am very glad every fool knows that too,'' saidWamba, ``and pork, I think, is good Norman-French;and so when the brute lives, and is in the chargeof a Saxon slave, she goes by her Saxon name;but becomes a Norman, and is called pork,when she is carried to the Castle-hall to feast amongthe nobles what dost thou think of this, friend Gurth, ha?''

``It is but too true doctrine, friend Wamba,however it got into thy fool's pate.''

``Nay, I can tell you more,'' said Wamba, in thesame tone; ``there is old Alderman Ox continuesto hold his Saxon epithet, while he is under thecharge of serfs and bondsmen such as thou, but becomesBeef, a fiery French gallant, when he arrivesbefore the worshipful jaws that are destined toconsume him. Mynheer Calf, too, becomes Monsieurde Veau in the like manner; he is Saxon whenhe requires tendance, and takes a Norman namewhen he becomes matter of enjoyment.''

``By St Dunstan,'' answered Gurth, ``thou speakestbut sad truths; little is left to us but the airwe breathe, and that appears to have been reservedwith much hesitation, solely for the purpose ofenabling us to endure the tasks they lay upon ourshoulders. The finest and the fattest is for theirboard; the loveliest is for their couch; the bestand bravest supply their foreign masters with soldiers,and whiten distant lands with their bones,leaving few here who have either will or the power

to protect the unfortunate Saxon. God's blessingon our master Cedric, he hath done the work of aman in standing in the gap; but Reginald Front-de-B<oe>ufis coming down to this country in person,and we shall soon see how little Cedric's troublewill avail him.---Here, here,'' he exclaimed again,raising his voice, ``So ho! so ho! well done, Fangs!thou hast them all before thee now, and bring'stthem on bravely, lad.''

``Gurth,'' said the Jester, ``I know thou thinkestme a fool, or thou wouldst not be so rash inputting thy head into my mouth. One word toReginald Front-de-B<oe>uf, or Philip de Malvoisin,that thou hast spoken treason against the Norman,---and thou art but a cast-away swineherd,---thouwouldst waver on one of these trees as a terror toall evil speakers against dignities.''

``Dog, thou wouldst not betray me,'' said Gurth,``after having led me on to speak so much at disadvantage?''

``Betray thee!'' answered the Jester; ``no, thatwere the trick of a wise man; a fool cannot half sowell help himself---but soft, whom have we here?''he said, listening to the trampling of several horseswhich became then audible.

``Never mind whom,'' answered Gurth, who hadnow got his herd before him, and, with the aid ofFangs, was driving them down one of the long dimvistas which we have endeavoured to describe.

``Nay, but I must see the riders,'' answeredWamba; ``perhaps they are come from Fairy-landwith a message from King Oberon.''

``A murrain take thee,'' rejoined the swine-herd;``wilt thou talk of such things, while a terriblestorm of thunder and lightning is raging within afew miles of us? Hark, how the thunder rumbles!and for summer rain, I never saw such broad downrightflat drops fall out of the clouds; the oaks, too,notwithstanding the calm weather, sob and creakwith their great boughs as if announcing a tempest.

Thou canst play the rational if thou wilt; creditme for once, and let us home ere the storm beginsto rage, for the night will be fearful.''

Wamba seemed to feel the force of this appeal,and accompanied his companion, who began hisjourney after catching up a long quarter-staff whichlay upon the grass beside him. This second Eum<ae>usstrode hastily down the forest glade, drivingbefore him, with the assistance of Fangs,the whole herd of his inharmonious charge.

CHAPTER II

A Monk there was, a fayre for the maistrie,An outrider that loved venerie;A manly man, to be an Abbot able,Full many a daintie horse had he in stable:And whan he rode, men might his bridle hearGingeling in a whistling wind as clear,And eke as loud, as doth the chapell bell,There as this lord was keeper of the cell. Chaucer.

Notwithstanding the occasional exhortationand chiding of his companion, the noise of thehorsemen's feet continuing to approach, Wambacould not be prevented from lingering occasionallyon the road, upon every pretence which occurred;now catching from the hazel a cluster of half-ripenuts, and now turning his head to leer after a cottagemaiden who crossed their path. The horsemen,therefore, soon overtook them on the road.

Their numbers amounted to ten men, of whomthe two who rode foremost seemed to be personsof considerable importance, and the others theirattendants. It was not difficult to ascertain thecondition and character of one of these personages.He was obviously an ecclesiastic of high rank; hisdress was that of a Cistercian Monk, but composed

of materials much finer than those which therule of that order admitted. His mantle and hoodwere of the best Flanders cloth, and fell in ample,and not ungraceful folds, around a handsome,though somewhat corpulent person. His countenancebore as little the marks of self-denial, as hishabit indicated contempt of worldly splendour. Hisfeatures might have been called good, had there notlurked under the pent-house of his eye, that slyepicurean twinkle which indicates the cautious voluptuary.In other respects, his profession and situationhad taught him a ready command over hiscountenance, which he could contract at pleasure intosolemnity, although its natural expression wasthat of good-humoured social indulgence. In defianceof conventual rules, and the edicts of popesand councils, the sleeves of this dignitary were linedand turned up with rich furs, his mantle secured atthe throat with a golden clasp, and the whole dressproper to his order as much refined upon and ornamented,as that of a quaker beauty of the presentday, who, while she retains the garb and costumeof her sect continues to give to its simplicity, bythe choice of materials and the mode of disposingthem, a certain air of coquettish attraction, savouringbut too much of the vanities of the world.

This worthy churchman rode upon a well-fedambling mule, whose furniture was highly decorated,and whose bridle, according to the fashion ofthe day, was ornamented with silver bells. In hisseat he had nothing of the awkwardness of theconvent, but displayed the easy and habitual graceof a well-trained horseman. Indeed, it seemedthat so humble a conveyance as a mule, in howevergood case, and however well broken to a pleasantand accommodating amble, was only used by thegallant monk for travelling on the road. A laybrother, one of those who followed in the train,had, for his use on other occasions, one of the mosthandsome Spanish jennets ever bred at Andalusia,which merchants used at that time to import, withgreat trouble and risk, for the use of persons ofwealth and distinction. The saddle and housingsof this superb palfrey were covered by a long foot-cloth,

which reached nearly to the ground, and onwhich were richly embroidered, mitres, crosses, andother ecclesiastical emblems. Another lay brotherled a sumpter mule, loaded probably with his superior'sbaggage; and two monks of his own order,of inferior station, rode together in the rear, laughingand conversing with each other, without takingmuch notice of the other members of the cavalcade.

The companion of the church dignitary was aman past forty, thin, strong, tall, and muscular; anathletic figure, which long fatigue and constantexercise seemed to have left none of the softer partof the human form, having reduced the whole tobrawn, bones, and sinews, which had sustained athousand toils, and were ready to dare a thousandmore. His head was covered with a scarlet cap,faced with fur---of that kind which the French call_mortier_, from its resemblance to the shape of aninverted mortar. His countenance was thereforefully displayed, and its expression was calculated toimpress a degree of awe, if not of fear, upon strangers.High features, naturally strong and powerfullyexpressive, had been burnt almost into Negroblackness by constant exposure to the tropical sun,and might, in their ordinary state, be said to slumberafter the storm of passion had passed away; but theprojection of the veins of the forehead, the readinesswith which the upper lip and its thick black moustachesquivered upon the slightest emotion, plainlyintimated that the tempest might be again and easilyawakened. His keen, piercing, dark eyes, toldin every glance a history of difficulties subdued,and dangers dared, and seemed to challenge oppositionto his wishes, for the pleasure of sweeping itfrom his road by a determined exertion of courageand of will; a deep scar on his brow gave additionalsternness to his countenance, and a sinister expressionto one of his eyes, which had been slightly injuredon the same occasion, and of which the vision,though perfect, was in a slight and partial degree distorted.

The upper dress of this personage resembledthat of his companion in shape, being a long monasticmantle; but the colour, being scarlet, showed

that he did not belong to any of the four regularorders of monks. On the right shoulder of themantle there was cut, in white cloth, a cross of apeculiar form. This upper robe concealed what atfirst view seemed rather inconsistent with its form,a shirt, namely, of linked mail, with sleeves andgloves of the same, curiously plaited and interwoven,as flexible to the body as those which are nowwrought in the stocking-loom, out of less obduratematerials. The fore-part of his thighs, where thefolds of his mantle permitted them to be seen, werealso covered with linked mail; the knees and feetwere defended by splints, or thin plates of steel,ingeniously jointed upon each other; and mail hose,reaching from the ankle to the knee, effectually protectedthe legs, and completed the rider's defensive armour.In his girdle he wore a long and double-edged dagger,which was the only offensive weapon about his person.

He rode, not a mule, like his companion, but a stronghackney for the road, to save his gallant war-horse,which a squire led behind, fully accoutred for battle,with a chamfrom or plaited head-piece upon his bead,having a short spike projecting from the front.On one side of the saddle hung a short battle-axe,richly inlaid with Damascene carving;on the other the rider's plumed head-pieceand hood of mail, with a long two-handed sword,used by the chivalry of the period. A second squireheld aloft his master's lance, from the extremityof which fluttered a small banderole, or streamer,bearing a cross of the same form with that embroideredupon his cloak. He also carried his small triangular shield,broad enough at the top to protect the breast,and from thence diminishing to a point.It was covered with a scarlet cloth,which prevented the device from being seen.

These two squires were followed by two attendants,whose dark visages, white turbans, and theOriental form of their garments, showed them tobe natives of some distant Eastern country.*

* Note B. Negro Slaves.

The whole appearance of this warrior and his retinuewas wild and outlandish; the dress of his squireswas gorgeous, and his Eastern attendants wore silvercollars round their throats, and bracelets of thesame metal upon their swarthy arms and legs, ofwhich the former were naked from the elbow, andthe latter from mid-leg to ankle. Silk and embroiderydistinguished their dresses, and marked thewealth and importance of their master; forming,at the same time, a striking contrast with the martialsimplicity of his own attire. They were armedwith crooked sabres, having the hilt and baldricinlaid with gold, and matched with Turkish daggersof yet more costly workmanship. Each ofthem bore at his saddle-bow a bundle of darts orjavelins, about four feet in length, having sharpsteel heads, a weapon much in use among the Saracens,and of which the memory is yet preservedin the martial exercise called _El Jerrid_,still practised in the Eastern countries.

The steeds of these attendants were in appearanceas foreign as their riders. They were of Saracenorigin, and consequently of Arabian descent;and their fine slender limbs, small fetlocks, thinmanes, and easy springy motion, formed a markedcontrast with the large-jointed heavy horsastic vows.

Yet so loose were the ideas of the times respectingthe conduct of the clergy, whether secular orregular, that the Prior Aymer maintained a faircharacter in the neighbourhood of his abbey. Hisfree and jovial temper, and the readiness with whichhe granted absolution from all ordinary delinquencies,rendered him a favourite among the nobilityand principal gentry, to several of whom he was alliedby birth, being of a distinguished Norman family.The ladies, in particular, were not disposedto scan too nicely the morals of a man who was aprofessed admirer of their sex, and who possessedmany means of dispelling the ennui which was tooapt to intrude upon the halls and bowers of an ancientfeudal castle. The Prior mingled in the sportsof the field with more than due eagerness, and wasallowed to possess the best-trained hawks, and the

fleetest greyhounds in the North Riding; circumstanceswhich strongly recommended him to theyouthful gentry. With the old, be had anotherpart to play, which, when needful, he could sustainwith great decorum. His knowledge of books, howeversuperficial, was sufficient to impress upon theirignorance respect for his supposed learning; andthe gravity of his deportment and language, withthe high tone which he exerted in setting forth theauthority of the church and of the priesthood, impressedthem no less with an opinion of his sanctity.Even the common people, the severest criticsof the conduct of their betters, had commiserationwith the follies of Prior Aymer. He was generous;and charity, as it is well known, covereth a multitudeof sins, in another sense than that in which itis said to do so in Scripture. The revenues of themonastery, of which a large part was at his disposal,while they gave him the means of supplying hisown very considerable expenses, afforded also thoselargesses which he bestowed among the peasantry,and with which he frequently relieved the distressesof the oppressed. If Prior Aymer rode hard inthe chase, or remained long at the banquet,---ifPrior Aymer was seen, at the early peep of dawn,to enter the postern of the abbey, as he glided homefrom some rendezvous which had occupied the hoursof darkness, men only shrugged up their shoulders,and reconciled themselves to his irregularities, byrecollecting that the same were practised by manyof his brethren who had no redeeming qualitieswhatsoever to atone for them. Prior Aymer, therefore,and his character, were well known to ourSaxon serfs, who made their rude obeisance, andreceived his ``_benedicite, mes filz_," in return.

But the singular appearance of his companionand his attendants, arrested their attention and excitedtheir wonder, and they could scarcely attendto the Prior of Jorvaulx' question, when he demandedif they knew of any place of harbourage in thevicinity; so much were they surprised at the halfmonastic, half military appearance of the swarthystranger, and at the uncouth dress and arms of hisEastern attendants. It is probable, too, that the

language in which the benediction was conferred,and the information asked, sounded ungracious,though not probably unintelligible, in the ears ofthe Saxon peasants.

``I asked you, my children,'' said the Prior,raising his voice, and using the lingua Franca, ormixed language, in which the Norman and Saxonraces conversed with each other, ``if there be inthis neighbourhood any good man, who, for the loveof God, and devotion to Mother Church, will givetwo of her humblest servants, with their train, anight's hospitality and refreshment?''

This he spoke with a tone of conscious importance,which formed a strong contrast to the modestterms which he thought it proper to employ.

``Two of the humblest servants of MotherChurch!'' repeated Wamba to himself,---but, foolas he was, taking care not to make his observationaudible; ``I should like to see her seneschals, herchief butlers, and other principal domestics!''

After this internal commentary on the Prior'sspeech, he raised his eyes, and replied to the questionwhich had been put.

``If the reverend fathers,'' he said, ``loved goodcheer and soft lodging, few miles of riding wouldcarry them to the Priory of Brinxworth, where theirquality could not but secure them the most honourablereception; or if they preferred spendinga penitential evening, they might turn down yonderwild glade, which would bring them to the hermitageof Copmanhurst, where a pious anchoretwould make them sharers for the night of the shelterof his roof and the benefit of his prayers.''

The Prior shook his head at both proposals.

``Mine honest friend,'' said he, ``if the janglingof thy bells bad not dizzied thine understanding,thou mightst know _Clericus clericum non decimat_;that is to say, we churchmen do not exhaust each

other's hospitality, but rather require that of thelaity, giving them thus an opportunity to serve Godin honouring and relieving his appointed servants.''

``It is true,'' replied Wamba, ``that I, being butan ass, am, nevertheless, honoured to hear the bellsas well as your reverence's mule; notwithstanding,I did conceive that the charity of Mother Churchand her servants might be said, with other charity,to begin at home.''

``A truce to thine insolence, fellow,'' said thearmed rider, breaking in on his prattle with a highand stern voice, ``and tell us, if thou canst, the roadto---How call'd you your Franklin, Prior Aymer?''

``Cedric,'' answered the Prior; ``Cedric the Saxon.---Tell me, good fellow, are we near his dwelling,and can you show us the road?''

``The road will be uneasy to find,'' answeredGurth, who broke silence for the first time,``and the family of Cedric retire early to rest.''

``Tush, tell not me, fellow,'' said the militaryrider; ``'tis easy for them to arise and supply thewants of travellers such as we are, who will notstoop to beg the hospitality which we have a rightto command.''

``I know not,'' said Gurth, sullenly, ``if I shouldshow the way to my master's house, to those whodemand as a right, the shelter which most are fainto ask as a favour.''

``Do you dispute with me, slave!'' said the soldier;and, setting spurs to his horse, he caused himmake a demivolte across the path, raising at thesame time the riding rod which he held in his hand,with a purpose of chastising what he considered asthe insolence of the peasant.

Gurth darted at him a savage and revengefulscowl, and with a fierce, yet hesitating motion, laidhis hand on the haft of his knife; but the interference

of Prior Aymer, who pushed his mule betwixthis companion and the swineherd, preventedthe meditated violence.

``Nay, by St Mary, brother Brian, you mustnot think you are now in Palestine, predominatingover heathen Turks and infidel Saracens; we islanderslove not blows, save those of holy Church, whochasteneth whom she loveth.---Tell me, good fellow,''said he to Wamba, and seconded his speechby a small piece of silver coin, ``the way to Cedricthe Saxon's; you cannot be ignorant of it, and itis your duty to direct the wanderer even when hischaracter is less sanctified than ours.''

``In truth, venerable father,'' answered the Jester,``the Saracen head of your right reverend companionhas frightened out of mine the way home---Iam not sure I shall get there to-night myself.''

``Tush,'' said the Abbot, ``thou canst tell us ifthou wilt. This reverend brother has been all hislife engaged in fighting among the Saracens for therecovery of the Holy Sepulchre; he is of the orderof Knights Templars, whom you may have heardof; he is half a monk, half a soldier.''

``If he is but half a monk,'' said the Jester, ``heshould not be wholly unreasonable with those whomhe meets upon the road, even if they should be inno hurry to answer questions that no way concernthem.''

``I forgive thy wit,'' replied the Abbot, ``oncondition thou wilt show me the way to Cedric'smansion.''

``Well, then,'' answered Wamba, ``your reverencesmust hold on this path till you come to asunken cross, of which scarce a cubit's length remainsabove ground; then take the path to the left,for there are four which meet at Sunken Cross, andI trust your reverences will obtain shelter beforethe storm comes on.''

The Abbot thanked his sage adviser; and thecavalcade, setting spurs to their horses, rode on asmen do who wish to reach their inn before thebursting of a night-storm. As their horses' hoofsdied away, Gurth said to his companion, ``If theyfollow thy wise direction, the reverend fathers willhardly reach Rotherwood this night.''

``No,'' said the Jester, grinning, ``but they mayreach Sheffield if they have good luck, and that isas fit a place for them. I am not so bad a woodsmanas to show the dog where the deer lies, if Ihave no mind he should chase him.''

``Thou art right,'' said Gurth; ``it were ill thatAymer saw the Lady Rowena; and it were worse,it may be, for Cedric to quarrel, as is most likelyhe would, with this military monk. But, like goodservants let us hear and see, and say nothing.''

We return to the riders, who had soon left thebondsmen far behind them, and who maintained thefollowing conversation in the Norman-French language,usually employed by the superior classes,with the exception of the few who were still inclinedto boast their Saxon descent.

``What mean these fellows by their capriciousinsolence?'' said the Templar to the Benedictine,``and why did you prevent me from chastising it?''

``Marry, brother Brian,'' replied the Prior,``touching the one of them, it were hard for meto render a reason for a fool speaking accordingto his folly; and the other churl is of that savage,fierce, intractable race, some of whom, as I haveoften told you, are still to be found among the descendantsof the conquered Saxons, and whose supremepleasure it is to testify, by all means in theirpower, their aversion to their conquerors.''

``I would soon have beat him into courtesy,''observed Brian; ``I am accustomed to deal withsuch spirits: Our Turkish you shall soon bejudge; and if the purity of her complexion, and

the majestic, yet soft expression of a mild blue eye,do not chase from your memory the black-tressedgirls of Palestine, ay, or the houris of old Mahound'sparadise, I am an infidel, and no true sonof the church.''

``Should your boasted beauty,'' said the Templar,``be weighed in the balance and found wanting,you know our wager?''

``My gold collar,'' answered the Prior, ``againstten buts of Chian wine;---they are mine as securelyas if they were already in the convent vaults,under the key of old Dennis the cellarer.''

``And I am myself to be judge,'' said the Templar,``and am only to be convicted on my ownadmission, that I have seen no maiden so beautifulsince Pentecost was a twelvemonth. Ran it notso?---Prior, your collar is in danger; I will wearit over my gorget in the lists of Ashby-de-la-Zouche.''``Win it fairly,'' said the Prior, ``and wear itas ye will; I will trust your giving true response,on your word as a knight and as a churchman.Yet, brother, take my advice, and file your tongueto a little more courtesy than your habits of predominatingover infidel captives and Eastern bondsmenhave accustomed you. Cedric the Saxon, ifoffended,---and he is noway slack in taking offence,---is a man who, without respect to your knighthood,my high office, or the sanctity of either,would clear his house of us, and send us to lodgewith the larks, though the hour were midnight.And be careful how you look on Rowena, whomhe cherishes with the most jealous care; an he takethe least alarm in that quarter we are but lost men.It is said he banished his only son from his familyfor lifting his eyes in the way of affection towardsthis beauty, who may be worshipped, it seems, ata distance, but is not to be approached with otherthoughts than such as we bring to the shrine of theBlessed Virgin.''

``Well, you have said enough,'' answered theTemplar; ``I will for a night put on the needful

restraint, and deport me as meekly as a maiden;but as for the fear of his expelling us by violence,myself and squires, with Hamet and Abdalla, willwarrant you against that disgrace. Doubt notthat we shall be strong enough to make good ourquarters.''

``We must not let it come so far,'' answered thePrior; ``but here is the clown's sunken cross, andthe night is so dark that we can hardly see whichof the roads we are to follow. He bid us turn, Ithink to the left.''

``To the right,'' said Brian, ``to the best of myremembrance.''

``To the left, certainly, the left; I remember hispointing with his wooden sword.''

``Ay, but he held his sword in his left hand,and so pointed across his body with it,'' said theTemplar.

Each maintained his opinion with sufficient obstinacy,as is usual in all such cases; the attendantswere appealed to, but they had not been nearenough to hear Wamba's directions. At lengthBrian remarked, what had at first escaped him inthe twilight; ``Here is some one either asleep, orlying dead at the foot of this cross---Hugo, stir himwith the but-end of thy lance.''This was no sooner done than the figure arose,exclaiming in good French, ``Whosoever thou art,it is discourteous in you to disturb my thoughts.''

``We did but wish to ask you,'' said the Prior,``the road to Rotherwood, the abode of Cedric theSaxon.''

``I myself am bound thither,'' replied the stranger;``and if I had a horse, I would be your guide,for the way is somewhat intricate, though perfectlywell known to me.''

``Thou shalt have both thanks and reward, my

friend,'' said the Prior, ``if thou wilt bring us toCedric's in safety.''

And he caused one of his attendants to mounthis own led horse, and give that upon which he hadhitherto ridden to the stranger, who was to servefor a guide.

Their conductor pursued an opposite road fromthat which Wamba had recommended, for the purposeof misleading them. The path soon led deeperinto the woodland, and crossed more than one brook,the approach to which was rendered perilous bythe marshes through which it flowed; but the strangerseemed to know, as if by instinct, the soundestground and the safest points of passage; and bydint of caution and attention, brought the partysafely into a wilder avenue than any they had yetseen; and, pointing to a large low irregular buildingat the upper extremity, he said to the Prior,``Yonder is Rotherwood, the dwelling of Cedricthe Saxon.''

This was a joyful intimation to Aymer, whosenerves were none of the strongest, and who hadsuffered such agitation and alarm in the course ofpassing through the dangerous bogs, that he hadnot yet had the curiosity to ask his guide a singlequestion. Finding himself now at his ease andnear shelter, his curiosity began to awake, and hedemanded of the guide who and what he was.

``A Palmer, just returned from the Holy Land,''was the answer.

``You had better have tarried there to fightfor the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre,'' said theTemplar.

``True, Reverend Sir Knight,'' answered thePalmer, to whom the appearance of the Templarseemed perfectly familiar; ``but when those whoare under oath to recover the holy city, are foundtravelling at such a distance from the scene of theirduties, can you wonder that a peaceful peasant like

me should decline the task which they have abandoned?''

The Templar would have made an angry reply,but was interrupted by the Prior, who again expressedhis astonishment, that their guide, aftersuch long absence, should be so perfectly acquaintedwith the passes of the forest.

``I was born a native of these parts,'' answeredtheir guide, and as he made the reply they stoodbefore the mansion of Cedric;---a low irregularbuilding, containing several court-yards or enclosures,extending over a considerable space of ground,and which, though its size argued the inhabitant tobe a person of wealth, differed entirely from thetall, turretted, and castellated buildings in whichthe Norman nobility resided, and which had becomethe universal style of architecture throughoutEngland.

Rotherwood was not, however, without defences;no habitation, in that disturbed period, could havebeen so, without the risk of being plundered andburnt before the next morning. A deep fosse, orditch, was drawn round the whole building, andfilled with water from a neighbouring stream. Adouble stockade, or palisade, composed of pointedbeams, which the adjacent forest supplied, defendedthe outer and inner bank of the trench. Therewas an entrance from the west through the outerstockade, which communicated by a drawbridge,with a similar opening in the interior defences.Some precautions had been taken to place thoseentrances under the protection of projecting angles,by which they might be flanked in case of need byarchers or slingers.

Before this entrance the Templar wound his hornloudly; for the rain, which had long threatened,began now to descend with great violence.

CHAPTER III

Then (sad relief!) from the bleak coast that hearsThe German Ocean roar, deep-blooming, strong,And yellow hair'd, the blue-eyed Saxon came.

Thomson's _Liberty_.

In a hall, the height of which was greatly disproportionedto its extreme length and width, along oaken table, formed of planks rough-hewnfrom the forest, and which had scarcely receivedany polish, stood ready prepared for the eveningmeal of Cedric the Saxon. The roof, composed ofbeams and rafters, had nothing to divide the apartmentfrom the sky excepting the planking andthatch; there was a huge fireplace at either end ofthe hall, but as the chimneys were constructed ina very clumsy manner, at least as much of thesmoke found its way into the apartment as escapedby the proper vent. The constant vapour whichthis occasioned, had polished the rafters and beamsof the low-browed hall, by encrusting them with ablack varnish of soot. On the sides of the apartmenthung implements of war and of the chase,and there were at each corner folding doors, whichgave access to other parts of the extensive building.

The other appointments of the mansion partookof the rude simplicity of the Saxon period, whichCedric piqued himself upon maintaining. Thefloor was composed of earth mixed with lime, troddeninto a hard substance, such as is often employedin flooring our modern barns. For about onequarter of the length of the apartment, the floorwas raised by a step, and this space, which was calledthe dais, was occupied only by the principal membersof the family, and visitors of distinction. Forthis purpose, a table richly covered with scarlet clothwas placed transversely across the platform, fromthe middle of which ran the longer and lower board,at which the domestics and inferior persons fed,down towards the bottom of the hall. The wholeresembled the form of the letter T, or some of those

ancient dinner-tables, which, arranged on the sameprinciples, may be still seen in the antique Collegesof Oxford or Cambridge. Massive chairs and settlesof carved oak were placed upon the dais, andover these seats and the more elevated table wasfastened a canopy of cloth, which served in somedegree to protect the dignitaries who occupied thatdistinguished station from the weather, and especiallyfrom the rain, which in some places found itsway through the ill-constructed roof.

The walls of this upper end of the hall, as far asthe dais extended, were covered with hangings orcurtains, and upon the floor there was a carpet, bothof which were adorned with some attempts at tapestry,or embroidery, executed with brilliant orrather gaudy colouring. Over the lower range oftable, the roof, as we have noticed, had no covering;the rough plastered walls were left bare, andthe rude earthen floor was uncarpeted; the boardwas uncovered by a cloth, and rude massive benchessupplied the place of chairs.

In the centre of the upper table, were placed twochairs more elevated than the rest, for the masterand mistress of the family, who presided over thescene of hospitality, and from doing so derived theirSaxon title of honour, which signifies ``the Dividersof Bread.''

To each of these chairs was added a footstool,curiously carved and inlaid with ivory, which markof distinction was peculiar to them. One of theseseats was at present occupied by Cedric the Saxon,who, though but in rank a thane, or, as the Normanscalled him, a Franklin, felt, at the delay ofhis evening meal, an irritable impatience, whichmight have become an alderman, whether of ancientor of modern times.

It appeared, indeed, from the countenance of thisproprietor, that he was of a frank, but hasty andcholeric temper. He was not above the middlestature, but broad-shouldered, long-armed, andpowerfully made, like one accustomed to endure

the fatigue of war or of the chase; his face wasbroad, with large blue eyes, open and frank features,fine teeth, and a well formed head, altogether expressiveof that sort of good-humour which oftenlodges with a sudden and hasty temper. Pride andjealousy there was in his eye, for his life had beenspent in asserting rights which were constantlyliable to invasion; and the prompt, fiery, and resolutedisposition of the man, had been kept constantlyupon the alert by the circumstances of his situation.His long yellow hair was equally divided onthe top of his head and upon his brow, and combeddown on each side to the length of his shoulders;it had but little tendency to grey, although Cedricwas approaching to his sixtieth year.

His dress was a tunic of forest green, furred atthe throat and cuffs with what was called minever;a kind of fur inferior in quality to ermine, andformed, it is believed, of the skin of the grey squirrel.This doublet hung unbuttoned over a closedress of scarlet which sate tight to his body; hehad breeches of the same, but they did not reachbelow the lower part of the thigh, leaving the kneeexposed. His feet had sandals of the same fashionwith the peasants, but of finer materials, and securedin the front with golden clasps. He hadbracelets of gold upon his arms, and a broad collarof the same precious metal around his neck. Abouthis waist he wore a richly-studded belt, in whichwas stuck a short straight two-edged sword, with asharp point, so disposed as to hang almost perpendicularlyby his side. Behind his seat was hung ascarlet cloth cloak lined with fur, and a cap of thesame materials richly embroidered, which completedthe dress of the opulent landholder when he choseto go forth. A short boar-spear, with a broad andbright steel head, also reclined against the back ofhis chair, which served him, when he walked abroad,for the purposes of a staff or of a weapon, as chancemight require.

Several domestics, whose dress held various proportionsbetwixt the richness of their master's, andthe coarse and simple attire of Gurth the swine-herd,

watched the looks and waited the commands of theSaxon dignitary. Two or three servants of a superiororder stood behind their master upon thedais; the rest occupied the lower part of the hall.Other attendants there were of a different description;two or three large and shaggy greyhounds,such as were then employed in hunting the stagand wolf; as many slow-hounds of a large bonybreed, with thick necks, large beads, and long ears;and one or two of the smaller dogs, now called terriers,which waited with impatience the arrival ofthe supper; but, with the sagacious knowledge ofphysiognomy peculiar to their race, forbore to intrudeupon the moody silence of their master, apprehensiveprobably of a small white truncheonwhich lay by Cedric's trencher, for the purpose ofrepelling the advances of his four-legged dependants.One grisly old wolf-dog alone, with the libertyof an indulged favourite, had planted himselfclose by the chair of state, and occasionally venturedto solicit notice by putting his large hairyhead upon his master's knee, or pushing his noseinto his hand. Even he was repelled by the stemcommand, ``Down, Balder, down! I am not in thehumour for foolery.''

In fact, Cedric, as we have observed, was in novery placid state of mind. The Lady Rowena,who had been absent to attend an evening mass ata distant church, had but just returned, and waschanging her garments, which had been wetted bythe storm. There were as yet no tidings of Gurthand his charge, which should long since have beendriven home from the forest and such was the insecurityof the period, as to render it probable thatthe delay might be explained by some depreciationof the outlaws, with whom the adjacent forestabounded, or by the violence of some neighbouringbaron, whose consciousness of strength made himequally negligent of the laws of property. Thematter was of consequence, for great part of the domesticwealth of the Saxon proprietors consisted innumerous herds of swine, especially in forest-land,where those animals easily found their food.

Besides these subjects of anxiety, the Saxonthane was impatient for the presence of his favouriteclown Wamba, whose jests, such as they were,served for a sort of seasoning to his evening meal,and to the deep draughts of ale and wine with whichhe was in the habit of accompanying it. Add to allthis, Cedric had fasted since noon, and his usualsupper hour was long past, a cause of irritationcommon to country squires, both in ancient andmodern times. His displeasure was expressed inbroken sentences, partly muttered to himself, partlyaddressed to the domestics who stood around; andparticularly to his cupbearer, who offered him fromtime to time, as a sedative, a silver goblet filled withwine---``Why tarries the Lady Rowena?''

``She is but changing her head-gear,'' replied afemale attendant, with as much confidence as thefavourite lady's-maid usually answers the master ofa modern family; ``you would not wish her to sitdown to the banquet in her hood and kirtle? andno lady within the shire can be quicker in arrayingherself than my mistress.''

This undeniable argument produced a sort of acquiescentumph! on the part of the Saxon, withthe addition, ``I wish her devotion may choose fairweather for the next visit to St John's Kirk;---but what, in the name of ten devils,'' continued he,turning to the cupbearer, and raising his voice asif happy to have found a channel into which hemight divert his indignation without fear or control---``what, in the name of ten devils, keepsGurth so long afield? I suppose we shall have anevil account of the herd; he was wont to be a faithfuland cautious drudge, and I had destined himfor something better; perchance I might even havemade him one of my warders.''*

* The original has _Cnichts_, by which the Saxons seem to* have designated a class of military attendants, sometimes free,* sometimes bondsmen, but always ranking above an ordinary* domestic, whether in the royal household or in those of the* aldermen and thanes. But the term cnicht, now spelt knight,* having been received into the English language as equivalent

* to the Norman word chevalier, I have avoided using it in its* more ancient sense, to prevent confusion. L. T.

Oswald the cupbearer modestly suggested, ``thatit was scarce an hour since the tolling of the curfew;''an ill-chosen apology, since it turned upona topic so harsh to Saxon ears.

``The foul fiend,'' exclaimed Cedric, ``take thecurfew-bell, and the tyrannical bastard by whom itwas devised, and the heartless slave who names itwith a Saxon tongue to a Saxon ear! The curfew!''he added, pausing, ``ay, the curfew; which compelstrue men to extinguish their lights, that thievesand robbers may work their deeds in darkness!---Ay, the curfew;---Reginald Front-de-B<oe>uf andPhilip de Malvoisin know the use of the curfew aswell as William the Bastard himself, or e'er a Normanadventurer that fought at Hastings. I shallhear, I guess, that my property has been swept offto save from starving the hungry banditti, whomthey cannot support but by theft and robbery. Myfaithful slave is murdered, and my goods are takenfor a prey---and Wamba---where is Wamba? Saidnot some one he had gone forth with Gurth?''

Oswald replied in the affirmative.

`` Ay? why this is better and better! he is carriedoff too, the Saxon fool, to serve the Normanlord. Fools are we all indeed that serve them, andfitter subjects for their scorn and laughter, than ifwe were born with but half our wits. But I willbe avenged,'' he added, starting from his char inimpatience at the supposed injury, and catchinghold of his boar-spear; ``I will go with my complaintto the great council; I have friends, I havefollowers---man to man will I appeal the Normanto the lists; let him come in his plate and his mail,and all that can render cowardice bold; I have sentsuch a javelin as this through a stronger fence thanthree of their war shields!---Haply they think meold; but they shall find, alone and childless as Iam, the blood of Hereward is in the veins of Cedric.---Ah, Wilfred, Wilfred!'' he exclaimed in a lower

tone, ``couldst thou have ruled thine unreasonablepassion, thy father had not been left in his age likethe solitary oak that throws out its shattered andunprotected branches against the full sweep of thetempest!'' The reflection seemed to conjure intosadness his irritated feelings. Replacing his javelin,he resumed his seat, bent his looks downward,and appeared to be absorbed in melancholy reflection.

From his musing, Cedric was suddenly awakenedby the blast of a born, which was replied to bythe clamorous yells and barking of all the dogs inthe hall, and some twenty or thirty which werequartered in other parts of the building. It costsome exercise of the white truncheon, well secondedby the exertions of the domestics, to silence thiscanine clamour.``To the gate, knaves!'' said the Saxon, hastily,as soon as the tumult was so much appeased thatthe dependants could hear his voice. ``See whattidings that horn tells us of---to announce, I ween,some hership* and robbery which has been done

* Pillage.

upon my lands.''

Returning in less than three minutes, a warderannounced ``that the Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx,and the good knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert, commanderof the valiant and venerable order of KnightsTemplars, with a small retinue, requested hospitalityand lodging for the night, being on their wayto a tournament which was to be held not far fromAshby-de-la-Zouche, on the second day from thepresent.''

``Aymer, the Prior Aymer? Brian de Bois-Guilbert?''---muttered Cedric; ``Normans both;---but Norman or Saxon, the hospitality of Rotherwoodmust not be impeached; they are welcome,since they have chosen to halt---more welcomewould they have been to have ridden further ontheir way---But it were unworthy to murmur fora night's lodging and a night's food; in the quality

of guests, at least, even Normans must suppresstheir insolence.---Go, Hundebert,'' he added, to asort of major-domo who stood behind him with awhite wand; ``take six of the attendants, and introducethe strangers to the guests' lodging. Lookafter their horses and mules, and see their train lacknothing. Let them have change of vestments ifthey require it, and fire, and water to wash, andwine and ale; and bid the cooks add what theyhastily can to our evening meal; and let it be puton the board when those strangers are ready toshare it. Say to them, Hundebert, that Cedricwould himself bid them welcome, but he is under avow never to step more than three steps from thedais of his own hall to meet any who shares not theblood of Saxon royalty. Begone! see them carefullytended; let them not say in their pride, theSaxon churl has shown at once his poverty and hisavarice.''

The major-domo departed with several attendants,to execute his master's commands. ``ThePrior Aymer!'' repeated Cedric, looking to Oswald,``the brother, if I mistake not, of Giles deMauleverer, now lord of Middleham?''

Oswald made a respectful sign of assent. ``Hisbrother sits in the seat, and usurps the patrimony,of a better race, the race of Ulfgar of Middleham;but what Norman lord doth not the same? ThisPrior is, they say, a free and jovial priest, wholoves the wine-cup and the bugle-horn better thanbell and book: Good; let him come, he shall bewelcome. How named ye the Templar?''

``Brian de Bois-Guilbert.''

``Bois-Guilbert,'' said Cedric, still in the musing,half-arguing tone, which the habit of living amongdependants had accustomed him to employ, andwhich resembled a man who talks to himself ratherthan to those around him---``Bois-Guilbert? thatname has been spread wide both for good and evil.They say he is valiant as the bravest of his order;but stained with their usual vices, pride, arrogance,

cruelty, and voluptuousness; a hard-heartedman, who knows neither fear of earth, nor aweof heaven. So say the few warriors who have returnedfrom Palestine.---Well; it is but for onenight; he shall be welcome too.---Oswald, broachthe oldest wine-cask; place the best mead, themightiest ale, the richest morat, the most sparklingcider, the most odoriferous pigments, upon theboard; fill the largest horns*---Templars and Abbots

* These were drinks used by the Saxons, as we are informed* by Mr Turner: Morat was made of honey flavoured with the* juice of mulberries; Pigment was a sweet and rich liquor, composed* of wine highly spiced, and sweetened also with honey;* the other liquors need no explanation. L. T.

love good wines and good measure.---Elgitha,let thy Lady Rowena, know we shall not this nightexpect her in the hall, unless such be her especialpleasure.''

``But it will be her especial pleasure,'' answeredElgitha, with great readiness, ``for she is ever desirousto hear the latest news from Palestine.''

Cedric darted at the forward damsel a glance ofhasty resentment; but Rowena, and whatever belongedto her, were privileged and secure from hisanger. He only replied, ``Silence, maiden; thytongue outruns thy discretion. Say my messageto thy mistress, and let her do her pleasure. Here,at least, the descendant of Alfred still reigns aprincess.'' Elgitha left the apartment.

``Palestine!'' repeated the Saxon; ``Palestine!how many ears are turned to the tales which dissolutecrusaders, or hypocritical pilgrims, bring fromthat fatal land! I too might ask---I too might enquire---I too might listen with a beating heart tofables which the wily strollers devise to cheat usinto hospitality---but no---The son who has disobeyedme is no longer mine; nor will I concernmyself more for his fate than for that of the mostworthless among the millions that ever shaped thecross on their shoulder, rushed into excess and

blood-guiltiness, and called it an accomplishmentof the will of God.''

He knit his brows, and fixed his eyes for an instanton the ground; as he raised them, the foldingdoors at the bottom of the hall were cast wide,and, preceded by the major-domo with his wand,and four domestics bearing blazing torches, theguests of the evening entered the apartment.

CHAPTER IV

With sheep and shaggy goats the porkers bled,And the proud steer was on the marble spread;With fire prepared, they deal the morsels round,Wine rosy bright the brimming goblets crown'd.- - - - - - -Disposed apart, Ulysses shares the treat;A trivet table and ignobler seat,The Prince assigns--- _Odyssey, Book_ 21.

The Prior Aymer had taken the opportunityafforded him, of changing his riding robe for oneof yet more costly materials, over which he wore acope curiously embroidered. Besides the massivegolden signet ring, which marked his ecclesiasticaldignity, his fingers, though contrary to the canon,were loaded with precious gems; his sandals wereof the finest leather which was imported fromSpain; his beard trimmed to as small dimensionsas his order would possibly permit, and his shavencrown concealed by a scarlet cap richly embroidered.

The appearance of the Knight Templar was alsochanged; and, though less studiously bedecked withornament, his dress was as rich, and his appearancefar more commanding, than that of his companion.He had exchanged his shirt of mail for an undertunic of dark purple silk, garnished with furs, over

which flowed his long robe of spotless white, inample folds. The eight-pointed cross of his orderwas cut on the shoulder of his mantle in black velvet.The high cap no longer invested his brows,which were only shaded by short and thick curledhair of a raven blackness, corresponding to his unusuallyswart complexion. Nothing could be moregracefully majestic than his step and manner, hadthey not been marked by a predominant air ofhaughtiness, easily acquired by the exercise of unresistedauthority.

These two dignified persons were followed bytheir respective attendants, and at a more humbledistance by their guide, whose figure had nothingmore remarkable than it derived from the usualweeds of a pilgrim. A cloak or mantle of coarseblack serge, enveloped his whole body. It was inshape something like the cloak of a modern hussar,having similar flaps for covering the arms, and wascalled a _Sclaveyn_, or _Sclavonian_. Coarse sandals,bound with thongs, on his bare feet; a broad andshadowy hat, with cockle-shells stitched on its brim,and a long staff shod with iron, to the upper endof which was attached a branch of palm, completedthe palmer's attire. He followed modestly the lastof the train which entered the hall, and, observingthat the lower table scarce afforded room sufficientfor the domestics of Cedric and the retinue of hisguests, he withdrew to a settle placed beside andalmost under one of the large chimneys, and seemedto employ himself in drying his garments, untilthe retreat of some one should make room at theboard, or the hospitality of the steward shouldsupply him with refreshments in the place he hadchosen apart.

Cedric rose to receive his guests with an air ofdignified hospitality, and, descending from the dais,or elevated part of his hall, made three steps towardsthem, and then awaited their approach.

``I grieve,'' he said, ``reverend Prior, that myvow binds me to advance no farther upon this floorof my fathers, even to receive such guests as you,

and this valiant Knight of the Holy Temple. Butmy steward has expounded to you the cause of myseeming discourtesy. Let me also pray, that youwill excuse my speaking to you in my native language,and that you will reply in the same if yourknowledge of it permits; if not, I sufficiently understandNorman to follow your meaning.''

``Vows,'' said the Abbot, ``must be unloosed,worthy Franklin, or permit me rather to say, worthyThane, though the title is antiquated. Vowsare the knots which tie us to Heaven---they are thecords which bind the sacrifice to the horns of thealtar,---and are therefore,---as I said before,---to beunloosened and discharged, unless our holy MotherChurch shall pronounce the contrary. And respectinglanguage, I willingly hold communication inthat spoken by my respected grandmother, Hildaof Middleham, who died in odour of sanctity, littleshort, if we may presume to say so, of her gloriousnamesake, the blessed Saint Hilda of Whitby, Godbe gracious to her soul!''

When the Prior had ceased what he meant as aconciliatory harangue, his companion said brieflyand emphatically, ``I speak ever French, the languageof King Richard and his nobles; but I understandEnglish sufficiently to communicate withthe natives of the country.''

Cedric darted at the speaker one of those hastyand impatient glances, which comparisons betweenthe two rival nations seldom failed to call forth;but, recollecting the duties of hospitality, he suppressedfurther show of resentment, and, motioningwith his hand, caused his guests to assume twoseats a little lower than his own, but placed closebeside him, and gave a signal that the evening mealshould be placed upon the board.

While the attendants hastened to obey Cedric'scommands, his eye distinguished Gurth the swineherd,who, with his companion Wamba, had justentered the hall. ``Send these loitering knaves uphither,'' said the Saxon, impatiently. And when

the culprits came before the dais,---``How comesit, villains! that you have loitered abroad so lateas this? Hast thou brought home thy charge, sirrahGurth, or hast thou left them to robbers andmarauders?''

``The herd is safe, so please ye,'' said Gurth.

``But it does not please me, thou knave,'' saidCedric, ``that I should be made to suppose otherwisefor two hours, and sit here devising vengeanceagainst my neighbours for wrongs they have notdone me. I tell thee, shackles and the prison-houseshall punish the next offence of this kind.''

Gurth, knowing his master's irritable temper, attemptedno exculpation; but the Jester, who couldpresume upon Cedric's tolerance, by virtue of hisprivileges as a fool, replied for them both; ``Introth, uncle Cedric, you are neither wise nor reasonableto-night.''

``How, sir?'' said his master; ``you shall to theporter's lodge, and taste of the discipline there, ifyou give your foolery such license.''

``First let your wisdom tell me,'' said Wamba,``is it just and reasonable to punish one person forthe fault of another?''

``Certainly not, fool,'' answered Cedric.

``Then why should you shackle poor Gurth, uncle,for the fault of his dog Fangs? for I dare besworn we lost not a minute by the way, when wehad got our herd together, which Fangs did notmanage until we heard the vesper-bell.''

``Then hang up Fangs,'' said Cedric, turninghastily towards the swineherd, ``if the fault is his,and get thee another dog.''

``Under favour, uncle,'' said the Jester, ``thatwere still somewhat on the bow-hand of fair justice;for it was no fault of Fangs that he was lame

and could not gather the herd, but the fault ofthose that struck off two of his fore-claws, an operationfor which, if the poor fellow had been consulted,he would scarce have given his voice.''

``And who dared to lame an animal which belongedto my bondsman?'' said the Saxon, kindlingin wrath.

``Marry, that did old Hubert,'' said Wamba,``Sir Philip de Malvoisin's keeper of the chase.He caught Fangs strolling in the forest, and said hechased the deer contrary to his master's right, aswarden of the walk.''

``The foul fiend take Malvoisin,'' answered theSaxon, ``and his keeper both! I will teach themthat the wood was disforested in terms of the greatForest Charter. But enough of this. Go to, knave,go to thy place---and thou, Gurth, get thee anotherdog, and should the keeper dare to touch it, I willmar his archery; the curse of a coward on my head,if I strike not off the forefinger of his right hand!---he shall draw bowstring no more.---I crave yourpardon, my worthy guests. I am beset here withneighbours that match your infidels, Sir Knight, inHoly Land. But your homely fare is before you;feed, and let welcome make amends for hard fare.''

The feast, however, which was spread upon theboard, needed no apologies from the lord of themansion. Swine's flesh, dressed in several modes,appeared on the lower part of the board, as alsothat of fowls, deer, goats, and hares, and variouskinds of fish, together with huge loaves and cakesof bread, and sundry confections made of fruits andhoney. The smaller sorts of wild-fowl, of whichthere was abundance, were not served up in platters,but brought in upon small wooden spits orbroaches, and offered by the pages and domesticswho bore them, to each guest in succession, who cutfrom them such a portion as he pleased. Besideeach person of rank was placed a goblet of silver;the lower board was accommodated with largedrinking horns.

When the repast was about to commence, themajor-domo, or steward, suddenly raising his wand,said aloud,---``Forbear!---Place for the LadyRowena.'' A side-door at the upper end of the hallnow opened behind the banquet table, and Rowena,followed by four female attendants, entered theapartment. Cedric, though surprised, and perhapsnot altogether agreeably so, at his ward appearingin public on this occasion, hastened to meet her,and to conduct her, with respectful ceremony, tothe elevated seat at his own right hand, appropriatedto the lady of the mansion. All stood up toreceive her; and, replying to their courtesy by amute gesture of salutation, she moved gracefullyforward to assume her place at the board. Ere shehad time to do so, the Templar whispered to thePrior, ``I shall wear no collar of gold of yours atthe tournament. The Chian wine is your own.''

``Said I not so?'' answered the Prior; ``butcheck your raptures, the Franklin observes you.''

Unheeding this remonstrance, and accustomedonly to act upon the immediate impulse of his ownwishes, Brian de Bois-Guilbert kept his eyes rivetedon the Saxon beauty, more striking perhaps tohis imagination, because differing widely from thoseof the Eastern sultanas.

Formed in the best proportions of her sex,Rowena was tall in stature, yet not so much so asto attract observation on account of superior height.Her complexion was exquisitely fair, but the noblecast of her head and features prevented the insipiditywhich sometimes attaches to fair beauties. Herclear blue eye, which sate enshrined beneath a gracefuleyebrow of brown sufficiently marked to giveexpression to the forehead, seemed capable to kindleas well as melt, to command as well as to beseech.If mildness were the more natural expressionof such a combination of features, it was plain,that in the present instance, the exercise of habitualsuperiority, and the reception of general homage,had given to the Saxon lady a loftier character,

which mingled with and qualified that bestowedby nature. Her profuse hair, of a colour betwixtbrown and flaxen, was arranged in a fanciful andgraceful manner in numerous ringlets, to form whichart had probably aided nature. These locks werebraided with gems, and, being worn at full length,intimated the noble birth and free-born conditionof the maiden. A golden chain, to which was attacheda small reliquary of the same metal, hunground her neck. She wore bracelets on her arms,which were bare. Her dress was an under-gownand kirtle of pale sea-green silk, over which hunga long loose robe, which reached to the ground,having very wide sleeves, which came down, however,very little below the elbow. This robe wascrimson, and manufactured out of the very finestwool. A veil of silk, interwoven with gold, wasattached to the upper part of it, which could be, atthe wearer's pleasure, either drawn over the faceand bosom after the Spanish fashion, or disposedas a sort of drapery round the shoulders.

When Rowena perceived the Knight Templar'seyes bent on her with an ardour, that, comparedwith the dark caverns under which they moved,gave them the effect of lighted charcoal, she drewwith dignity the veil around her face, as an intimationthat the determined freedom of his glancewas disagreeable. Cedric saw the motion and itscause. ``Sir Templar,'' said he, ``the cheeks ofour Saxon maidens have seen too little of the sunto enable them to bear the fixed glance of a crusader.''

``If I have offended,'' replied Sir Brian, ``I craveyour pardon,---that is, I crave the Lady Rowena'spardon,---for my humility will carry me no lower.''

``The Lady Rowena,'' said the Prior, ``haspunished us all, in chastising the boldness of myfriend. Let me hope she will be less cruel to thesplendid train which are to meet at the tournament.''

``Our going thither,'' said Cedric, ``is uncertain.I love not these vanities, which were unknown tomy fathers when England was free.''

``Let us hope, nevertheless,'' said the Prior, ``ourcompany may determine you to travel thitherward;when the roads are so unsafe, the escort of SirBrian de Bois-Guilbert is not to be despised.''

``Sir Prior,'' answered the Saxon, ``wheresoeverI have travelled in this land, I have hitherto foundmyself, with the assistance of my good sword andfaithful followers, in no respect needful of otheraid. At present, if we indeed journey to Ashby-de-la-Zouche,we do so with my noble neighbourand countryman Athelstane of Coningsburgh, andwith such a train as would set outlaws and feudalenemies at defiance.---I drink to you, Sir Prior,in this cup of wine, which I trust your taste willapprove, and I thank you for your courtesy. Shouldyou be so rigid in adhering to monastic rule,'' headded, ``as to prefer your acid preparation of milk,I hope you will not strain courtesy to do me reason.''

``Nay,'' said the Priest, laughing, ``it is only inour abbey that we confine ourselves to the _lac dulce_or the _lac acidum_ either. Conversing with, theworld, we use the world's fashions, and thereforeI answer your pledge in this honest wine, and leavethe weaker liquor to my lay-brother.''

``And I,'' said the Templar, filling his goblet,``drink wassail to the fair Rowena; for since hernamesake introduced the word into England, hasnever been one more worthy of such a tribute. Bymy faith, I could pardon the unhappy Vortigern,had he half the cause that we now witness, formaking shipwreck of his honour and his kingdom.''

``I will spare your courtesy, Sir Knight,'' saidRowena with dignity, and without unveiling herself;``or rather I will tax it so far as to requireof you the latest news from Palestine, a thememore agreeable to our English ears than the complimentswhich your French breeding teaches.''

``I have little of importance to say, lady,'' answeredSir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, ``excepting the

confirmed tidings of a truce with Saladin.''

He was interrupted by Wamba, who had takenhis appropriated seat upon a chair, the back ofwhich was decorated with two ass's ears, and whichwas placed about two steps behind that of his master,who, from time to time, supplied him with victualsfrom his own trencher; a favour, however,which the Jester shared with the favourite dogs,of whom, as we have already noticed, there wereseveral in attendance. Here sat Wamba, with asmall table before him, his heels tucked up againstthe bar of the chair, his cheeks sucked up so as tomake his jaws resemble a pair of nut-crackers, andhis eyes half-shut, yet watching with alertness everyopportunity to exercise his licensed foolery.

``These truces with the infidels,'' he exclaimed,without caring how suddenly he interrupted thestately Templar, ``make an old man of me!''

``Go to, knave, how so?'' said Cedric, his featuresprepared to receive favourably the expectedjest.

``Because,'' answered Wamba, ``I rememberthree of them in my day, each of which was to endurefor the course of fifty years; so that, by computation,I must be at least a hundred and fiftyyears old.''

``I will warrant you against dying of old age,however,'' said the Templar, who now recognisedhis friend of the forest; ``I will assure you fromall deaths but a violent one, if you give such directionsto wayfarers, as you did this night to thePrior and me.''

``How, sirrah!'' said Cedric, ``misdirect travellers?We must have you whipt; you are at leastas much rogue as fool.''

``I pray thee, uncle,'' answered the Jester, ``letmy folly, for once, protect my roguery. I did butmake a mistake between my right hand and my

left; and he might have pardoned a greater, whotook a fool for his counsellor and guide.''

Conversation was here interrupted by the entranceof the porter's page, who announced thatthere was a stranger at the gate, imploring admittanceand hospitality,

``Admit him,'' said Cedric, ``be he who or whathe may;---a night like that which roars without,compels even wild animals to herd with tame,and to seek the protection of man, their mortal foe,rather than perish by the elements. Let his wantsbe ministered to with all care---look to it, Oswald.''

And the steward left the banqueting hall to seethe commands of his patron obeyed.

CHAPTER V

Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs,dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed withthe same food, hurt with the same weapons, subjectto the same diseases, healed by the same means,warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer,as a Christian is? _Merchant of Venice_.

Oswald, returning, whispered into the ear ofhis master, ``It is a Jew, who calls himself Isaacof York; is it fit I should marshall him into thehall?''``Let Gurth do thine office, Oswald,'' said Wambawith his usual effrontery; ``the swineherd willbe a fit usher to the Jew.''

``St Mary,'' said the Abbot, crossing himself,``an unbelieving Jew, and admitted into this presence!''

``A dog Jew,'' echoed the Templar, ``to approacha defender of the Holy Sepulchre?''

``By my faith,'' said Wamba, ``it would seemthe Templars love the Jews' inheritance better thanthey do their company.''

``Peace, my worthy guests,'' said Cedric; ``myhospitality must not be bounded by your dislikes.If Heaven bore with the whole nation of stiff-neckedunbelievers for more years than a layman can number,we may endure the presence of one Jew for afew hours. But I constrain no man to converse orto feed with him.---Let him have a board and amorsel apart,---unless,'' he said smiling, ``theseturban'd strangers will admit his society.''

``Sir Franklin,'' answered the Templar, ``mySaracen slaves are true Moslems, and scorn as muchas any Christian to hold intercourse with a Jew.''

``Now, in faith,'' said Wamba, ``I cannot seethat the worshippers of Mahound and Termagaunthave so greatly the advantage over the people oncechosen of Heaven.''

``He shall sit with thee, Wamba,'' said Cedric;``the fool and the knave will be well met.''

``The fool,'' answered Wamba, raising the relicsof a gammon of bacon, ``will take care to erect abulwark against the knave.''

``Hush,'' said Cedric, ``for here he comes.''

Introduced with little ceremony, and advancingwith fear and hesitation, and many a bow of deephumility, a tall thin old man, who, however, hadlost by the habit of stooping much of his actualheight, approached the lower end of the board. Hisfeatures, keen and regular, with an aquiline nose,and piercing black eyes; his high and wrinkledforehead, and long grey hair and beard, would havebeen considered as handsome, had they not been themarks of a physiognomy peculiar to a race, which,during those dark ages, was alike detested by thecredulous and prejudiced vulgar, and persecuted by

the greedy and rapacious nobility, and who, perhaps,owing to that very hatred and persecution,had adopted a national character, in which therewas much, to say the least, mean and unamiable.

The Jew's dress, which appeared to have sufferedconsiderably from the storm, was a plain russetcloak of many folds, covering a dark purple tunic.He had large boots lined with fur, and a belt aroundhis waist, which sustained a small knife, togetherwith a case for writing materials, but no weapon.He wore a high square yellow cap of a peculiarfashion, assigned to his nation to distinguish themfrom Christians, and which he doffed with greathumility at the door of the hall.

The reception of this person in the ball of Cedricthe Saxon, was such as might have satisfiedthe most prejudiced enemy of the tribes of Israel.Cedric himself coldly nodded in answer to the Jew'srepeated salutations, and signed to him to takeplace at the lower end of the table, where, however,no one offered to make room for him. On the contrary,as he passed along the file, casting a timidsupplicating glance, and turning towards each ofthose who occupied the lower end of the board, theSaxon domestics squared their shoulders, and continuedto devour their supper with great perseverance,paying not the least attention to the wantsof the new guest. The attendants of the Abbotcrossed themselves, with looks of pious horror, andthe very heathen Saracens, as Isaac drew near them,curled up their whiskers with indignation, and laidtheir hands on their poniards, as if ready to ridthemselves by the most desperate means from theapprehended contamination of his nearer approach.

Probably the same motives which induced Cedricto open his hall to this son of a rejected people,would have made him insist on his attendantsreceiving Isaac with more courtesy. But the Abbothad, at this moment, engaged him in a mostinteresting discussion on the breed and characterof his favourite hounds, which he would not haveinterrupted for matters of much greater importance

than that of a Jew going to bed supperless. WhileIsaac thus stood an outcast in the present society,like his people among the nations, looking in vainfor welcome or resting place, the pilgrim who satby the chimney took compassion upon him, and resignedhis seat, saying briefly, ``Old man, my garmentsare dried, my hunger is appeased, thou artboth wet and fasting.'' So saying, he gathered together,and brought to a flame, the decaying brandswhich lay scattered on the ample hearth; took fromthe larger board a mess of pottage and seethed kid,placed it upon the small table at which he had himselfsupped, and, without waiting the Jew's thanks,went to the other side of the hall;---whether fromunwillingness to hold more close communicationwith the object of his benevolence, or from a wishto draw near to the upper end of the table, seemeduncertain.

Had there been painters in those days capableto execute such a subject, the Jew, as he bent hiswithered form, and expanded his chilled and tremblinghands over the fire, would have formed nobad emblematical personification of the Winter season.Having dispelled the cold, he turned eagerlyto the smoking mess which was placed before him,and ate with a haste and an apparent relish, thatseemed to betoken long abstinence from food.

Meanwhile the Abbot and Cedric continued theirdiscourse upon hunting; the Lady Rowena seemedengaged in conversation with one of her attendantfemales; and the haughty Templar, whose eyewandered from the Jew to the Saxon beauty, revolvedin his mind thoughts which appeared deeplyto interest him.

``I marvel, worthy Cedric,'' said the Abbot, astheir discourse proceeded, ``that, great as your predilectionis for your own manly language, you donot receive the Norman-French into your favour,so far at least as the mystery of wood-craft andhunting is concerned. Surely no tongue is so richin the various phrases which the field-sports demand,or furnishes means to the experienced woodman

so well to express his jovial art.''

`Good Father Aymer,'' said the Saxon, ``be itknown to you, I care not for those over-sea refinements,without which I can well enough take mypleasure in the woods. I can wind my horn, thoughI call not the blast either a _recheate_ or a _morte_---Ican cheer my dogs on the prey, and I can flay andquarter the animal when it is brought down, withoutusing the newfangled jargon of _curee, arbor,nombles_, and all the babble of the fabulous Sir Tristrem.''*

* There was no language which the Normans more formally* separated from that of common life than the terms of the chase.* The objects of their pursuit, whether bird or animal, changed* their name each year, and there were a hundred conventional* terms, to be ignorant of which was to be without one of the distinguishing* marks of a gentleman. The reader may consult Dame* Juliana Berners' book on the subject. The origin of this science* was imputed to the celebrated Sir Tristrem, famous for his tragic* intrigue with the beautiful Ysolte. As the Normans reserved* the amusement of hunting strictly to themselves, the terms* of this formal jargon were all taken from the French language.``The French,'' said the Templar, raising hisvoice with the presumptuous and authoritative tonewhich he used upon all occasions, ``is not only thenatural language of the chase, but that of love andof war, in which ladies should be won and enemiesdefied.''

``Pledge me in a cup of wine, Sir Templar,''said Cedric, ``and fill another to the Abbot, whileI look back some thirty years to tell you anothertale. As Cedric the Saxon then was, his plain Englishtale needed no garnish from French troubadours,when it was told in the ear of beauty; andthe field of Northallerton, upon the day of the HolyStandard, could tell whether the Saxon war-cry wasnot heard as far within the ranks of the Scottish hostas the _cri de guerre_ of the boldest Norman baron.To the memory of the brave who fought there!---Pledge me, my guests.'' He drank deep, and wenton with increasing warmth. ``Ay, that was a dayof cleaving of shields, when a hundred banners werebent forwards over the heads of the valiant, and

blood flowed round like water, and death was heldbetter than flight. A Saxon bard had called it afeast of the swords---a gathering of the eagles tothe prey---the clashing of bills upon shield and helmet,the shouting of battle more joyful than theclamour of a bridal. But our bards are no more,''he said; ``our deeds are lost in those of anotherrace---our language---our very name---is hasteningto decay, and none mourns for it save one solitaryold man---Cupbearer! knave, fill the goblets---Tothe strong in arms, Sir Templar, be their race orlanguage what it will, who now bear them best inPalestine among the champions of the Cross!''

``It becomes not one wearing this badge to answer,''said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert; ``yet towhom, besides the sworn Champions of the HolySepulchre, can the palm be assigned among thechampions of the Cross?''

``To the Knights Hospitallers,'' said the Abbot;``I have a brother of their order.''

``I impeach not their fame,'' said the Templar;``nevertheless------''

``I think, friend Cedric,'' said Wamba, interfering,``that had Richard of the Lion's Heartbeen wise enough to have taken a fool's advice, hemight have staid at home with his merry Englishmen,and left the recovery of Jerusalem to thosesame Knights who had most to do with the loss ofit.''``Were there, then, none in the English army,''said the Lady Rowena, ``whose names are worthyto be mentioned with the Knights of the Temple,and of St John?''

`` Forgive me, lady,'' replied De Bois-Guilbert;``the English monarch did, indeed, bring to Palestinea host of gallant warriors, second only to thosewhose breasts have been the unceasing bulwark ofthat blessed land.''

``Second to =none=,'' said the Pilgrim, who had

stood near enough to hear, and had listened to thisconversation with marked impatience. All turnedtoward the spot from whence this unexpected asseverationwas heard. ``I say,'' repeated the Pilgrimin a firm and strong voice, ``that the Englishchivalry were second to =none= who ever drew swordin defence of the Holy Land. I say besides, for Isaw it, that King Richard himself, and five of hisknights, held a tournament after the taking of StJohn-de-Acre, as challengers against all comers. Isay that, on that day, each knight ran three courses,and cast to the ground three antagonists. I add,that seven of these assailants were Knights of theTemple---and Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert wellknows the truth of what I tell you.''

It is impossible for language to describe thebitter scowl of rage which rendered yet darker theswarthy countenance of the Templar. In the extremityof his resentment and confusion, his quiveringfingers griped towards the handle of hissword, and perhaps only withdrew, from the consciousnessthat no act of violence could be safelyexecuted in that place and presence. Cedric, whosefeelings were all of a right onward and simple kind,and were seldom occupied by more than one objectat once, omitted, in the joyous glee with which beheard of the glory of his countrymen, to remark theangry confusion of his guest; ``I would give theethis golden bracelet, Pilgrim,'' he said, ``couldst thoutell me the names of those knights who upheld sogallantly the renown of merry England.''

``That will I do blithely,'' replied the Pilgrim,``and without guerdon; my oath, for a time, prohibitsme from touching gold.''

``I will wear the bracelet for you, if you will,friend Palmer,'' said Wamba.

``The first in honour as in arms, in renown asin place,'' said the Pilgrim, ``was the brave Richard,King of England.''``I forgive him,'' said Cedric; ``I forgive himhis descent from the tyrant Duke William.''

``The Earl of Leicester was the second,'' continuedthe Pilgrim; ``Sir Thomas Multon of Gilslandwas the third.''

``Of Saxon descent, he at least,'' said Cedric,with exultation.

``Sir Foulk Doilly the fourth,'' proceeded thePilgrim.

``Saxon also, at least by the mother's side,'' continuedCedric, who listened with the utmost eagerness,and forgot, in part at least, his hatred to theNormans, in the common triumph of the King ofEngland and his islanders. ``And who was thefifth?'' he demanded.

``The fifth was Sir Edwin Turneham.''

``Genuine Saxon, by the soul of Hengist!''shouted Cedric---``And the sixth?'' he continuedwith eagerness---``how name you the sixth?''

``The sixth,'' said the Palmer, after a pause, inwhich he seemed to recollect himself, ``was a youngknight of lesser renown and lower rank, assumedinto that honourable company, less to aid their enterprisethan to make up their number---his namedwells not in my memory.''

``Sir Palmer,'' said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbertscornfully, ``this assumed forgetfulness, after somuch has been remembered, comes too late to serveyour purpose. I will myself tell the name of theknight before whose lance fortune and my horse'sfault occasioned my falling---it was the Knight ofIvanhoe; nor was there one of the six that, for hisyears, had more renown in arms.---Yet this will Isay, and loudly---that were he in England, anddurst repeat, in this week's tournament, the challengeof St John-de-Acre, I, mounted and armed asI now am, would give him every advantage of weapons,and abide the result.''

``Your challenge would soon be answered,'' repliedthe Palmer, ``were your antagonist near you.As the matter is, disturb not the peaceful hall withvaunts of the issue of the conflict, which you wellknow cannot take place. If Ivanhoe ever returnsfrom Palestine, I will be his surety that he meetsyou.''

``A goodly security!'' said the Knight Templar;``and what do you proffer as a pledge?''

``This reliquary,'' said the Palmer, taking a smallivory box from his bosom, and crossing himself,``containing a portion of the true cross, broughtfrom the Monastery of Mount Carmel.''

The Prior of Jorvaulx crossed himself and repeateda pater noster, in which all devoutly joined,excepting the Jew, the Mahomedans, and the Templar;the latter of whom, without vailing his bonnet,or testifying any reverence for the alleged sanctityof the relic, took from his neck a gold chain,which he flung on the board, saying---``Let PriorAymer hold my pledge and that of this namelessvagrant, in token that when the Knight of Ivanhoecomes within the four seas of Britain, he underliesthe challenge of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, which, ifhe answer not, I will proclaim him as a coward onthe walls of every Temple Court in Europe.''

``It will not need,'' said the Lady Rowena, breakingsilence; ``My voice shall be heard, if no otherin this hall is raised in behalf of the absent Ivanhoe.I affirm he will meet fairly every honourable challenge.Could my weak warrant add security to theinestimable pledge of this holy pilgrim, I wouldpledge name and fame that Ivanhoe gives this proudknight the meeting he desires.''

A crowd of conflicting emotions seemed to haveoccupied Cedric, and kept him silent during thisdiscussion. Gratified pride, resentment, embarrassment,chased each other over his broad and openbrow, like the shadow of clouds drifting over a harvest-field;while his attendants, on whom the name

of the sixth knight seemed to produce an effectalmost electrical, hung in suspense upon their master'slooks. But when Rowena spoke, the sound ofher voice seemed to startle him from his silence.

``Lady,'' said Cedric, ``this beseems not; werefurther pledge necessary, I myself, offended, andjustly offended, as I am, would yet gage my honourfor the honour of Ivanhoe. But the wager of battleis complete, even according to the fantastic fashionsof Norman chivalry---Is it not, Father Aymer?''

``It is,'' replied the Prior; ``and the blessedrelic and rich chain will I bestow safely in thetreasury of our convent, until the decision of this,warlike challenge.''

Having thus spoken, he crossed himself again andagain, and after many genuflections and mutteredprayers, he delivered the reliquary to Brother Ambrose,his attendant monk, while he himself sweptup with less ceremony, but perhaps with no lessinternal satisfaction, the golden chain, and bestowedit in a pouch lined with perfumed leather, whichopened under his arm. ``And now, Sir Cedric,'' hesaid, ``my ears are chiming vespers with the strengthof your good wine---permit us another pledge tothe welfare of the Lady Rowena, and indulge uswith liberty to pass to our repose.''

``By the rood of Bromholme,'' said the Saxon,``you do but small credit to your fame, Sir Prior!Report speaks you a bonny monk, that would hearthe matin chime ere he quitted his bowl; and, oldas I am, I feared to have shame in encounteringyou. But, by my faith, a Saxon boy of twelve, inmy time, would not so soon have relinquished hisgoblet.''

The Prior had his own reasons, however, for perseveringin the course of temperance which he hadadopted. He was not only a professional peacemaker,but from practice a hater of all feuds andbrawls. It was not altogether from a love to hisneighbour, or to himself, or from a mixture of both.

On the present occasion, he had an instinctive apprehensionof the fiery temper of the Saxon, andsaw the danger that the reckless and presumptuousspirit, of which his companion had already givenso many proofs, might at length produce some disagreeableexplosion. He therefore gently insinuatedthe incapacity of the native of any other countryto engage in the genial conflict of the bowl with thehardy and strong-headed Saxons; something hementioned, but slightly, about his own holy character,and ended by pressing his proposal to departto repose.

The grace-cup was accordingly served round, andthe guests, after making deep obeisance to theirlandlord and to the Lady Rowena, arose and mingledin the hall, while the heads of the family, byseparate doors, retired with their attendants.

``Unbelieving dog,'' said the Templar to Isaacthe Jew, as he passed him in the throng, ``dostthou bend thy course to the tournament?''

``I do so propose,'' replied Isaac, bowing in allhumility, ``if it please your reverend valour.''

``Ay,'' said the Knight, ``to gnaw the bowels ofour nobles with usury, and to gull women and boyswith gauds and toys---I warrant thee store of shekelsin thy Jewish scrap.''``Not a shekel, not a silver penny, not a halfling---so help me the God of Abraham!'' said theJew, clasping his hands; ``I go but to seek theassistance of some brethren of my tribe to aid meto pay the fine which the Exchequer of the Jews*

* In those days the Jews were subjected to an Exchequer,* specially dedicated to that purpose, and which laid them under* the most exorbitant impositions.---L. T.

have imposed upon me---Father Jacob be my speed!I am an impoverished wretch---the very gaberdineI wear is borrowed from Reuben of Tadcaster.''

The Templar smiled sourly as he replied, ``Beshrew

thee for a false-hearted liar!'' and passingonward, as if disdaining farther conference, he communedwith his Moslem slaves in a language unknownto the bystanders. The poor Israelite seemedso staggered by the address of the military monk,that the Templar had passed on to the extremity ofthe hall ere he raised his head from the humble posturewhich he had assumed, so far as to be sensibleof his departure. And when he did look around,it was with the astonished air of one at whose feeta thunderbolt has just burst, and who hears stillthe astounding report ringing in his ears.

The Templar and Prior were shortly after marshalledto their sleeping apartments by the stewardand the cupbearer, each attended by two torchbearersand two servants carrying refreshments, while servantsof inferior condition indicated to their retinueand to the other guests their respective places of repose.

CHAPTER VI

To buy his favour I extend this friendship:If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not. _Merchant of Venice_.

As the Palmer, lighted by a domestic with a torch,past through the intricate combination of apartmentsof this large and irregular mansion, the cupbearercoming behind him whispered in his ear,that if he had no objection to a cup of good meadin his apartment, there were many domestics inthat family who would gladly hear the news he hadbrought from the Holy Land, and particularlythat which concerned the Knight of Ivanhoe.Wamba presently appeared to urge the same request,observing that a cup after midnight was worth threeafter curfew. Without disputing a maxim urgedby such grave authority, the Palmer thanked themfor their courtesy, but observed that he had included

in his religious vow, an obligation never tospeak in the kitchen on matters which were prohibitedin the hall. ``That vow,'' said Wamba to thecupbearer, ``would scarce suit a serving-man.''

The cupbearer shrugged up his shoulders in displeasure.``I thought to have lodged him in the solere chamber,''said he; ``but since he is so unsocial to Christians,e'en let him take the next stall to Isaac the Jew's.---Anwold,''said he to the torchbearer, ``carry the Pilgrim to the southern cell.---I give you good-night,'' he added, ``Sir Palmer,with small thanks for short courtesy.''

``Good-night, and Our Lady's benison,'' said thePalmer, with composure; and his guide moved forward.

In a small antechamber, into which several doorsopened, and which was lighted by a small iron lamp,they met a second interruption from the waiting-maidof Rowena, who, saying in a tone of authority,that her mistress desired to speak with thePalmer, took the torch from the hand of Anwold,and, bidding him await her return, made a sign tothe Palmer to follow. Apparently he did not thinkit proper to decline this invitation as he had donethe former; for, though his gesture indicated somesurprise at the summons, he obeyed it without answeror remonstrance.

A short passage, and an ascent of seven steps,each of which was composed of a solid beam of oak,led him to the apartment of the Lady Rowena, therude magnificence of which corresponded to therespect which was paid to her by the lord of themansion. The walls were covered with embroideredhangings, on which different-coloured silks, interwovenwith gold and silver threads, had beenemployed with all the art of which the age was capable,to represent the sports of hunting and hawking.The bed was adorned with the same richtapestry, and surrounded with curtains dyed withpurple. The seats had also their stained coverings,and one, which was higher than the rest, wasaccommodated with a footstool of ivory, curiouslycarved.

No fewer than four silver candelabras, holdinggreat waxen torches, served to illuminate this apartment.Yet let not modern beauty envy the magnificenceof a Saxon princess. The walls of theapartment were so ill finished and so full of crevices,that the rich hangings shook in the night blast,and, in despite of a sort of screen intended to protectthem from the wind, the flame of the torchesstreamed sideways into the air, like the unfurledpennon of a chieftain. Magnificence there was,with some rude attempt at taste; but of comfortthere was little, and, being unknown, it was unmissed.

The Lady Rowena, with three of her attendantsstanding at her back, and arranging her hair ereshe lay down to rest, was seated in the sort of thronealready mentioned, and looked as if born to exactgeneral homage. The Pilgrim acknowledged herclaim to it by a low genuflection.

``Rise, Palmer,'' said she graciously. ``The defenderof the absent has a right to favourable receptionfrom all who value truth, and honour manhood.''She then said to her train, ``Retire, exceptingonly Elgitha; I would speak with this holyPilgrim.''

The maidens, without leaving the apartment,retired to its further extremity, and sat down on asmall bench against the wall, where they remainedmute as statues, though at such a distance thattheir whispers could not have interrupted the conversationof their mistress.

``Pilgrim,'' said the lady, after a moment's pause,during which she seemed uncertain how to addresshim, ``you this night mentioned a name---I mean,''she said, with a degree of effort, ``the name ofIvanhoe, in the halls where by nature and kindredit should have sounded most acceptably; and yet,such is the perverse course of fate, that of manywhose hearts must have throbbed at the sound, I,only, dare ask you where, and in what condition,you left him of whom you spoke?---We heard,

that, having remained in Palestine, on account ofhis impaired health, after the departure of the Englisharmy, he had experienced the persecution of theFrench faction, to whom the Templars are knownto be attached.''

``I know little of the Knight of Ivanhoe,'' answeredthe Palmer, with a troubled voice. ``Iwould I knew him better, since you, lady, are interestedin his fate. He hath, I believe, surmountedthe persecution of his enemies in Palestine, andis on the eve of returning to England, where you,lady, must know better than I, what is his chanceof happiness.''

The Lady Rowena sighed deeply, and askedmore particularly when the Knight of Ivanhoemight be expected in his native country, and whetherhe would not be exposed to great dangers bythe road. On the first point, the Palmer professedignorance; on the second, he said that the voyagemight be safely made by the way of Venice andGenoa, and from thence through France to England.``Ivanhoe,'' he said, ``was so well acquaintedwith the language and manners of the French,that there was no fear of his incurring any hazardduring that part of his travels.''

``Would to God,'' said the Lady Rowena, ``hewere here safely arrived, and able to bear arms inthe approaching tourney, in which the chivalry ofthis land are expected to display their address andvalour. Should Athelstane of Coningsburgh obtainthe prize, Ivanhoe is like to hear evil tidingswhen he reaches England.---How looked he, stranger,when you last saw him? Had disease laid herhand heavy upon his strength and comeliness?''

``He was darker,'' said the Palmer, ``and thinner,than when he came from Cyprus in the trainof C<oe>ur-de-Lion, and care seemed to sit heavy onhis brow; but I approached not his presence, becausehe is unknown to me.''

``He will,'' said the lady, ``I fear, find little in

his native land to clear those clouds from his countenance.Thanks, good Pilgrim, for your informationconcerning the companion of my childhood.---Maidens,'' she said, ``draw near---offer the sleepingcup to this holy man, whom I will no longerdetain from repose.''

One of the maidens presented a silver cup, containinga rich mixture of wine and spice, whichRowena barely put to her lips. It was then offeredto the Palmer, who, after a low obeisance, tasteda few drops.

``Accept this alms, friend,'' continued the lady,offering a piece of gold, ``in acknowledgment ofthy painful travail, and of the shrines thou hastvisited.''

The Palmer received the boon with another lowreverence, and followed Edwina out of the apartment.

In the anteroom he found his attendant Anwold,who, taking the torch from the hand of the waiting-maid,conducted him with more haste than ceremonyto an exterior and ignoble part of the building,where a number of small apartments, or rathercells, served for sleeping places to the lower orderof domestics, and to strangers of mean degree.

``In which of these sleeps the Jew?'' said thePilgrim.

``The unbelieving dog,'' answered Anwold,kennels in the cell next your holiness.---St Dunstan,how it must be scraped and cleansed ere it beagain fit for a Christian!''

``And where sleeps Gurth the swineherd?'' saidthe stranger.

``Gurth,'' replied the bondsman, ``sleeps in thecell on your right, as the Jew on that to your left;you serve to keep the child of circumcision separatefrom the abomination of his tribe. You might haveoccupied a more honourable place had you accepted

of Oswald's invitation.''

``It is as well as it is,'' said the Palmer; ``thecompany, even of a Jew, can hardly spread contaminationthrough an oaken partition.''

So saying, he entered the cabin allotted to him,and taking the torch from the domestic's hand,thanked him, and wished him good-night. Havingshut the door of his cell, he placed the torch in acandlestick made of wood, and looked around hissleeping apartment, the furniture of which was ofthe most simple kind. It consisted of a rude woodenstool, and still ruder hutch or bed-frame, stuffedwith clean straw, and accommodated with two orthree sheepskins by way of bed-clothes.

The Palmer, having extinguished his torch, threwhimself, without taking off any part of his clothes,on this rude couch, and slept, or at least retainedhis recumbent posture, till the earliest sunbeamsfound their way through the little grated window,which served at once to admit both air and lightto his uncomfortable cell. He then started up, andafter repeating his matins, and adjusting his dress,he left it, and entered that of Isaac the Jew, liftingthe latch as gently as he could.

The inmate was lying in troubled slumber upona couch similar to that on which the Palmer himselfhad passed the night. Such parts of his dressas the Jew had laid aside on the preceding evening,were disposed carefully around his person, asif to prevent the hazard of their being carried offduring his slumbers. There was a trouble on hisbrow amounting almost to agony. His hands andarms moved convulsively, as if struggling with thenightmare; and besides several ejaculations in Hebrew,the following were distinctly heard in theNorman-English, or mixed language of the country:``For the sake of the God of Abraham, sparean unhappy old man! I am poor, I am penniless---should your irons wrench my limbs asunder, Icould not gratify you!''

The Palmer awaited not the end of the Jew'svision, but stirred him with his pilgrim's staff. Thetouch probably associated, as is usual, with someof the apprehensions excited by his dream; for theold man started up, his grey hair standing almosterect upon his head, and huddling some part of hisgarments about him, while he held the detachedpieces with the tenacious grasp of a falcon, he fixedupon the Palmer his keen black eyes, expressiveof wild surprise and of bodily apprehension.

``Fear nothing from me, Isaac,'' said the Palmer,``I come as your friend.''

``The God of Israel requite you,'' said the Jew,greatly relieved; ``I dreamed---But Father Abrahambe praised, it was but a dream.'' Then, collectinghimself, he added in his usual tone, ``Andwhat may it be your pleasure to want at so earlyan hour with the poor Jew?''

``It is to tell you,'' said the Palmer, ``that ifyou leave not this mansion instantly, and travelnot with some haste, your journey may prove adangerous one.''

``Holy father!'' said the Jew, ``whom could itinterest to endanger so poor a wretch as I am?''

``The purpose you can best guess,'' said the Pilgrim;``but rely on this, that when the Templarcrossed the hall yesternight, he spoke to his Mussulmanslaves in the Saracen language, which I wellunderstand, and charged them this morning to watchthe journey of the Jew, to seize upon him when ata convenient distance from the mansion, and to conducthim to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin, or tothat of Reginald Front-de-B<oe>uf.''

It is impossible to describe the extremity of terrorwhich seized upon the Jew at this information,and seemed at once to overpower his whole faculties.His arms fell down to his sides, and his headdrooped on his breast, his knees bent under hisweight, every nerve and muscle of his frame seemed

to collapse and lose its energy, and he sunk atthe foot of the Palmer, not in the fashion of onewho intentionally stoops, kneels, or prostrates himselfto excite compassion, but like a man bornedown on all sides by the pressure of some invisibleforce, which crushes him to the earth without thepower of resistance.

``Holy God of Abraham!'' was his first exclamation,folding and elevating his wrinkled hands,but without raising his grey head from the pavement;``Oh, holy Moses! O, blessed Aaron! thedream is not dreamed for nought, and the visioncometh not in vain! I feel their irons already tearmy sinews! I feel the rack pass over my body likethe saws, and harrows, and axes of iron over themen of Rabbah, and of the cities of the children ofAmmon!''

``Stand up, Isaac, and hearken to me,'' said thePalmer, who viewed the extremity of his distresswith a compassion in which contempt was largelymingled; ``you have cause for your terror, consideringhow your brethren have been used, in orderto extort from them their hoards, both by princesand nobles; but stand up, I say, and I will pointout to you the means of escape. Leave this mansioninstantly, while its inmates sleep sound afterthe last night's revel. I will guide you by the secretpaths of the forest, known as well to me as toany forester that ranges it, and I will not leave youtill you are under safe conduct of some chief orbaron going to the tournament, whose good-willyou have probably the means of securing.''

As the ears of Isaac received the hopes of escapewhich this speech intimated, he began gradually,and inch by inch, as it were, to raise himself upfrom the ground, until he fairly rested upon hisknees, throwing back his long grey hair and beard,and fixing his keen black eyes upon the Palmer'sface, with a look expressive at once of hope andfear, not unmingled with suspicion. But when heheard the concluding part of the sentence, his originalterror appeared to revive in full force, and he

dropt once more on his face, exclaiming, ``_I_ possessthe means of securing good-will! alas! thereis but one road to the favour of a Christian, andhow can the poor Jew find it, whom extortionshave already reduced to the misery of Lazarus?''Then, as if suspicion had overpowered his otherfeelings, he suddenly exclaimed, ``For the love ofGod, young man, betray me not---for the sake ofthe Great Father who made us all, Jew as well asGentile, Israelite and Ishmaelite---do me no treason!I have not means to secure the good-will of aChristian beggar, were he rating it at a single penny.''As he spoke these last words, he raised himself,and grasped the Palmer's mantle with a lookof the most earnest entreaty. The pilgrim extricatedhimself, as if there were contamination in thetouch.

``Wert thou loaded with all the wealth of thytribe,'' he said, ``what interest have I to injurethee?---In this dress I am vowed to poverty, nordo I change it for aught save a horse and a coat ofmail. Yet think not that I care for thy company,or propose myself advantage by it; remain here ifthou wilt---Cedric the Saxon may protect thee.''

``Alas!'' said the Jew, ``he will not let me travelin his train---Saxon or Norman will be equallyashamed of the poor Israelite; and to travel bymyself through the domains of Philip de Malvoisinand Reginald Front-de-B<oe>uf---Good youth, Iwill go with you!---Let us haste---let us gird upour loins---let us flee!---Here is thy staff, why wiltthou tarry?''

``I tarry not,'' said the Pilgrim, giving way tothe urgency of his companion; ``but I must securethe means of leaving this place---follow me.''

He led the way to the adjoining cell, which, asthe reader is apprised, was occupied by Gurth theswineherd.---``Arise, Gurth,'' said the Pilgrim,``arise quickly. Undo the postern gate, and letout the Jew and me.''

Gurth, whose occupation, though now held somean, gave him as much consequence in SaxonEngland as that of Eumaeus in Ithaca, was offendedat the familiar and commanding tone assumedby the Palmer. ``The Jew leaving Rotherwood,''said he, raising himself on his elbow, and lookingsuperciliously at him without quitting his pallet,``and travelling in company with the Palmer toboot---''

``I should as soon have dreamt,'' said Wamba,who entered the apartment at the instant, ``of hisstealing away with a gammon of bacon.''

``Nevertheless,'' said Gurth, again laying downhis head on the wooden log which served him fora pillow, ``both Jew and Gentile must be contentto abide the opening of the great gate---we sufferno visitors to depart by stealth at these unseasonablehours.''

``Nevertheless,'' said the Pilgrim, in a commandingtone, ``you will not, I think, refuse me thatfavour.''

So saying, he stooped over the bed of the recumbentswineherd, and whispered something in hisear in Saxon. Gurth started up as if electrified.The Pilgrim, raising his finger in an attitude as ifto express caution, added, ``Gurth, beware---thouare wont to be prudent. I say, undo the postern---thou shalt know more anon.''

With hasty alacrity Gurth obeyed him, whileand the Jew followed, both wondering atthe sudden change in the swineherd's demeanour.``My mule, my mule!'' said the Jew, as soon asthey stood without the postern.

``Fetch him his mule,'' said the Pilgrim; ``and,hearest thou,---let me have another, that I maybear him company till he is beyond these parts---Iwill return it safely to some of Cedric's train atAshby. And do thou''---he whispered the rest inGurth's ear.

``Willingly, most willingly shall it be done,''said Gurth, and instantly departed to execute thecommission.

``I wish I knew,'' said Wamba, when his comrade'sback was turned, ``what you Palmers learnin the Holy Land.''

``To say our orisons, fool,'' answered the Pilgrim,``to repent our sins, and to mortify ourselves withfastings, vigils, and long prayers.''

``Something more potent than that,'' answeredthe Jester; ``for when would repentance or prayermake Gurth do a courtesy, or fasting or vigil persuadehim to lend you a mule?---l trow you mightas well have told his favourite black boar of thyvigils and penance, and wouldst have gotten as civilan answer.''

``Go to,'' said the Pilgrim, ``thou art but aSaxon fool.''

``Thou sayst well.'' said the Jester; ``had Ibeen born a Norman, as I think thou art, I wouldhave had luck on my side, and been next door to awise man.''

At this moment Gurth appeared on the oppositeside of the moat with the mules. The travellerscrossed the ditch upon a drawbridge of only twoplanks breadth, the narrowness of which was matchedwith the straitness of the postern, and with alittle wicket in the exterior palisade, which gaveaccess to the forest. No sooner had they reachedthe mules, than the Jew, with hasty and tremblinghands, secured behind the saddle a small bag ofblue buckram, which he took from under his cloak,containing, as be muttered, ``a change of raiment---only a change of raiment.'' Then getting uponthe animal with more alacrity and haste than couldhave been anticipated from his years, he lost notime in so disposing of the skirts of his gabardineas to conceal completely from observation the burden

which he had thus deposited _en croupe_.

The Pilgrim mounted with more deliberation,reaching, as he departed, his hand to Gurth, whokissed it with the utmost possible veneration. Theswineherd stood gazing after the travellers untilthey were lost under the boughs of the forest path,when he was disturbed from his reverie by the voiceof Wamba.

``Knowest thou,'' said the Jester, ``my goodfriend Gurth, that thou art strangely courteous andmost unwontedly pious on this summer morning?I would I were a black Prior or a barefoot Palmer,to avail myself of thy unwonted zeal and courtesy---certes, I would make more out of it than a kissof the hand.''

``Thou art no fool thus far, Wamba,'' answeredGurth, ``though thou arguest from appearances,and the wisest of us can do no more---But it is timeto look after my charge.''

So saying, he turned back to the mansion, attendedby the Jester.

Meanwhile the travellers continued to press ontheir journey with a dispatch which argued the extremityof the Jew's fears, since persons at his ageare seldom fond of rapid motion, The Palmer, towhom every path and outlet in the wood appearedto be familiar, led the way through the most deviouspaths, and more than once excited anew thesuspicion of the Israelite, that he intended to betrayhim into some ambuscade of his enemies.

His doubts might have been indeed pardoned;for, except perhaps the flying fish, there was norace existing on the earth, in the air, or the waters,who were the object of such an unintermitting, general,and relentless persecution as the Jews of thisperiod. Upon the slightest and most unreasonablepretences, as well as upon accusations the most absurdand groundless, their persons and propertywere exposed to every turn of popular fury; for

Norman, Saxon, Dane, and Briton, however adversethese races were to each other, contendedwhich should look with greatest detestation upon apeople, whom it was accounted a point of religionto hate, to revile, to despise, to plunder, and to persecute.The kings of the Norman race, and theindependent nobles, who followed their example inall acts of tyranny, maintained against this devotedpeople a persecution of a more regular, calculated,and self-interested kind. It is a well-known storyof King John, that he confined a wealthy Jew inone of the royal castles, and daily caused one of histeeth to be torn out, until, when the jaw of theunhappy Israelite was half disfurnished, he consentedto pay a large sum, which it was the tyrant'sobject to extort from him. The little ready moneywhich was in the country was chiefly in possessionof this persecuted people, and the nobility hesitatednot to follow the example of their sovereign, inwringing it from them by every species of oppression,and even personal torture. Yet the passivecourage inspired by the love of gain, induced theJews to dare the various evils to which they weresubjected, in consideration of the immense profitswhich they were enabled to realize in a countrynaturally so wealthy as England. In spite of everykind of discouragement, and even of the specialcourt of taxations already mentioned, called theJews' Exchequer, erected for the very purpose ofdespoiling and distressing them, the Jews increased,multiplied, and accumulated huge sums, which theytransferred from one hand to another by means ofbills of exchange---an invention for which commerceis said to be indebted to them, and which enabledthem to transfer their wealth from land to land,that when threatened with oppression in one country,their treasure might be secured in another.

The obstinacy and avarice of the Jews being thusin a measure placed in opposition to the fanaticismthat tyranny of those under whom they lived, seemedto increase in proportion to the persecution withwhich they were visited; and the immense wealththey usually acquired in commerce, while it frequentlyplaced them in danger, was at other times

used to extend their influence, and to secure tothem a certain degree of protection. On theseterms they lived; and their character, influencedaccordingly, was watchful, suspicious, and timid---yet obstinate, uncomplying, and skilful in evadingthe dangers to which they were exposed.

When the travellers had pushed on at a rapid ratethrough many devious paths, the Palmer at lengthbroke silence.

``That large decayed oak,'' he said, ``marks theboundaries over which Front-de-B<oe>uf claims authority---we are long since far from those of Malvoisin.There is now no fear of pursuit.''

``May the wheels of their chariots be taken off,''said the Jew, ``like those of the host of Pharaoh,that they may drive heavily!---But leave me not,good Pilgrim---Think but of that fierce and savageTemplar, with his Saracen slaves---they will regardneither territory, nor manor, nor lordship.''

``Our road,'' said the Palmer, ``should here separate;for it beseems not men of my character andthine to travel together longer than needs must be.Besides, what succour couldst thou have from me,a peaceful Pilgrim, against two armed heathens?''

``O good youth,'' answered the Jew, ``thoucanst defend me, and I know thou wouldst. Pooras I am, I will requite it---not with money, formoney, so help me my Father Abraham, I havenone---but------''

``Money and recompense,'' said the Palmer, interruptinghim, ``I have already said I require notof thee. Guide thee I can; and, it may be, evenin some sort defend thee; since to protect a Jewagainst a Saracen, can scarce be accounted unworthyof a Christian. Therefore, Jew, I will see theesafe under some fitting escort. We are now notfar from the town of Sheffield, where thou mayesteasily find many of thy tribe with whom to takerefuge.''

``The blessing of Jacob be upon thee, goodyouth!'' said the Jew; ``in Sheffield I can harbourwith my kinsman Zareth, and find some means oftravelling forth with safety.''

``Be it so,'' said the Palmer; ``at Sheffield thenwe part, and half-an-hour's riding will bring us insight of that town.''

The half hour was spent in perfect silence onboth parts; the Pilgrim perhaps disdaining to addressthe Jew, except in case of absolute necessity,and the Jew not presuming to force a conversationwith a person whose journey to the Holy Sepulchregave a sort of sanctity to his character. Theypaused on the top of a gently rising bank, and thePilgrim, pointing to the town of Sheffield, whichlay beneath them, repeated the words, ``Here, then,we part.''

``Not till you have had the poor Jew's thanks,''said Isaac; ``for I presume not to ask you to gowith me to my kinsman Zareth's, who might aidme with some means of repaying your good offices.''

``I have already said,'' answered the Pilgrim,``that I desire no recompense. If among the hugelist of thy debtors, thou wilt, for my sake, sparethe gyves and the dungeon to some unhappy Christianwho stands in thy danger, I shall hold thismorning's service to thee well bestowed.''

``Stay, stay,'' said the Jew, laying hold of hisgarment; ``something would I do more than this,something for thyself.---God knows the Jew is poor---yes, Isaac is the beggar of his tribe---but forgiveme should I guess what thou most lackest at thismoment.''

``If thou wert to guess truly,'' said the Palmer,``it is what thou canst not supply, wert thou aswealthy as thou sayst thou art poor.'

``As I say?'' echoed the Jew; ``O! believe it,

I say but the truth; I am a plundered, indebted,distressed man. Hard hands have wrung from memy goods, my money, my ships, and all that I possessed---Yet I can tell thee what thou lackest, and,it may be, supply it too. Thy wish even now isfor a horse and armour.''

The Palmer started, and turned suddenly towardsthe Jew:---``What fiend prompted thatguess?'' said he, hastily.

``No matter,'' said the Jew, smiling, ``so thatit be a true one---and, as I can guess thy want, soI can supply it.''

``But consider,'' said the Palmer, ``my character,my dress, my vow.''

``I know you Christians,'' replied the Jew, ``andthat the noblest of you will take the staff and sandalin superstitious penance, and walk afoot to visitthe graves of dead men.''

``Blaspheme not, Jew,'' said the Pilgrim, sternly.

``Forgive me,'' said the Jew; ``I spoke rashly.But there dropt words from you last night and thismorning, that, like sparks from flint, showed themetal within; and in the bosom of that Palmer'sgown, is hidden a knight's chain and spurs of gold.They glanced as you stooped over my bed in themorning.''

The Pilgrim could not forbear smiling. ``Werethy garments searched by as curious an eye, Isaac,''said he, ``what discoveries might not be made?''

``No more of that,'' said the Jew, changing colour;and drawing forth his writing materials inhaste, as if to stop the conversation, he began towrite upon a piece of paper which he supported onthe top of his yellow cap, without dismounting fromhis mule. When he had finished, he delivered thescroll, which was in the Hebrew character, to thePilgrim, saying, ``In the town of Leicester all men

know the rich Jew, Kirjath Jairam of Lombardy;give him this scroll---he hath on sale six Milan harnesses,the worst would suit a crowned head---tengoodly steeds, the worst might mount a king, werehe to do battle for his throne. Of these he willgive thee thy choice, with every thing else that canfurnish thee forth for the tournament: when it isover, thou wilt return them safely---unless thoushouldst have wherewith to pay their value to theowner.''

``But, Isaac,'' said the Pilgrim, smiling, ``dostthou know that in these sports, the arms and steedof the knight who is unhorsed are forfeit to his victor?Now I may be unfortunate, and so lose whatI cannot replace or repay.''

The Jew looked somewhat astounded at thispossibility; but collecting his courage, he repliedhastily. ``No---no---no---It is impossible---I willnot think so. The blessing of Our Father will beupon thee. Thy lance will be powerful as the rodof Moses.''

So saying, he was turning his mule's head away,when the Palmer, in his turn, took hold of his gaberdine.``Nay, but Isaac, thou knowest not allthe risk. The steed may be slain, the armour injured---for I will spare neither horse nor man. Besides,those of thy tribe give nothing for nothing;something there must be paid for their use.''

The Jew twisted himself in the saddle, like aman in a fit of the colic; but his better feelingspredominated over those which were most familiarto him. ``I care not,'' he said, ``I care not---letme go. If there is damage, it will cost you nothing---if there is usage money, Kirjath Jairamwill forgive it for the sake of his kinsman Isaac.Fare thee well!---Yet hark thee, good youth,'' saidhe, turning about, ``thrust thyself not too forwardinto this vain hurly-burly---I speak not for endangeringthe steed, and coat of armour, but for thesake of thine own life and limbs.''

``Gramercy for thy caution,'' said the Palmer,again smiling; ``I will use thy courtesy frankly,and it will go hard with me but I will requite it.''

They parted, and took different roads for thetown of Sheffield.

CHAPTER VII

Knights, with a long retinue of their squires,In gaudy liveries march and quaint attires;One laced the helm, another held the lance,A third the shining buckler did advance.The courser paw'd the ground with restless feet,And snorting foam'd and champ'd the golden bit.The smiths and armourers on palfreys ride,Files in their hands, and hammers at their side;And nails for loosen'd spears, and thongs for shields provide.The yeomen guard the streets in seemly bands;And clowns come crowding on, with cudgels in their hands. _Palamon and Arcite_.

The condition of the English nation was at thistime sufficiently miserable. King Richard was absenta prisoner, and in the power of the perfidiousand cruel Duke of Austria. Even the very placeof his captivity was uncertain, and his fate but veryimperfectly known to the generality of his subjects,who were, in the meantime, a prey to every speciesof subaltern oppression.

Prince John, in league with Philip of France,C<oe>ur-de-Lion's mortal enemy, was using everyspecies of influence with the Duke of Austria, toprolong the captivity of his brother Richard, towhom he stood indebted for so many favours. Inthe meantime, he was strengthening his own factionin the kingdom, of which he proposed to disputethe succession, in case of the King's death,with the legitimate heir, Arthur Duke of Brittany,

son of Geoffrey Plantagenet, the elder brother ofJohn. This usurpation, it is well known, he afterwardseffected. His own character being light,profligate, and perfidious, John easily attached tohis person and faction, not only all who had reasonto dread the resentment of Richard for criminal proceedingsduring his absence, but also the numerousclass of ``lawless resolutes,'' whom the crusades hadturned back on their country, accomplished in thevices of the East, impoverished in substance, andhardened in character, and who placed their hopesof harvest in civil commotion.To these causes of public distress and apprehension,must be added, the multitude of outlaws, who,driven to despair by the oppression of the feudalnobility, and the severe exercise of the forest laws,banded together in large gangs, and, keeping possessionof the forests and the wastes, set at defiancethe justice and magistracy of the country. Thenobles themselves, each fortified within his owncastle, and playing the petty sovereign over hisown dominions, were the leaders of bands scarceless lawless and oppressive than those of the avoweddepredators. To maintain these retainers, andto support the extravagance and magnificence whichtheir pride induced them to affect, the nobility borrowedsums of money from the Jews at the mostusurious interest, which gnawed into their estateslike consuming cankers, scarce to be cured unlesswhen circumstances gave them an opportunity ofgetting free, by exercising upon their creditors someact of unprincipled violence.

Under the various burdens imposed by this unhappystate of affairs, the people of England suffereddeeply for the present, and had yet moredreadful cause to fear for the future. To augmenttheir misery, a contagious disorder of a dangerousnature spread through the land; and, renderedmore virulent by the uncleanness, the indifferentfood, and the wretched lodging of the lower classes,swept off many whose fate the survivors were temptedto envy, as exempting them from the evils whichwere to come.

Yet amid these accumulated distresses, the pooras well as the rich, the vulgar as well as the noble,in the event of a tournament, which was the grandspectacle of that age, felt as much interested as thehalf-starved citizen of Madrid, who has not a realleft to buy provisions for his family, feels in theissue of a bull-feast. Neither duty nor infirmitycould keep youth or age from such exhibitions.The Passage of Arms, as it was called, which wasto take place at Ashby, in the county of Leicester,as champions of the first renown were to take thefield in the presence of Prince John himself, whowas expected to grace the lists, had attracted universalattention, and an immense confluence of personsof all ranks hastened upon the appointed morningto the place of combat.

The scene was singularly romantic. On the vergeof a wood, which approached to within a mile ofthe town of Ashby, was an extensive meadow, ofthe finest and most beautiful green turf, surroundedon one side by the forest, and fringed on theother by straggling oak-trees, some of which hadgrown to an immense size. The ground, as if fashionedon purpose for the martial display whichwas intended, sloped gradually down on all sidesto a level bottom, which was enclosed for the listswith strong palisades, forming a space of a quarterof a mile in length, and about half as broad. Theform of the enclosure was an oblong square, savethat the corners were considerably rounded off, inorder to afford more convenience for the spectators.The openings for the entry of the combatants wereat the northern and southern extremities of the lists,accessible by strong wooden gates, each wide enoughto admit two horsemen riding abreast. At each ofthese portals were stationed two heralds, attendedby six trumpets, as many pursuivants, and a strongbody of men-at-arms for maintaining order, andascertaining the quality of the knights who proposedto engage in this martial game.

On a platform beyond the southern entrance,formed by a natural elevation of the ground, werepitched five magnificent pavilions, adorned with

pennons of russet and black, the chosen colours ofthe five knights challengers. The cords of the tentswere of the same colour. Before each pavilion wassuspended the shield of the knight by whom it wasoccupied, and beside it stood his squire, quaintlydisguised as a salvage or silvan man, or in someother fantastic dress, according to the taste of hismaster, and the character he was pleased to assumedaring the game.* The central pavilion, as the

* This sort of masquerade is supposed to have occasioned the* introduction of supporters into the science of heraldry.

place of honour, had been assigned to Brian be Bois-Guilbert,whose renown in all games of chivalry,no less than his connexions with the knights whohad undertaken this Passage of Arms, had occasionedhim to be eagerly received into the companyof the challengers, and even adopted as their chiefand leader, though he had so recently joined them.On one side of his tent were pitched those of ReginaldFront-de-B<oe>uf and Richard de Malvoisin,and on the other was the pavilion of Hugh deGrantmesnil, a noble baron in the vicinity, whoseancestor had been Lord High Steward of Englandin the time of the Conqueror, and his son WilliamRufus. Ralph de Vipont, a knight of St John ofJerusalem, who had some ancient possessions at aplace called Heather, near Ashby-de-la-Zouche,occupied the fifth pavilion. From the entranceinto the lists, a gently sloping passage, ten yardsin breadth, led up to the platform on which thetents were pitched. It was strongly secured by apalisade on each side, as was the esplanade in frontof the pavilions, and the whole was guarded by men-at-arms.

The northern access to the lists terminated in asimilar entrance of thirty feet in breadth, at theextremity of which was a large enclosed space forsuch knights as might be disposed to enter the listswith the challengers, behind which were placedtents containing refreshments of every kind fortheir accommodation, with armourers, tarriers, andother attendants, in readiness to give their serviceswherever they might be necessary.

The exterior of the lists was in part occupied bytemporary galleries, spread with tapestry and carpets,and accommodated with cushions for the convenienceof those ladies and nobles who were expectedto attend the tournament. A narrow space,betwixt these galleries and the lists, gave accommodationfor yeomanry and spectators of a betterdegree than the mere vulgar, and might be comparedto the pit of a theatre. The promiscuousmultitude arranged themselves upon large banksof turf prepared for the purpose, which, aided bythe natural elevation of the ground, enabled themto overlook the galleries, and obtain a fair viewinto the lists. Besides the accommodation whichthese stations afforded, many hundreds had perchedthemselves on the branches of the trees whichsurrounded the meadow; and even the steeple ofa country church, at some distance, was crowdedwith spectators.

It only remains to notice respecting the generalarrangement, that one gallery in the very centreof the eastern side of the lists, and consequentlyexactly opposite to the spot where the shock of thecombat was to take place, was raised higher thanthe others, more richly decorated, and graced by asort of throne and canopy, on which the royal armswere emblazoned. Squires, pages, and yeomen inrich liveries, waited around this place of honour,which was designed for Prince John and his attendants.Opposite to this royal gallery was another,elevated to the same height, on the westernside of the lists; and more gaily, if less sumptuouslydecorated, than that destined for the Prince himself.A train of pages and of young maidens, themost beautiful who could be selected, gaily dressedin fancy habits of green and pink, surrounded athrone decorated in the same colours. Among pennonsand flags bearing wounded hearts, burninghearts, bleeding hearts, bows and quivers, and allthe commonplace emblems of the triumphs of Cupid,a blazoned inscription informed the spectators,that this seat of honour was designed for _LaRoyne de la Beault<e'> et des Amours_. But who was

to represent the Queen of Beauty and of Love onthe present occasion no one was prepared to guess.

Meanwhile, spectators of every description throngedforward to occupy their respective stations, andnot without many quarrels concerning those whichthey were entitled to hold. Some of these were settledby the men-at-arms with brief ceremony; theshafts of their battle-axes, and pummels of theirswords, being readily employed as arguments toconvince the more refractory. Others, which involvedthe rival claims of more elevated persons,were determined by the heralds, or by the twomarshals of the field, William de Wyvil, and Stephende Martival, who, armed at all points, rodeup and down the lists to enforce and preserve goodorder among the spectators.

Gradually the galleries became filled with knightsand nobles, in their robes of peace, whose long andrich-tinted mantles were contrasted with the gayerand more splendid habits of the ladies, who, in agreater proportion than even the men themselves,thronged to witness a sport, which one would havethought too bloody and dangerous to afford theirsex much pleasure. The lower and interior spacewas soon filled by substantial yeomen and burghers,and such of the lesser gentry, as, from modesty,poverty, or dubious title, durst not assume anyhigher place. It was of course amongst these thatthe most frequent disputes for precedence occurred.

``Dog of an unbeliever,'' said an old man, whosethreadbare tunic bore witness to his poverty, ashis sword, and dagger, and golden chain intimatedhis pretensions to rank,---``whelp of a she-wolf !darest thou press upon a Christian, and a Normangentleman of the blood of Montdidier ?''

This rough expostulation was addressed to noother than our acquaintance Isaac, who, richly andeven magnificently dressed in a gaberdine ornamentedwith lace and lined with fur, was endeavouringto make place in the foremost row beneaththe gallery for his daughter, the beautiful Rebecca,

who had joined him at Ashby, and who was nowhanging on her father's arm, not a little terrifiedby the popular displeasure which seemed generallyexcited by her parent's presumption. But Isaac,though we have seen him sufficiently timid on otheroccasions, knew well that at present he had nothingto fear. It was not in places of general resort, orwhere their equals were assembled, that any avariciousor malevolent noble durst offer him injury.At such meetings the Jews were under the protectionof the general law; and if that proved a weakassurance, it usually happened that there wereamong the persons assembled some barons, who, fortheir own interested motives, were ready to act astheir protectors. On the present occasion, Isaacfelt more than usually confident, being aware thatPrince John was even then in the very act of negotiatinga large loan from the Jews of York, to besecured upon certain jewels and lands. Isaac's ownshare in this transaction was considerable, and hewell knew that the Prince's eager desire to bringit to a conclusion would ensure him his protectionin the dilemma in which he stood.

Emboldened by these considerations, the Jewpursued his point, and jostled the Norman Christian,without respect either to his descent, quality,or religion. The complaints of the old man, however,excited the indignation of the bystanders.One of these, a stout well-set yeoman, arrayed inLincoln green, having twelve arrows stuck in hisbelt, with a baldric and badge of silver, and a bowof six feet length in his hand, turned short round,and while his countenance, which his constant exposureto weather had rendered brown as a hazelnut, grew darker with anger, he advised the Jewto remember that all the wealth he had acquiredby sucking the blood of his miserable victims hadbut swelled him like a bloated spider, which mightbe overlooked while he kept in a comer, but wouldbe crushed if it ventured into the light. This intimation,delivered in Norman-English with a firmvoice and a stern aspect, made the Jew shrink back;and he would have probably withdrawn himself altogetherfrom a vicinity so dangerous, had not the

attention of every one been called to the suddenentrance of Prince John, who at that moment enteredthe lists, attended by a numerous and gaytrain, consisting partly of laymen, partly of churchmen,as light in their dress, and as gay in their demeanour,as their companions. Among the latterwas the Prior of Jorvaulx, in the most gallant trimwhich a dignitary of the church could venture to exhibit.Fur and gold were not spared in his garments;and the points of his boots, out-heroding thepreposterous fashion of the time, turned up so veryfar, as to be attached, not to his knees merely, butto his very girdle, and effectually prevented himfrom putting his foot into the stirrup. This, however,was a slight inconvenience to the gallant Abbot,who, perhaps, even rejoicing in the opportunityto display his accomplished horsemanship beforeso many spectators, especially of the fair sex,dispensed with the use of these supports to a timidrider. The rest of Prince John's retinue consistedof the favourite leaders of his mercenary troops,some marauding barons and profligate attendantsupon the court, with several Knights Templars andKnights of St John.

It may be here remarked, that the knights ofthese two orders were accounted hostile to KingRichard, having adopted the side of Philip of Francein the long train of disputes which took place inPalestine betwixt that monarch and the lion-heartedKing of England. It was the well-known consequenceof this discord that Richard's repeated victorieshad been rendered fruitless, his romantic attemptsto besiege Jerusalem disappointed, and thefruit of all the glory which he had acquired haddwindled into an uncertain truce with the SultanSaladin. With the same policy which had dictatedthe conduct of their brethren in the Holy Land, theTemplars and Hospitallers in England and Normandyattached themselves to the faction of PrinceJohn, having little reason to desire the return ofRichard to England, or the succession of Arthur,his legitimate heir. For the opposite reason, PrinceJohn hated and contemned the few Saxon familiesof consequence which subsisted in England, and

omitted no opportunity of mortifying and affrontingthem; being conscious that his person and pretensionswere disliked by them, as well as by thegreater part of the English commons, who fearedfarther innovation upon their rights and liberties,from a sovereign of John's licentious and tyrannicaldisposition.

Attended by this gallant equipage, himself wellmounted, and splendidly dressed in crimson andin gold, bearing upon his hand a falcon, and havinghis head covered by a rich fur bonnet, adorned witha circle of precious stones, from which his longcurled hair escaped and overspread his shoulders,Prince John, upon a grey and high-mettled palfrey,caracoled within the lists at the head of his jovialparty, laughing loud with his train, and eyeing withall the boldness of royal criticism the beauties whoadorned the lofty galleries.

Those who remarked in the physiognomy of thePrince a dissolute audacity, mingled with extremehaughtiness and indifference to, the feelings ofothers could not yet deny to his countenance thatsort of comeliness which belongs to an open set offeatures, well formed by nature, modelled by artto the usual rules of courtesy, yet so far frank andhonest, that they seemed as if they disclaimed toconceal the natural workings of the soul. Such anexpression is often mistaken for manly frankness,when in truth it arises from the reckless indifferenceof a libertine disposition, conscious of superiorityof birth, of wealth, or of some other adventitiousadvantage, totally unconnected with personalmerit. To those who did not think so deeply, andthey were the greater number by a hundred to one,the splendour of Prince John's _rheno_, (_i.e_. fur tippet,)the richness of his cloak, lined with the mostcostly sables, his maroquin boots and golden spurs,together with the grace with which he managedhis palfrey, were sufficient to merit clamorous applause.

In his joyous caracole round the lists, the attentionof the Prince was called by the commotion,not yet subsided, which had attended the ambitious

movement of Isaac towards the higher places ofthe assembly. The quick eye of Prince John instantlyrecognised the Jew, but was much moreagreeably attracted by the beautiful daughter ofZion, who, terrified by the tumult, clung close tothe arm of her aged father.

The figure of Rebecca might indeed have comparedwith the proudest beauties of England, eventhough it had been judged by as shrewd a connoisseuras Prince John. Her form was exquisitelysymmetrical, and was shown to advantage by a sortof Eastern dress, which she wore according to thefashion of the females of her nation. Her turbanof yellow silk suited well with the darkness of hercomplexion. The brilliancy of her eyes, the superbarch of her eyebrows, her well-formed aquilinenose, her teeth as white as pearl, and the profusionof her sable tresses, which, each arranged in itsown little spiral of twisted curls, fell down upon asmuch of a lovely neck and bosom as a simarre ofthe richest Persian silk, exhibiting flowers in theirnatural colours embossed upon a purple ground,permitted to be visible---all these constituted acombination of loveliness, which yielded not to themost beautiful of the maidens who surrounded her.It is true, that of the golden and pearl-studdedclasps, which closed her vest from the throat to thewaist, the three uppermost were left unfastened onaccount of the heat, which something enlarged theprospect to which we allude. A diamond necklace,with pendants of inestimable value, were by thismeans also made more conspicuous. The featherof an ostrich, fastened in her turban by an agraffeset with brilliants, was another distinction of thebeautiful Jewess, scoffed and sneered at by theproud dames who sat above her, but secretly enviedby those who affected to deride them.

``By the bald scalp of Abraham,'' said PrinceJohn, ``yonder Jewess must be the very model ofthat perfection, whose charms drove frantic thewisest king that ever lived ! What sayest thou,Prior Aymer?---By the Temple of that wise king,which our wiser brother Richard proved unable to

recover, she is the very Bride of the Canticles !''

``The Rose of Sharon and the Lily of the Valley,''---answered the Prior, in a sort of snufflingtone; ``but your Grace must remember she is stillbut a Jewess.''

``Ay!'' added Prince John, without heedinghim, ``and there is my Mammon of unrighteousnesstoo---the Marquis of Marks, the Baron ofByzants, contesting for place with penniless dogs,whose threadbare cloaks have not a single crossin their pouches to keep the devil from dancingthere. By the body of St Mark, my prince of supplies,with his lovely Jewess, shall have a place inthe gallery!---What is she, Isaac? Thy wife or thydaughter, that Eastern houri that thou lockest underthy arm as thou wouldst thy treasure-casket?''

``My daughter Rebecca, so please your Grace,''answered Isaac, with a low congee, nothing embarrassedby the Prince's salutation, in which, however,there was at least as much mockery as courtesy.

``The wiser man thou,'' said John, with a pealof laughter, in which his gay followers obsequiouslyjoined. ``But, daughter or wife, she should bepreferred according to her beauty and thy merits.---Who sits above there?'' he continued, bendinghis eye on the gallery. ``Saxon churls, lolling attheir lazy length!---out upon them!---let them sitclose, and make room for my prince of usurers andhis lovely daughter. I'll make the hinds know theymust share the high places of the synagogue withthose whom the synagogue properly belongs to.''

Those who occupied the gallery to whom thisinjurious and unpolite speech was addressed, werethe family of Cedric the Saxon, with that of hisally and kinsman, Athelstane of Coningsburgh, apersonage, who, on account of his descent from thelast Saxon monarchs of England, was held in thehighest respect by all the Saxon natives of thenorth of England. But with the blood of this ancientroyal race, many of their infirmities had descended

to Athelstane. He was comely in countenance,bulky and strong in person, and in the flowerof his age---yet inanimate in expression, dull-eyed,heavy-browed, inactive and sluggish in all his motions,and so slow in resolution, that the soubriquetof one of his ancestors was conferred upon him,and he was very generally called Athelstane theUnready. His friends, and he had many, who, aswell as Cedric, were passionately attached to him,contended that this sluggish temper arose not fromwant of courage, but from mere want of decision;others alleged that his hereditary vice of drunkennesshad obscured his faculties, never of a veryacute order, and that the passive courage and meekgood-nature which remained behind, were merelythe dregs of a character that might have been deservingof praise, but of which all the valuable partshad flown off in the progress of a long course ofbrutal debauchery.

It was to this person, such as we have describedhim, that the Prince addressed his imperious commandto make place for Isaac and Rebecca. Athelstane,utterly confounded at an order which themanners and feelings of the times rendered so injuriouslyinsulting, unwilling to obey, yet undeterminedhow to resist, opposed only the _vis inerti<ae>_to the will of John; and, without stirring or makingany motion whatever of obedience, opened hislarge grey eyes, and stared at the Prince with anastonishment which had in it something extremelyludicrous. But the impatient John regarded it inno such light.

``The Saxon porker,'' he said, ``is either asleepor minds me not---Prick him with your lance, DeBracy,'' speaking to a knight who rode near him,the leader of a band of Free Companions, or Condottieri;that is, of mercenaries belonging to noparticular nation, but attached for the time to anyprince by whom they were paid. There was a murmureven among the attendants of Prince John;but De Bracy, whose profession freed him from allscruples, extended his long lance over the spacewhich separated the gallery from the lists, and

would have executed the commands of the Princebefore Athelstane the Unready had recovered presenceof mind sufficient even to draw back his personfrom the weapon, had not Cedric, as promptas his companion was tardy, unsheathed, with thespeed of lightning, the short sword which he wore,and at a single blow severed the point of the lancefrom the handle. The blood rushed into the countenanceof Prince John. He swore one of his deepestoaths, and was about to utter some threat correspondingin violence, when he was diverted fromhis purpose, partly by his own attendants, whogathered around him conjuring him to be patient,partly by a general exclamation of the crowd, utteredin loud applause of the spirited conduct ofCedric. The Prince rolled his eyes in indignation,as if to collect some safe and easy victim; andchancing to encounter the firm glance of the samearcher whom we have already noticed, and whoseemed to persist in his gesture of applause, in spiteof the frowning aspect which the Prince bent uponhim, he demanded his reason for clamouring thus.

``I always add my hollo,'' said the yeoman,``when I see a good shot, or a gallant blow.''

``Sayst thou?'' answered the Prince; ``thenthou canst hit the white thyself, I'll warrant.''

``A woodsman's mark, and at woodsman's distance,I can hit,'' answered the yeoman.

``And Wat Tyrrel's mark, at a hundred yards,''said a voice from behind, but by whom utteredcould not be discerned.

This allusion to the fate of William Rufus, hisRelative, at once incensed and alarmed PrinceJohn. He satisfied himself, however, with commandingthe men-at-arms, who surrounded thelists, to keep an eye on the braggart, pointing tothe yeoman.

``By St Grizzel,'' he added, ``we will try hisown skill, who is so ready to give his voice to the

feats of others!''

``I shall not fly the trial,'' said the yeoman, withthe composure which marked his whole deportment.

``Meanwhile, stand up, ye Saxon churls,'' saidthe fiery Prince; ``for, by the light of Heaven,since I have said it, the Jew shall have his seatamongst ye!''

``By no means, an it please your Grace!---it isnot fit for such as we to sit with the rulers of theland,'' said the Jew; whose ambition for precedencethough it had led him to dispute Place withthe extenuated and impoverished descendant of theline of Montdidier, by no means stimulated himto an intrusion upon the privileges of the wealthySaxons.

``Up, infidel dog when I command you,'' saidPrince John, ``or I will have thy swarthy hidestript off, and tanned for horse-furniture.''

Thus urged, the Jew began to ascend the steepand narrow steps which led up to the gallery.

``Let me see,'' said the Prince, ``who dare stophim,'' fixing his eye on Cedric, whose attitude intimatedhis intention to hurl the Jew down headlong.

The catastrophe was prevented by the clownWamba, who, springing betwixt his master andIsaac, and exclaiming, in answer to the Prince's defiance,``Marry, that will I!'' opposed to the beardof the Jew a shield of brawn, which he pluckedfrom beneath his cloak, and with which, doubtless,he had furnished himself, lest the tournament shouldhave proved longer than his appetite could endureabstinence. Finding the abomination of his tribeopposed to his very nose, while the Jester, at thesame time, flourished his wooden sword above hishead, the Jew recoiled, missed his footing, and rolleddown the steps,---an excellent jest to the spectators,who set up a loud laughter, in which PrinceJohn and his attendants heartily joined.

``Deal me the prize, cousin Prince,'' said Wamba;``I have vanquished my foe in fair fight withsword and shield,'' he added, brandishing the brawnin one hand and the wooden sword in the other.

``Who, and what art thou, noble champion?''said Prince John, still laughing.

``A fool by right of descent,'' answered theJester; ``I am Wamba, the son of Witless, whowas the son of Weatherbrain, who was the son ofan Alderman.''

``Make room for the Jew in front of the lowerring,'' said Prince John, not unwilling perhaps to,seize an apology to desist from his original purpose;``to place the vanquished beside the victorwere false heraldry.''

``Knave upon fool were worse,'' answered theJester, ``and Jew upon bacon worst of all.''

``Gramercy! good fellow,'' cried Prince John,``thou pleasest me---Here, Isaac, lend me a handfulof byzants.''

As the Jew, stunned by the request, afraid torefuse, and unwilling to comply, fumbled in thefurred bag which hung by his girdle, and was perhapsendeavouring to ascertain how few coins mightpass for a handful, the Prince stooped from hisjennet and settled Isaac's doubts by snatching thepouch itself from his side; and flinging to Wambaa couple of the gold pieces which it contained, hepursued his career round the lists, leaving the Jewto the derision of those around him, and himselfreceiving as much applause from the spectators asif he had done some honest and honourable action.

CHAPTER VIII

At this the challenger with fierce defyHis trumpet sounds; the challenged makes reply:With clangour rings the field, resounds the vaulted sky.Their visors closed, their lances in the rest,Or at the helmet pointed or the crest,They vanish from the barrier, speed the race,And spurring see decrease the middle space. _ Palamon and Arcite_.

In the midst of Prince John's cavalcade, he suddenlystopt, and appealing to the Prior of Jorvaulx,declared the principal business of the day had beenforgotten.

``By my halidom,'' said he, ``we have forgotten,Sir Prior, to name the fair Sovereign of Love andof Beauty, by whose white hand the palm is to bedistributed. For my part, I am liberal in my ideas,and I care not if I give my vote for the black-eyedRebecca.''

``Holy Virgin,'' answered the Prior, turning uphis eyes in horror, ``a Jewess!---We should deserveto be stoned out of the lists; and I am not yet oldenough to be a martyr. Besides, I swear by mypatron saint, that she is far inferior to the lovelySaxon, Rowena.''

``Saxon or Jew,'' answered the Prince, ``Saxonor Jew, dog or hog, what matters it? I say, nameRebecca, were it only to mortify the Saxon churls.''

A murmur arose even among his own immediateattendants.

``This passes a jest, my lord,'' said De Bracy;``no knight here will lay lance in rest if such an insultis attempted.''

``It is the mere wantonness of insult,'' said oneof the oldest and most important of Prince John'sfollowers, Waldemar Fitzurse, ``and if your Graceattempt it, cannot but prove ruinous to your projects.''

``I entertained you, sir,'' said John, reining uphis palfrey haughtily, ``for my follower, but not formy counsellor.''

``Those who follow your Grace in the pathswhich you tread,'' said Waldemar, but speaking ina low voice, ``acquire the right of counsellors; foryour interest and safety are not more deeply gagedthan their own.''

From the tone in which this was spoken, Johnsaw the necessity of acquiescence ``I did but jest,''he said; ``and you turn upon me like so many adders!Name whom you will, in the fiend's name,and please yourselves.''

``Nay, nay,'' said De Bracy, ``let the fair sovereign'sthrone remain unoccupied, until the conquerorshall be named, and then let him choose the ladyby whom it shall be filled. It will add another graceto his triumph, and teach fair ladies to prize the loveof valiant knights, who can exalt them to such distinction.''

``If Brian de Bois-Guilbert gain the prize,'' saidthe Prior, `` I will gage my rosary that I name theSovereign of Love and Beauty.''

``Bois-Guilbert,'' answered De Bracy, ``is a goodlance; but there are others around these lists, SirPrior, who will not fear to encounter him.''

``Silence, sirs,'' said Waldemar, ``and let thePrince assume his seat. The knights and spectatorsare alike impatient, the time advances, andhighly fit it is that the sports should commence.''

Prince John, though not yet a monarch, had inWaldemar Fitzurse all the inconveniences of a favouriteminister, who, in serving his sovereign, mustalways do so in his own way. The Prince acquiesced,however, although his disposition was preciselyof that kind which is apt to be obstinate upontrifles, and, assuming his throne, and being surroundedby his followers, gave signal to the heraldsto proclaim the laws of the tournament, which were

briefly as follows:

First, the five challengers were to undertake allcomers.

Secondly, any knight proposing to combat, might,if he pleased, select a special antagonist from amongthe challengers, by touching his shield. If he didso with the reverse of his lance, the trial of skillwas made with what were called the arms of courtesy,that is, with lances at whose extremity a pieceof round flat board was fixed, so that no dangerwas encountered, save from the shock of the horsesand riders. But if the shield was touched with thesharp end of the lance, the combat was understoodto be at _outrance_, that is, the knights were to fightwith sharp weapons, as in actual battle.

Thirdly, when the knights present had accomplishedtheir vow, by each of them breaking fivelances, the Prince was to declare the victor in thefirst day's tourney, who should receive as prize a warhorseof exquisite beauty and matchless strength;and in addition to this reward of valour, it was nowdeclared, he should have the peculiar honour ofnaming the Queen of Love and Beauty, by whomthe prize should be given on the ensuing day.

Fourthly, it was announced, that, on the secondday, there should be a general tournament, in whichall the knights present, who were desirous to winpraise, might take part; and being divided into twobands of equal numbers, might fight it out manfully,until the signal was given by Prince John tocease the combat. The elected Queen of Love andBeauty was then to crown the knight whom thePrince should adjudge to have borne himself bestin this second day, with a coronet composed of thingold plate, cut into the shape of a laurel crown. Onthis second day the knightly games ceased. Buton that which was to follow, feats of archery, ofbull-baiting, and other popular amusements, wereto be practised, for the more immediate amusementof the populace. In this manner did Prince Johnendeavour to lay the foundation of a popularity,

which he was perpetually throwing down by someinconsiderate act of wanton aggression upon thefeelings and prejudices of the people.

The lists now presented a most splendid spectacle.The sloping galleries were crowded with allthat was noble, great, wealthy, and beautiful in thenorthern and midland parts of England; and thecontrast of the various dresses of these dignifiedspectators, rendered the view as gay as it was rich,while the interior and lower space, filled with thesubstantial burgesses and yeomen of merry England,formed, in their more plain attire, a dark fringe, orborder, around this circle of brilliant embroidery,relieving, and, at the same time, setting off itssplendour.

The heralds finished their proclamation with theirusual cry of ``Largesse, largesse, gallant knights!''and gold and silver pieces were showered on themfrom the galleries, it being a high point of chivalryto exhibit liberality towards those whom the ageaccounted at once the secretaries and the historiansof honour. The bounty of the spectators was acknowledgedby the customary shouts of ``Love ofLadies---Death of Champions---Honour to the Generous---Glory to the Brave!'' To which the morehumble spectators added their acclamations, and anumerous band of trumpeters the flourish of theirmartial instruments. When these sounds had ceased,the heralds withdrew from the lists in gay andglittering procession, and none remained withinthem save the marshals of the field, who, armedcap-a-pie, sat on horseback, motionless as statues,at the opposite ends of the lists. Meantime, theenclosed space at the northern extremity of thelists, large as it was, was now completely crowdedwith knights desirous to prove their skill againstthe challengers, and, when viewed from the galleries,presented the appearance of a sea of wavingplumage, intermixed with glistening helmets, andtall lances, to the extremities of which were, inmany cases, attached small pennons of about aspan's breadth, which, fluttering in the air as thebreeze caught them, joined with the restless motion

of the feathers to add liveliness to the scene.

At length the barriers were opened, and fiveknights, chosen by lot, advanced slowly into thearea; a single champion riding in front, and the otherfour following in pairs. All were splendidly armed,and my Saxon authority (in the Wardour Manuscript)records at great length their devices, theircolours, and the embroidery of their horse trappings.It is unnecessary to be particular on these subjects.To borrow lines from a contemporary poet, who haswritten but too little---

``The knights are dust,And their good swords are rust,Their souls are with the saints, we trust.''*

* These lines are part of an unpublished poem. by Coleridge,* whose Muse so often tantalizes with fragments which indicate* her powers, while the manner in which she flings them from* her betrays her caprice, yet whose unfinished sketches display* more talent than the laboured masterpieces of others.

Their escutcheons have long mouldered from thewalls of their castles. Their castles themselves arebut green mounds and shattered ruins---the placethat once knew them, knows them no more---nay,many a race since theirs has died out and been forgottenin the very land which they occupied, withall the authority of feudal proprietors and feudallords. What, then, would it avail the reader to knowtheir names, or the evanescent symbols of theirmartial rank!

Now, however, no whit anticipating the oblivionwhich awaited their names and feats, the championsadvanced through the lists, restraining theirfiery steeds, and compelling them to move slowly,while, at the same time, they exhibited their paces,together with the grace and dexterity of the riders.As the procession entered the lists, the sound of awild Barbaric music was heard from behind thetents of the challengers, where the performers wereconcealed. It was of Eastern origin, having beenbrought from the Holy Land; and the mixture of

the cymbals and bells seemed to bid welcome atonce, and defiance, to the knights as they advanced.With the eyes of an immense concourse of spectatorsfixed upon them, the five knights advanced upthe platform upon which the tents of the challengersstood, and there separating themselves, eachtouched slightly, and with the reverse of his lance,the shield of the antagonist to whom he wished tooppose himself. The lower orders of spectators ingeneral---nay, many of the higher class, and it iseven said several of the ladies, were rather disappointedat the champions choosing the arms of courtesy.For the same sort of persons, who, in thepresent day, applaud most highly the deepest tragedies,were then interested in a tournament exactlyin proportion to the danger incurred by thechampions engaged.

Having intimated their more pacific purpose, thechampions retreated to the extremity of the lists,where they remained drawn up in a line; while thechallengers, sallying each from his pavilion, mountedtheir horses, and, headed by Brian de Bois-Guilbert,descended from the platform, and opposedthemselves individually to the knights who hadtouched their respective shields.

At the flourish of clarions and trumpets, theystarted out against each other at full gallop; andsuch was the superior dexterity or good fortune ofthe challengers, that those opposed to Bois-Guilbert,Malvoisin, and Front-de-B<oe>uf, rolled on theground. The antagonist of Grantmesnil, insteadof bearing his lance-point fair against the crest orthe shield of his enemy, swerved so much from thedirect line as to break the weapon athwart the personof his opponent---a circumstance which was accountedmore disgraceful than that of being actuallyunhorsed; because the latter might happen fromaccident, whereas the former evinced awkwardnessand want of management of the weapon andof the horse. The fifth knight alone maintainedthe honour of his party, and parted fairly with theKnight of St John, both splintering their lanceswithout advantage on either side.

The shouts of the multitude, together with theacclamations of the heralds, and the clangour of thetrumpets, announced the triumph of the victors andthe defeat of the vanquished. The former retreatedto their pavilions, and the latter, gathering themselvesup as they could, withdrew from the lists indisgrace and dejection, to agree with their victorsconcerning the redemption of their arms and theirhorses, which, according to the laws of the tournament,they had forfeited. The fifth of their numberalone tarried in the lists long enough to begreeted by the applauses of the spectators, amongstwhom he retreated, to the aggravation, doubtless,of his companions' mortification.

A second and a third party of knights took thefield; and although they had various success, yet,upon the whole, the advantage decidedly remainedwith the challengers, not one of whom lost his seator swerved from his charge---misfortunes which befellone or two of their antagonists in each encounter.The spirits, therefore, of those opposed tothem, seemed to be considerably damped by theircontinued success. Three knights only appeared onthe fourth entry, who, avoiding the shields of Bois-Guilbertand Front-de-B<oe>uf, contented themselveswith touching those of the three other knights, whohad not altogether manifested the same strengthand dexterity. This politic selection did not alterthe fortune of the field, the challengers were stillsuccessful: one of their antagonists was overthrown,and both the others failed in the _attaint_,* that is,

* This term of chivalry, transferred to the law, gives the* phrase of being attainted of treason.

in striking the helmet and shield of their antagonistfirmly and strongly, with the lance held in adirect line, so that the weapon might break unlessthe champion was overthrown.

After this fourth encounter, there was a considerablepause; nor did it appear that any one wasvery desirous of renewing the contest The spectators

murmured among themselves; for, amongthe challengers, Malvoisin and Front-de-B<oe>uf wereunpopular from their characters, and the others, exceptGrantmesnil, were disliked as strangers andforeigners.

But none shared the general feeling of dissatisfactionso keenly as Cedric the Saxon, who saw, ineach advantage gained by the Norman challengers,a repeated triumph over the honour of England.His own education had taught him no skill in thegames of chivalry, although, with the arms of hisSaxon ancestors, he had manifested himself, onmany occasions, a brave and determined soldier.He looked anxiously to Athelstane, who had learnedthe accomplishments of the age, as if desiringthat he should make some personal effort to recoverthe victory which was passing into the handsof the Templar and his associates. But, thoughboth stout of heart, and strong of person, Athelstanehad a disposition too inert and unambitious to makethe exertions which Cedric seemed to expect fromhim.

``The day is against England, my lord,'' saidCedric, in a marked tone; ``are you not temptedto take the lance?''

``I shall tilt to-morrow" answered Athelstane,``in the _m<e^>l<e'>e_; it is not worth while for me to armmyself to-day.''

Two things displeased Cedric in this speech. Itcontained the Norman word _me<e^>l<e'>e_, (to express thegeneral conflict,) and it evinced some indifferenceto the honour of the country; but it was spokenby Athelstane, whom he held in such profoundrespect, that he would not trust himself to canvasshis motives or his foibles. Moreover, he had notime to make any remark, for Wamba thrust in hisword, observing, ``It was better, though scarceeasier, to be the best man among a hundred, thanthe best man of two.''

Athelstane took the observation as a serious compliment;

but Cedric, who better understood theJester's meaning, darted at him a severe and menacinglook; and lucky it was for Wamba, perhaps,that the time and place prevented his receiving,notwithstanding his place and service, moresensible marks of his master's resentment.

The pause in the tournament was still uninterrupted,excepting by the voices of the heralds exclaiming---``Love of ladies, splintering of lances!stand forth gallant knights, fair eyes look uponyour deeds!''

The music also of the challengers breathed fromtime to time wild bursts expressive of triumph ordefiance, while the clowns grudged a holiday whichseemed to pass away in inactivity; and old knightsand nobles lamented in whispers the decay of martialspirit, spoke of the triumphs of their youngerdays, but agreed that the land did not now supplydames of such transcendent beauty as had animatedthe jousts of former times. Prince John began totalk to his attendants about making ready the banquet,and the necessity of adjudging the prize toBrian de Bois-Guilbert, who had, with a singlespear, overthrown two knights, and foiled a third.

At length, as the Saracenic music of the challengersconcluded one of those long and high flourisheswith which they had broken the silence ofthe lists, it was answered by a solitary trumpet,which breathed a note of defiance from the northernextremity. All eyes were turned to see the newchampion which these sounds announced, and nosooner were the barriers opened than he paced intothe lists. As far as could be judged of a mansheathed in armour, the new adventurer did notgreatly exceed the middle size, and seemed to berather slender than strongly made. His suit ofarmour was formed of steel, richly inlaid with gold,and the device on his shield was a young oak-treepulled up by the roots, with the Spanish word Desdichado,signifying Disinherited. He was mountedon a gallant black horse, and as he passed throughthe lists he gracefully saluted the Prince and the

ladies by lowering his lance. The dexterity withwhich he managed his steed, and something ofyouthful grace which he displayed in his manner,won him the favour of the multitude, which some ofthe lower classes expressed by calling out, ``TouchRalph de Vipont's shield---touch the Hospitallersshield; he has the least sure seat, he is your cheapestbargain.''

The champion, moving onward amid these well-meanthints, ascended the platform by the slopingalley which led to it from the lists, and, to the astonishmentof all present, riding straight up to thecentral pavilion, struck with the sharp end of hisspear the shield of Brian de Bois-Guilbert until itrung again. All stood astonished at his presumption,but none more than the redoubted Knightwhom he had thus defied to mortal combat, andwho, little expecting so rude a challenge, was standingcarelessly at the door of the pavilion.

``Have you confessed yourself, brother,'' said theTemplar, ``and have you heard mass this morning,that you peril your life so frankly?''

``I am fitter to meet death than thou art,'' answeredthe Disinherited Knight; for by this namethe stranger had recorded himself in the books ofthe tourney.

``Then take your place in the lists,'' said Bois-Guilbert,``and look your last upon the sun; forthis night thou shalt sleep in paradise.''

``Gramercy for thy courtesy,'' replied the DisinheritedKnight, ``and to requite it, I advise theeto take a fresh horse and a new lance, for by myhonour you will need both.''

Having expressed himself thus confidently, hereined his horse backward down the slope whichhe had ascended, and compelled him in the samemanner to move backward through the lists, till hereached the northern extremity, where he remainedstationary, in expectation of his antagonist. This

feat of horsemanship again attracted the applauseof the multitude.

However incensed at his adversary for the precautionswhich he recommended, Brian de Bois-Guilbertdid not neglect his advice; for his honourwas too nearly concerned, to permit his neglectingany means which might ensure victory over his presumptuousopponent. He changed his horse for aproved and fresh one of great strength and spirit.He chose a new and a tough spear, lest the woodof the former might have been strained in the previousencounters he had sustained. Lastly, he laidaside his shield, which had received some littledamage, and received another from his squires. Hisfirst had only borne the general device of his rider,representing two knights riding upon one horse,an emblem expressive of the original humility andpoverty of the Templars, qualities which they hadsince exchanged for the arrogance and wealth thatfinally occasioned their suppression. Bois-Guilbert'snew shield bore a raven in full flight, holdingin its claws a skull, and bearing the motto, _Gare leCorbeau_.

When the two champions stood opposed to eachother at the two extremities of the lists, the publicexpectation was strained to the highest pitch. Fewaugured the possibility that the encounter couldterminate well for the Disinherited Knight, yethis courage and gallantry secured the general goodwishes of the spectators.

The trumpets had no sooner given the signal,than the champions vanished from their posts withthe speed of lightning, and closed in the centre ofthe lists with the shock of a thunderbolt. Thelances burst into shivers up to the very grasp, andit seemed at the moment that both knights had fallen,for the shock had made each horse recoil backwardsupon its haunches. The address of the ridersrecovered their steeds by use of the bridle and spur;and having glared on each other for an instant witheyes which seemed to flash fire through the bars oftheir visors, each made a demi-volte, and, retiring

to the extremity of the lists, received a fresh lancefrom the attendants.

A loud shout from the spectators, waving ofscarfs and handkerchiefs, and general acclamations,attested the interest taken by the spectators in thisencounter; the most equal, as well as the best performed,which had graced the day. But no soonerhad the knights resumed their station, than the clamourof applause was hushed into a silence, so deepand so dead, that it seemed the multitude wereafraid even to breathe.

A few minutes pause having been allowed, thatthe combatants and their horses might recoverbreath, Prince John with his truncheon signed tothe trumpets to sound the onset. The championsa second time sprung from their stations, and closedin the centre of the lists, with the same speed, thesame dexterity, the same violence, but not the sameequal fortune as before.

In this second encounter, the Templar aimed atthe centre of his antagonist's shield, and struck itso fair and forcibly, that his spear went to shivers,and the Disinherited Knight reeled in his saddle.On the other hand, that champion had, in the beginningof his career, directed the point of his lancetowards Bois-Guilbert's shield, but, changing hisaim almost in the moment of encounter, he addressedit to the helmet, a mark more difficult to hit, butwhich, if attained, rendered the shock more irresistible.Fair and true he hit the Norman on thevisor, where his lance's point kept hold of the bars.Yet, even at this disadvantage, the Templar sustainedhis high reputation; and had not the girths ofhis saddle burst, he might not have been unhorsed.As it chanced, however, saddle, horse, and man,rolled on the ground under a cloud of dust.

To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallensteed, was to the Templar scarce the work of a moment;and, stung with madness, both at his disgraceand at the acclamations with which it was hailed bythe spectators, he drew his sword and waved it in

defiance of his conqueror. The Disinherited Knightsprung from his steed, and also unsheathed hissword. The marshals of the field, however, spurredtheir horses between them, and reminded them,that the laws of the tournament did not, on the presentoccasion, permit this species of encounter.

``We shall meet again, I trust,'' said the Templar,casting a resentful glance at his antagonist;``and where there are none to separate us.''

``If we do not,'' said the Disinherited Knight,``the fault shall not be mine. On foot or horseback,with spear, with axe, or with sword, I amalike ready to encounter thee.''

More and angrier words would have been exchanged,but the marshals, crossing their lances betwixtthem, compelled them to separate. The DisinheritedKnight returned to his first station, andBois-Guilbert to his tent, where he remained forthe rest of the day in an agony of despair.

Without alighting from his horse, the conquerorcalled for a bowl of wine, and opening the beaver,or lower part of his helmet, announced that he quaffedit, ``To all true English hearts, and to the confusionof foreign tyrants.'' He then commandedhis trumpet to sound a defiance to the challengers,and desired a herald to announce to them, that heshould make no election, but was willing to encounterthem in the order in which they pleased toadvance against him.

The gigantic Front-de-B<oe>uf, armed in sable armour,was the first who took the field. He boreon a white shield a black bull's head, half defacedby the numerous encounters which he had undergone,and bearing the arrogant motto, _Cave, Adsum_.Over this champion the Disinherited Knight obtaineda slight but decisive advantage. BothKnights broke their lances fairly, but Front-de-B<oe>uf,who lost a stirrup in the encounter, was adjudgedto have the disadvantage.

In the stranger's third encounter with Sir PhilipMalvoisin, he was equally successful; striking thatbaron so forcibly on the casque, that the laces of thehelmet broke, and Malvoisin, only saved from fallingby being unhelmeted, was declared vanquishedlike his companions.

In his fourth combat with De Grantmesnil, theDisinherited Knight showed as much courtesy ashe had hitherto evinced courage and dexterity. DeGrantmesnil's horse, which was young and violent,reared and plunged in the course of the career soas to disturb the rider's aim, and the stranger, decliningto take the advantage which this accidentafforded him, raised his lance, and passing his antagonistwithout touching him, wheeled his horseand rode back again to his own end of the lists, offeringhis antagonist, by a herald, the chance of asecond encounter. This De Grantmesnil declined,avowing himself vanquished as much by the courtesyas by the address of his opponent.

Ralph de Vipont summed up the list of thestranger's triumphs, being hurled to the groundwith such force, that the blood gushed from his noseand his mouth, and he was borne senseless from thelists.

The acclamations of thousands applauded theunanimous award of the Prince and marshals,announcing that day's honours to the Disinherited Knight.

CHAPTER IX

--------In the midst was seenA lady of a more majestic mien,By stature and by beauty mark'd their sovereign Queen.<*> <*> <*> <*> <*> <*>And as in beauty she surpass'd the choir,So nobler than the rest was her attire;A crown of ruddy gold enclosed her brow,Plain without pomp, and rich without a show;A branch of Agnus Castus in her hand,

She bore aloft her symbol of command. _The Flower and the Leaf_.

William de Wyvil and Stephen de Martival,the marshals of the field, were the first to offertheir congratulations to the victor, praying him, atthe same time, to suffer his helmet to be unlaced,or, at least, that he would raise his visor ere theyconducted him to receive the prize of the day'stourney from the hands of Prince John. The DisinheritedKnight, with all knightly courtesy, declinedtheir request, alleging, that he could not atthis time suffer his face to be seen, for reasonswhich he had assigned to the heralds when he enteredthe lists. The marshals were perfectly satisfiedby this reply; for amidst the frequent and capriciousvows by which knights were accustomedto bind themselves in the days of chivalry,there were none more common than those by whichthey engaged to remain incognito for a certain space,or until some particular adventure was achieved.The marshals, therefore, pressed no farther into themystery of the Disinherited Knight, but, announcingto Prince John the conqueror's desire to remainunknown, they requested permission to bringhim before his Grace, in order that he might receivethe reward of his valour.

John's curiosity was excited by the mystery observedby the stranger; and, being already displeasedwith the issue of the tournament, in which thechallengers whom he favoured had been successivelydefeated by one knight, he answered haughtilyto the marshals, ``By the light of Our Lady's brow,this same knight hath been disinherited as well ofhis courtesy as of his lands, since he desires to appearbefore us without uncovering his face.---Wotye, my lords,'' be said, turning round to his train,``who this gallant can be, that bears himself thusproudly?''

``I cannot guess,'' answered De Bracy, ``nor didI think there had been within the four seas thatgirth Britain a champion that could bear down

these five knights in one day's jousting. By myfaith, I shall never forget the force with which heshocked De Vipont. The poor Hospitaller washurled from his saddle like a stone from a sling.''

``Boast not of that,'' said a Knight of St John,who was present; ``your Temple champion had nobetter luck. I saw your brave lance, Bois-Guilbert,roll thrice over, grasping his hands full of sand atevery turn.

De Bracy, being attached to the Templars, wouldhave replied, but was prevented by Prince John.``Silence, sirs!'' he said; ``what unprofitable debatehave we here?''

``The victor,'' said De Wyvil, ``still waits thepleasure of your highness.''

``It is our pleasure,'' answered John, ``that hedo so wait until we learn whether there is not someone who can at least guess at his name and quality.Should he remain there till night-fall, he hashad work enough to keep him warm.''

``Your Grace,'' said Waldemar Fitzurse, ``willdo less than due honour to the victor, if you compelhim to wait till we tell your highness that whichwe cannot know; at least I can form no guess---unless he be one of the good lances who accompaniedKing Richard to Palestine, and who are nowstraggling homeward from the Holy Land.''

``It may be the Earl of Salisbury,'' said De Bracy;``he is about the same pitch.''

``Sir Thomas de Multon, the Knight of Gilsland,rather,'' said Fitzurse; ``Salisbury is biggerin the bones.'' A whisper arose among the train,but by whom first suggested could not be ascertained.``It might be the King---it might beRichard C<oe>ur-de-Lion himself!''

``Over God's forbode!'' said Prince John, involuntarilyturning at the same time as pale as death,

and shrinking as if blighted by a flash of lightning;``Waldemar!---De Bracy! brave knights and gentlemen,remember your promises, and stand trulyby me!''

``Here is no danger impending,'' said WaldemarFitzurse; ``are you so little acquainted with thegigantic limbs of your father's son, as to think theycan be held within the circumference of yonder suitof armour?---De Wyvil and Martival, you will bestserve the Prince by bringing forward the victor tothe throne, and ending an error that has conjuredall the blood from his cheeks.---Look at him moreclosely,'' he continued, ``your highness will see thathe wants three inches of King Richard's height,and twice as much of his shoulder-breadth. Thevery horse he backs, could not have carried theponderous weight of King Richard through a singlecourse.''

While he was yet speaking, the marshals broughtforward the Disinherited Knight to the foot of awooden flight of steps, which formed the ascentfrom the lists to Prince John's throne. Still discomposedwith the idea that his brother, so muchinjured, and to whom he was so much indebted,had suddenly arrived in his native kingdom, eventhe distinctions pointed out by Fitzurse did not altogetherremove the Prince's apprehensions; andwhile, with a short and embarrassed eulogy uponhis valour, he caused to be delivered to him thewar-horse assigned as the prize, he trembled lestfrom the barred visor of the mailed form beforehim, an answer might be returned, in the deep andawful accents of Richard the Lion-hearted.

But the Disinherited Knight spoke not a wordin reply to the compliment of the Prince, whichhe only acknowledged with a profound obeisance.

The horse was led into the lists by two groomsrichly dressed, the animal itself being fully accoutredwith the richest war-furniture; which, however,scarcely added to the value of the noble creaturein the eyes of those who were judges. Laying

one hand upon the pommel of the saddle, the DisinheritedKnight vaulted at once upon the back ofthe steed without making use of the stirrup, and,brandishing aloft his lance, rode twice around thelists, exhibiting the points and paces of the horsewith the skill of a perfect horseman

The appearance of vanity, which might otherwisehave been attributed to this display, was removedby the propriety shown in exhibiting to thebest advantage the princely reward with which hehad been just honoured, and the Knight was againgreeted by the acclamations of all present.

In the meanwhile, the bustling Prior of Jorvaulxhad reminded Prince John, in a whisper, that thevictor must now display his good judgment, insteadof his valour, by selecting from among the beautieswho graced the galleries a lady, who should fill thethrone of the Queen of Beauty and of Love, anddeliver the prize of the tourney upon the ensuingday. The Prince accordingly made a sign withhis truncheon, as the Knight passed him in his secondcareer around the lists. The Knight turnedtowards the throne, and, sinking his lance, until thepoint was within a foot of the ground, remainedmotionless, as if expecting John's commands; whileall admired the sudden dexterity with which he instantlyreduced his fiery steed from a state of violentemotion and high excitation to the stillness ofan equestrian statue,

``Sir Disinherited Knight,'' said Prince John,``since that is the only title by which we can addressyou, it is now your duty, as well as privilege,to name the fair lady, who, as Queen of Honourand of Love, is to preside over next day's festival.If, as a stranger in our land, you should requirethe aid of other judgment to guide your own, wecan only say that Alicia, the daughter of our gallantknight Waldemar Fitzurse, has at our courtbeen long held the first in beauty as in place. Nevertheless,it is your undoubted prerogative to conferon whom you please this crown, by the deliveryof which to the lady of your choice, the election of

to-morrow's Queen will be formal and complete.---Raise your lance.''

The Knight obeyed; and Prince John placedupon its point a coronet of green satin, havingaround its edge a circlet of gold, the upper edge ofwhich was relieved by arrow-points and hearts placedinterchangeably, like the strawberry leaves andballs upon a ducal crown.

In the broad hint which he dropped respectingthe daughter of Waldemar Fitzurse, John hadmore than one motive, each the offspring of a mind,which was a strange mixture of carelessness andpresumption with low artifice and cunning. Hewished to banish from the minds of the chivalryaround him his own indecent and unacceptable jestrespecting the Jewess Rebecca; he was desirous ofconciliating Alicia's father Waldemar, of whom hestood in awe, and who had more than once shownhimself dissatisfied during the course of the day'sproceedings. He had also a wish to establish himselfin the good graces of the lady; for John wasat least as licentious in his pleasures as profligate inhis ambition. But besides all these reasons, hewas desirous to raise up against the DisinheritedKnight (towards whom he already entertained astrong dislike) a powerful enemy in the person ofWaldemar Fitzurse, who was likely, he thought,highly to resent the injury done to his daughter,in case, as was not unlikely, the victor should makeanother choice.

And so indeed it proved. For the DisinheritedKnight passed the gallery close to that of thePrince, in which the Lady Alicia was seated in thefull pride of triumphant beauty, and, pacing forwardsas slowly as he had hitherto rode swiftlyaround the lists, he seemed to exercise his right ofexamining the numerous fair faces which adornedthat splendid circle.

It was worth while to see the different conductof the beauties who underwent this examination,during the time it was proceeding. Some blushed,

some assumed an air of pride and dignity, somelooked straight forward, and essayed to seem utterlyunconscious of what was going on, some drewback in alarm, which was perhaps affected, someendeavoured to forbear smiling, and there were twoor three who laughed outright. There were alsosome who dropped their veils over their charms;but, as the Wardour Manuscript says these werefair ones of ten years standing, it may be supposedthat, having had their full share of such vanities,they were willing to withdraw their claim, in orderto give a fair chance to the rising beauties of theage.

At length the champion paused beneath the balconyin which the Lady Rowena was placed, andthe expectation of the spectators was excited to theutmost.

It must be owned, that if an interest displayedin his success could have bribed the DisinheritedKnight, the part of the lists before which he pausedhad merited his predilection. Cedric the Saxon,overjoyed at the discomfiture of the Templar,and still more so at the, miscarriage of his two malevolentneighbours, Front-de-B<oe>uf and Malvoisin,had, with his body half stretched over the balcony,accompanied the victor in each course, notwith his eyes only, but with his whole heart andsoul. The Lady Rowena had watched the progressof the day with equal attention, though withoutopenly betraying the same intense interest. Eventhe unmoved Athelstane had shown symptoms ofshaking off his apathy, when, calling for a hugegoblet of muscadine, he quaffed it to the health ofthe Disinherited Knight.Another group, stationed under the gallery occupiedby the Saxons, had shown no less interestin the fate of the day.

``Father Abraham!'' said Isaac of York, whenthe first course was run betwixt the Templar andthe Disinherited Knight, ``how fiercely that Gentilerides! Ah, the good horse that was broughtall the long way from Barbary, he takes no more

care of him than if he were a wild ass's colt---andthe noble armour, that was worth so many zecchinsto Joseph Pareira, the armourer of Milan, besidesseventy in the hundred of profits, he cares for it aslittle as if he had found it in the highways!''

``If he risks his own person and limbs, father,''said Rebecca, ``in doing such a dreadful battle, hecan scarce be expected to spare his horse and armour.''

``Child!'' replied Isaac, somewhat heated, ``thouknowest not what thou speakest---His neck andlimbs are his own, but his horse and armour belongto---Holy Jacob! what was I about to say!---Nevertheless, it is a good youth---See, Rebecca!see, he is again about to go up to battle against thePhilistine---Pray, child---pray for the safety of thegood youth,---and of the speedy horse, and the richarmour.---God of my fathers!'' he again exclaimed,``he hath conquered, and the uncircumcised Philistinehath fallen before his lance,---even as Og theKing of Bashan, and Sihon, King of the Amorites,fell before the sword of our fathers!---Surely heshall take their gold and their silver, and their war-horses,and their armour of brass and of steel, fora prey and for a spoil.''

The same anxiety did the worthy Jew displayduring every course that was run, seldom failing tohazard a hasty calculation concerning the value ofthe horse and armour which was forfeited to thechampion upon each new success. There had beentherefore no small interest taken in the success ofthe Disinherited Knight, by those who occupied thepart of the lists before which he now paused.

Whether from indecision, or some other motiveof hesitation, the champion of the day remainedstationary for more than a minute, while the eyesof the silent audience were riveted upon his motions;and then, gradually and gracefully sinkingthe point of his lance, he deposited the coronetWhich it supported at the feet of the fair Rowena.The trumpets instantly sounded, while the heraldsproclaimed the Lady Rowena the Queen of Beauty

and of Love for the ensuing day, menacing withsuitable penalties those who should be disobedientto her authority. They then repeated their cry ofLargesse, to which Cedric, in the height of his joy,replied by an ample donative, and to which Athelstane,though less promptly, added one equallylarge.

There was some murmuring among the damselsof Norman descent, who were as much unused tosee the preference given to a Saxon beauty, as theNorman nobles were to sustain defeat in the gamesof chivalry which they themselves had introduced.But these sounds of disaffection were drowned bythe popular shout of ``Long live the Lady Rowena,the chosen and lawful Queen of Love and of Beauty!''To which many in the lower area added,``Long live the Saxon Princess! long live the raceof the immortal Alfred!''

However unacceptable these sounds might be toPrince John, and to those around him, he saw himselfnevertheless obliged to confirm the nominationof the victor, and accordingly calling to horse, heleft his throne; and mounting his jennet, accompaniedby his train, he again entered the lists.The Prince paused a moment beneath the galleryof the Lady Alicia, to whom he paid his compliments,observing, at the same time, to those aroundhim---``By my halidome, sirs! if the Knight's featsin arms have shown that he hath limbs and sinews,his choice hath no less proved that his eyes are noneof the clearest.''

It was on this occasion, as during his whole life,John's misfortune, not perfectly to understand thecharacters of those whom he wished to conciliate.Waldemar Fitzurse was rather offended than pleasedat the Prince stating thus broadly an opinion,that his daughter had been slighted.

``I know no right of chivalry,'' he said, ``moreprecious or inalienable than that of each free knightto choose his lady-love by his own judgment. Mydaughter courts distinction from no one; and in her

own character, and in her own sphere, will neverfail to receive the full proportion of that which isher due.''

Prince John replied not; but, spurring his horse,as if to give vent to his vexation, he made the animalbound forward to the gallery where Rowenawas seated, with the crown still at her feet.

``Assume,'' he said, ``fair lady, the mark of yoursovereignty, to which none vows homage more sincerelythan ourself, John of Anjou; and if it pleaseyou to-day, with your noble sire and friends, tograce our banquet in the Castle of Ashby, we shalllearn to know the empress to whose service we devoteto-morrow.''

Rowena remained silent, and Cedric answeredfor her in his native Saxon.

``The Lady Rowena,'' he said, ``possesses notthe language in which to reply to your courtesy, orto sustain her part in your festival. I also, and thenoble Athelstane of Coningsburgh, speak only thelanguage, and practise only the manners, of ourfathers. We therefore decline with thanks yourHighness's courteous invitation to the banquet.To-morrow, the Lady Rowena will take upon herthe state to which she has been called by the freeelection of the victor Knight, confirmed by the acclamationsof the people.''

So saying, he lifted the coronet, and placed itupon Rowena's head, in token of her acceptance ofthe temporary authority assigned to her.

``What says he?'' said Prince John, affectingnot to understand the Saxon language, in which,however, he was well skilled. The purport of Cedric'sspeech was repeated to him in French. ``Itis well,'' he said; ``to-morrow we will ourself conductthis mute sovereign to her seat of dignity.--You, at least, Sir Knight,'' he added, turning to thevictor, who had remained near the gallery, ``willthis day share our banquet?''

The Knight, speaking for the first time, in alow and hurried voice, excused himself by pleadingfatigue, and the necessity of preparing for to-morrow'sencounter.

``It is well,'' said Prince John, haughtily; ``althoughunused to such refusals, we will endeavourto digest our banquet as we may, though ungracedby the most successful in arms, and his electedQueen of Beauty.''

So saying, he prepared to leave the lists with hisglittering train, and his turning his steed for thatpurpose, was the signal for the breaking up anddispersion of the spectators.

Yet, with the vindictive memory proper to offendedpride, especially when combined with consciouswant of desert, John had hardly proceededthree paces, ere again, turning around, he fixed aneye of stern resentment upon the yeoman who haddispleased him in the early part of the day, andissued his commands to the men-at-arms who stoodnear---``On your life, suffer not that fellow toescape.''

The yeoman stood the angry glance of the Princewith the same unvaried steadiness which had markedhis former deportment, saying, with a smile, ``Ihave no intention to leave Ashby until the day afterto-morrow---I must see how Staffordshire andLeicestershire can draw their bows---the forests ofNeedwood and Charnwood must rear good archers.''

``l,'' said Prince John to his attendants, but notin direct reply,---``I will see how he can draw hisown; and woe betide him unless his skill shouldprove some apology for his insolence!''

``It is full time,'' said De Bracy, ``that the _outrecuidance_*

* Presumption, insolence.

of these peasants should be restrained by

some striking example.''

Waldemar Fitzurse, who probably thought hispatron was not taking the readiest road to popularity,shrugged up his shoulders and was silent.Prince John resumed his retreat from the lists, andthe dispersion of the multitude became general.

In various routes, according to the different quartersfrom which they came, and in groups of variousnumbers, the spectators were seen retiring over theplain. By far the most numerous part streamedtowards the town of Ashby, where many of thedistinguished persons were lodged in the castle, andwhere others found accommodation in the townitself. Among these were most of the knights whohad already appeared in the tournament, or whoproposed to fight there the ensuing day, and who,as they rode slowly along, talking over the eventsof the day, were greeted with loud shouts by thepopulace. The same acclamations were bestowedupon Prince John, although he was indebted forthem rather to the splendour of his appearance andtrain, than to the popularity of his character.

A more sincere and more general, as well as abetter-merited acclamation, attended the victor ofthe day, until, anxious to withdraw himself frompopular notice, he accepted the accommodation ofone of those pavilions pitched at the extremities ofthe lists, the use of which was courteously tenderedhim by the marshals of the field. On his retiringto his tent, many who had lingered in the lists, tolook upon and form conjectures concerning him,also dispersed.

The signs and sounds of a tumultuous concourseof men lately crowded together in one place, andagitated by the same passing events, were now exchangedfor the distant hum of voices of differentgroups retreating in all directions, and these speedilydied away in silence. No other sounds wereheard save the voices of the menials who strippedthe galleries of their cushions and tapestry, in orderto put them in safety for the night, and wrangled

among themselves for the half-used bottles ofwine and relics of the refreshment which had beenserved round to the spectators.

Beyond the precincts of the lists more than oneforge was erected; and these now began to glimmerthrough the twilight, announcing the toil ofthe armourers, which was to continue through thewhole night, in order to repair or alter the suits ofarmour to be used again on the morrow.

A strong guard of men-at-arms, renewed at intervals,from two hours to two hours, surroundedthe lists, and kept watch during the night.

CHAPTER X

Thus, like the sad presaging raven, that tollsThe sick man's passport in her hollow beak,And in the shadow of the silent nightDoth shake contagion from her sable wings;Vex'd and tormented, runs poor Barrabas,With fatal curses towards these Christians. _Jew of Malta_.

The Disinherited Knight had no sooner reachedhis pavilion, than squires and pages in abundancetendered their services to disarm him, to bring freshattire, and to offer him the refreshment of the bath.Their zeal on this occasion was perhaps sharpenedby curiosity, since every one desired to know whothe knight was that had gained so many laurels,yet had refused, even at the command of PrinceJohn, to lift his visor or to name his name. Buttheir officious inquisitiveness was not gratified. TheDisinherited Knight refused all other assistancesave that of his own squire, or rather yeoman---aclownish-looking man, who, wrapt in a cloak ofdark-coloured felt, and having his head and facehalf-buried in a Norman bonnet made of black fur,seemed to affect the incognito as much as his master.

All others being excluded from the tent, thisattendant relieved his master from the more burdensomeparts of his armour, and placed food andwine before him, which the exertions of the dayrendered very acceptable.

The Knight had scarcely finished a hasty meal,ere his menial announced to him that five men, eachleading a barbed steed, desired to speak with him.The Disinherited Knight had exchanged his armourfor the long robe usually worn by those of his condition,which, being furnished with a hood, concealedthe features, when such was the pleasure ofthe wearer, almost as completely as the visor of thehelmet itself, but the twilight, which was now fastdarkening, would of itself have rendered a disguiseunnecessary, unless to persons to whom the face ofan individual chanced to be particularly well known.

The Disinherited Knight, therefore, stept boldlyforth to the front of his tent, and found in attendancethe squires of the challengers, whom heeasily knew by their russet and black dresses, eachof whom led his master's charger, loaded with thearmour in which he had that day fought.

``According to the laws of chivalry,'' said theforemost of these men, ``I, Baldwin de Oyley,squire to the redoubted Knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert,make offer to you, styling yourself, for thepresent, the Disinherited Knight, of the horse andarmour used by the said Brian de Bois-Guilbert inthis day's Passage of Arms, leaving it with yournobleness to retain or to ransom the same, accordingto your pleasure; for such is the law of arms.''

The other squires repeated nearly the same formula,and then stood to await the decision of theDisinherited Knight.

``To you four, sirs,'' replied the Knight, addressingthose who had last spoken, ``and to your honourableand valiant masters, I have one commonreply. Commend me to the noble knights, yourmasters, and say, I should do ill to deprive them

of steeds and arms which can never be used bybraver cavaliers.---I would I could here end mymessage to these gallant knights; but being, as Iterm myself, in truth and earnest, the Disinherited,I must be thus far bound to your masters, that theywill, of their courtesy, be pleased to ransom theirsteeds and armour, since that which I wear I canhardly term mine own.''

``We stand commissioned, each of us,'' answeredthe squire of Reginald Front-de-B<oe>uf, ``to offera hundred zecchins in ransom of these horses andsuits of armour.''

``It is sufficient,'' said the Disinherited Knight.``Half the sum my present necessities compel meto accept; of the remaining half, distribute onemoiety among yourselves, sir squires, and dividethe other half betwixt the heralds and the pursuivants,and minstrels, and attendants.''

The squires, with cap in hand, and low reverences,expressed their deep sense of a courtesy andgenerosity not often practised, at least upon a scaleso extensive. The Disinherited Knight then addressedhis discourse to Baldwin, the squire of Briande Bois-Guilbert. ``From your master,'' said he,``I will accept neither arms nor ransom. Say tohim in my name, that our strife is not ended---no,not till we have fought as well with swords as withlances---as well on foot as on horseback. To thismortal quarrel he has himself defied me, and I shallnot forget the challenge.---Meantime, let him beassured, that I hold him not as one of his companions,with whom I can with pleasure exchangecourtesies; but rather as one with whom I standupon terms of mortal defiance.''

``My master,'' answered Baldwin, ``knows howto requite scorn with scorn, and blows with blows,as well as courtesy with courtesy, Since you disdainto accept from him any share of the ransom atwhich you have rated the arms of the other knights,I must leave his armour and his horse here, beingwell assured that he will never deign to mount the

one nor wear the other.''

``You have spoken well, good squire,'' said theDisinherited Knight, ``well and boldly, as it beseemethhim to speak who answers for an absentmaster. Leave not, however, the horse and armourhere. Restore them to thy master; or, if he scornsto accept them, retain them, good friend, for thineown use. So far as they are mine, I bestow themupon you freely.''

Baldwin made a deep obeisance, and retired withhis companions; and the Disinherited Knight enteredthe pavilion.

``Thus far, Gurth,'' said he, addressing his attendant,``the reputation of English chivalry hathnot suffered in my hands.''

``And I,'' said Gurth, ``for a Saxon swineherd,have not ill played the personage of a Normansquire-at-arms.''

``Yea, but,'' answered the Disinherited Knight,thou hast ever kept me in anxiety lest thy clownishbearing should discover thee.''``Tush!'' said Gurth, ``I fear discovery fromnone, saving my playfellow, Wamba the Jester, ofwhom I could never discover whether he were mostknave or fool. Yet I could scarce choose but laugh,when my old master passed so near to me, dreamingall the while that Gurth was keeping his porkersmany a mile off, in the thickets and swamps ofRotherwood. If I am discovered------''

``Enough,'' said the Disinherited Knight, ``thouknowest my promise.''

``Nay, for that matter,'' said Gurth, ``I willnever fail my friend for fear of my skin-cutting. Ihave a tough hide, that will bear knife or scourgeas well as any boar's hide in my herd.''

``Trust me, I will requite the risk you run formy love, Gurth,'' said the Knight. ``Meanwhile,

I pray you to accept these ten pieces of gold.''

``I am richer,'' said Gurth, putting them into hispouch, ``than ever was swineherd or bondsman.''

``Take this bag of gold to Ashby,'' continuedhis master, ``and find out Isaac the Jew of York,and let him pay himself for the horse and arms withwhich his credit supplied me.''

``Nay, by St Dunstan,'' replied Gurth, ``that Iwill not do.''

``How, knave,'' replied his master, ``wilt thounot obey my commands?''

``So they be honest, reasonable, and Christiancommands,'' replied Gurth; ``but this is none ofthese. To suffer the Jew to pay himself would bedishonest, for it would be cheating my master; andunreasonable, for it were the part of a fool; and unchristian,since it would be plundering a believerto enrich an infidel.''

``See him contented, however, thou stubbornvarlet,'' said the Disinherited Knight.

``I will do so,'' said Gurth, taking the bag underhis cloak, and leaving the apartment; ``and itwill go hard,'' he muttered, ``but I content himwith one-half of his own asking.'' So saying, hedeparted, and left the Disinherited Knight to hisown perplexed ruminations; which, upon more accountsthan it is now possible to communicate tothe reader, were of a nature peculiarly agitatingand painful.We must now change the scene to the village ofAshby, or rather to a country house in its vicinitybelonging to a wealthy Israelite, with whom Isaac,his daughter, and retinue, had taken up their quarters;the Jews, it is well known, being as liberalin exercising the duties of hospitality and charityamong their own people, as they were alleged tobe reluctant and churlish in extending them to thosewhom they termed Gentiles, and whose treatment

of them certainly merited little hospitality at theirhand.

In an apartment, small indeed, but richly furnishedwith decorations of an Oriental taste, Rebeccawas seated on a heap of embroidered cushions,which, piled along a low platform that surroundedthe chamber, served, like the estrada of the Spaniards,instead of chairs and stools. She was watchingthe motions of her father with a look of anxiousand filial affection, while he paced the apartmentwith a dejected mien and disordered step; sometimesclasping his hands together---sometimes castinghis eyes to the roof of the apartment, as onewho laboured under great mental tribulation. ``O,Jacob!'' he exclaimed---``O, all ye twelve HolyFathers of our tribe! what a losing venture is thisfor one who hath duly kept every jot and tittle ofthe law of Moses---Fifty zecchins wrenched fromme at one clutch, and by the talons of a tyrant!''

``But, father,'' said Rebecca, ``you seemed togive the gold to Prince John willingly.''

``Willingly? the blotch of Egypt upon him!---Willingly, saidst thou?---Ay, as willingly as when,in the Gulf of Lyons, I flung over my merchandiseto lighten the ship, while she laboured in thetempest---robed the seething billows in my choicesilks---perfumed their briny foam with myrrh andaloes---enriched their caverns with gold and silverwork! And was not that an hour of unutterablemisery, though my own hands made the sacrifice?''

``But it was a sacrifice which Heaven exactedto save our lives,'' answered Rebecca, ``and theGod of our fathers has since blessed your store andyour gettings.''

``Ay,'' answered Isaac, ``but if the tyrant layshold on them as he did to-day, and compels me tosmile while he is robbing me?---O, daughter, disinheritedand wandering as we are, the worst evilwhich befalls our race is, that when we are wrongedand plundered, all the world laughs around, and we

are compelled to suppress our sense of injury, andto smile tamely, when we would revenge bravely.''

``Think not thus of it, my father,'' said Rebecca;``we also have advantages. These Gentiles, crueland oppressive as they are, are in some sort dependenton the dispersed children of Zion, whomthey despise and persecute. Without the aid ofour wealth, they could neither furnish forth theirhosts in war, nor their triumphs in peace, and thegold which we lend them returns with increase toour coffers. We are like the herb which flourishethmost when it is most trampled on. Even this day'spageant had not proceeded without the consent ofthe despised Jew, who furnished the means.''

``Daughter,'' said Isaac, ``thou hast harped uponanother string of sorrow. The goodly steed andthe rich armour, equal to the full profit of myadventure with our Kirjath Jairam of Leicester---there is a dead loss too---ay, a loss which swallowsup the gains of a week; ay, of the space betweentwo Sabaoths---and yet it may end better than Inow think, for 'tis a good youth.''

``Assuredly,'' said Rebecca, ``you shall not repentyou of requiting the good deed received of thestranger knight.''

``I trust so, daughter,'' said Isaac, ``and I trusttoo in the rebuilding of Zion; but as well do Ihope with my own bodily eyes to see the walls andbattlements of the new Temple, as to see a Christian,yea, the very best of Christians, repay a debtto a Jew, unless under the awe of the judge andjailor.''

So saying, he resumed his discontented walkthrough the apartment; and Rebecca, perceivingthat her attempts at consolation only served toawaken new subjects of complaint, wisely desistedfrom her unavailing efforts---a prudential line ofconduct, and we recommend to all who set up forcomforters and advisers, to follow it in the like circumstances.

The evening was now becoming dark, when aJewish servant entered the apartment, and placedupon the table two silver lamps, fed with perfumedoil; the richest wines, and the most delicate refreshments,were at the same time displayed byanother Israelitish domestic on a small ebony table,inlaid with silver; for, in the interior of theirhouses, the Jews refused themselves no expensiveindulgences. At the same time the servant informedIsaac, that a Nazarene (so they termedChristians, while conversing among themselves)desired to speak with him. He that would live bytraffic, must hold himself at the disposal of everyone claiming business with him. Isaac at once replacedon the table the untasted glass of Greekwine which he had just raised to his lips, and sayinghastily to his daughter, ``Rebecca, veil thyself,''commanded the stranger to be admitted.

Just as Rebecca had dropped over her fine featuresa screen of silver gauze which reached to herfeet, the door opened, and Gurth entered, wrapt inthe ample folds of his Norman mantle. His appearancewas rather suspicious than prepossessing,especially as, instead of doffing his bonnet, he pulledit still deeper over his rugged brow.

``Art thou Isaac the Jew of York?'' said Gurth,in Saxon.

``I am,'' replied Isaac, in the same language,(for his traffic had rendered every tongue spokenin Britain familiar to him)---``and who art thou?''

``That is not to the purpose,'' answered Gurth.

``As much as my name is to thee,'' replied Isaac;``for without knowing thine, how can I hold intercoursewith thee?''

``Easily,'' answered Gurth; ``I, being to paymoney, must know that I deliver it to the rightperson; thou, who are to receive it, will not, Ithink, care very greatly by whose hands it is delivered.''

``O,'' said the Jew, ``you are come to pay moneys?---Holy Father Abraham! that altereth ourrelation to each other. And from whom dost thoubring it?''

``From the Disinherited Knight,'' said Gurth,``victor in this day's tournament. It is the priceof the armour supplied to him by Kirjath Jairamof Leicester, on thy recommendation. The steedis restored to thy stable. I desire to know theamount of the sum which I am to pay for thearmour.''

``I said he was a good youth!'' exclaimed Isaacwith joyful exultation. ``A cup of wine will dothee no harm,'' he added, filling and handing to theswineherd a richer drought than Gurth had everbefore tasted. "And how much money,'' continuedIsaac, ``has thou brought with thee?''

``Holy Virgin!'' said Gurth, setting down thecup, ``what nectar these unbelieving dogs drink,while true Christians are fain to quaff ale as muddyand thick as the draff we give to hogs!---Whatmoney have I brought with me?'' continued theSaxon, when he had finished this uncivil ejaculation,``even but a small sum; something in handthe whilst. What, Isaac! thou must bear a conscience,though it be a Jewish one.''

``Nay, but,'' said Isaac, ``thy master has wongoodly steeds and rich armours with the strengthof his lance, and of his right hand---but 'tis a goodyouth---the Jew will take these in present payment,and render him back the surplus.''

``My master has disposed of them already,'' saidGurth.

``Ah! that was wrong,'' said the Jew, ``thatwas the part of a fool. No Christians here couldbuy so many horses and armour---no Jew exceptmyself would give him half the values. But thouhast a hundred zecchins with thee in that bag,'' saidIsaac, prying under Gurth's cloak, ``it is a heavy

one.''

``I have heads for cross-bow bolts in it,'' saidGurth, readily.

``Well, then''---said Isaac, panting and hesitatingbetween habitual love of gain and a new-born desireto be liberal in the present instance, ``if I shouldsay that I would take eighty zecchins for the goodsteed and the rich armour, which leaves me not aguilder's profit, have you money to pay me?''

``Barely,'' said Gurth, though the sum demandedwas more reasonable than he expected, ``and itwill leave my master nigh penniless. Nevertheless,if such be your least offer, I must be content.''

``Fill thyself another goblet of wine,'' said theJew. ``Ah! eighty zecchins is too little. It leavethno profit for the usages of the moneys; and, besides,the good horse may have suffered wrong inthis day's encounter. O, it was a hard and a dangerousmeeting! man and steed rushing on eachother like wild bulls of Bashan! The horse cannotbut have had wrong.''

``And I say,'' replied Gurth, ``he is sound, windand limb; and you may see him now, in your stable.And I say, over and above, that seventy zecchinsis enough for the armour, and I hope a Christian'sword is as good as a Jew's. If you will not takeseventy, I will carry this bag'' (and he shook it tillthe contents jingled) ``back to my master.''

``Nay, nay!'' said Isaac; ``lay down the talents---the shekels---the eighty zecchins, and thou shaltsee I will consider thee liberally.''

Gurth at length complied; and telling out eightyzecchins upon the table, the Jew delivered out tohim an acquittance for the horse and suit of armour.The Jew's hand trembled for joy as he wrapped upthe first seventy pieces of gold. The last ten hetold over with much deliberation, pausing, and sayingsomething as he took each piece from the table,

and dropt it into his purse. It seemed as if hisavarice were struggling with his better nature, andcompelling him to pouch zecchin after zecchin whilehis generosity urged him to restore some part atleast to his benefactor, or as a donation to his agent.His whole speech ran nearly thus:

``Seventy-one---seventy-two; thy master is agood youth---seventy-three, an excellent youth---seventy-four---that piece hath been clipt within thering---seventy-five---and that looketh light of weight---seventy-six---when thy master wants money, lethim come to Isaac of York---seventy-seven---thatis, with reasonable security.'' Here he made a considerablepause, and Gurth had good hope that thelast three pieces might escape the fate of their comrades;but the enumeration proceeded.---``Seventy-eight---thou art a good fellow---seventy-nine---and deservest something for thyself------''

Here the Jew paused again, and looked at thelast zecchin, intending, doubtless, to bestow it uponGurth. He weighed it upon the tip of his finger,and made it ring by dropping it upon the table.Had it rung too flat, or had it felt a hair's breadthtoo light, generosity had carried the day; but, unhappilyfor Gurth, the chime was full and true, thezecchin plump, newly coined, and a grain aboveweight. Isaac could not find in his heart to partwith it, so dropt it into his purse as if in absence ofmind, with the words, ``Eighty completes the tale,and I trust thy master will reward thee handsomely.---Surely,'' he added, looking earnestly at the bag,``thou hast more coins in that pouch?''

Gurth grinned, which was his nearest approachto a laugh, as he replied, ``About the same quantitywhich thou hast just told over so carefully.''He then folded the quittance, and put it under hiscap, adding,---``Peril of thy heard, Jew, see thatthis be full and ample!'' He filled himself unbidden,a third goblet of wine, and left the apartmentwithout ceremony.

``Rebecca,'' said the Jew, ``that Ishmaelite hath

gone somewhat beyond me. Nevertheless his masteris a good youth---ay, and I am well pleased thathe hath gained shekels of gold and shekels of silver,even by the speed of his horse and by the strengthof his lance, which, like that of Goliath the Philistine,might vie with a weaver's beam.''

As he turned to receive Rebecca's answer, heobserved, that during his chattering with Gurth, shehad left the apartment unperceived.

In the meanwhile, Gurth had descended the stair,and, having reached the dark antechamber or hall,was puzzling about to discover the entrance, whena figure in white, shown by a small silver lampwhich she held in her hand, beckoned him into aside apartment. Gurth had some reluctance to obeythe summons. Rough and impetuous as a wildboar, where only earthly force was to be apprehended,he had all the characteristic terrors of aSaxon respecting fawns, forest-fiends, white women,and the whole of the superstitions which his ancestorshad brought with them from the wilds of Germany.He remembered, moreover, that he was inthe house of a Jew, a people who, besides the otherunamiable qualities which popular report ascribedto them, were supposed to be profound necromancersand cabalists. Nevertheless, after a moment'spause, he obeyed the beckoning summons of theapparition, and followed her into the apartmentwhich she indicated, where he found to his joyfulsurprise that his fair guide was the beautiful Jewesswhom he had seen at the tournament, and a shorttime in her father's apartment.

She asked him the particulars of his transactionwith Isaac, which he detailed accurately.

``My father did but jest with thee, good fellow,''said Rebecca; ``he owes thy master deeper kindnessthan these arms and steed could pay, weretheir value tenfold. What sum didst thou pay myfather even now?''

``Eighty zecchins,'' said Gurth, surprised at the

question.

``In this purse,'' said Rebecca, ``thou wilt find ahundred. Restore to thy master that which is hisdue, and enrich thyself with the remainder. Haste---begone---stay not to render thanks! and bewarehow you pass through this crowded town, wherethou mayst easily lose both thy burden and thylife.---Reuben,'' she added, clapping her hands together,``light forth this stranger, and fail not todraw lock and bar behind him.''Reuben, a dark-brow'd and black-bearded Israelite,obeyed her summons, with a torch in his hand;undid the outward door of the house, and conductingGurth across a paved court, let him out througha wicket in the entrance-gate, which he closed behindhim with such bolts and chains as would wellhave become that of a prison.

``By St Dunstan,'' said Gurth, as he stumbledup the dark avenue, ``this is no Jewess, but an angelfrom heaven! Ten zecchins from my brave youngmaster---twenty from this pearl of Zion---Oh, happyday!---Such another, Gurth, will redeem thybondage, and make thee a brother as free of thyguild as the best. And then do I lay down myswineherd's horn and staff, and take the freeman'ssword and buckler, and follow my young master tothe death, without hiding either my face or my name.''

CHAPTER XI

_1st Outlaw_. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about you;If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you._Speed_. Sir, we are undone! these are the villainsThat all the travellers do fear so much._Val_. My friends,---_1st Out_. That's not so, sir, we are your enemies._2d Out_. Peace! we'll hear him._3d Out_. Ay, by my beard, will we;For he's a proper man. _Two Gentlemen of Verona_.

The nocturnal adventures of Gurth were not yetconcluded; indeed he himself became partly of thatmind, when, after passing one or two stragglinghouses which stood in the outskirts of the village,he found himself in a deep lane, running betweentwo banks overgrown with hazel and holly, whilehere and there a dwarf oak flung its arms altogetheracross the path. The lane was moreover much ruttedand broken up by the carriages which had recentlytransported articles of various kinds to thetournament; and it was dark, for the banks andbushes intercepted the light of the harvest moon.

From the village were heard the distant soundsof revelry, mixed occasionally with loud laughter,sometimes broken by screams, and sometimes bywild strains of distant music. All these sounds, intimatingthe disorderly state of the town, crowdedwith military nobles and their dissolute attendants,gave Gurth some uneasiness. ``The Jewess wasright,'' he said to himself. ``By heaven and StDunstan, I would I were safe at my journey's endwith all this treasure! Here are such numbers, Iwill not say of arrant thieves, but of errant knightsand errant squires, errant monks and errant minstrels,errant jugglers and errant jesters, that aman with a single merk would be in danger, muchmore a poor swineherd with a whole bagful of zecchins.Would I were out of the shade of these infernalbushes, that I might at least see any of StNicholas's clerks before they spring on my shoulders.''

Gurth accordingly hastened his pace, in order togain the open common to which the lane led, butwas not so fortunate as to accomplish his object.Just as he had attained the upper end of the lane,where the underwood was thickest, four men sprungupon him, even as his fears anticipated, two fromeach side of the road, and seized him so fast, thatresistance, if at first practicable, would have beennow too late.---``Surrender your charge,'' said oneof them; ``we are the deliverers of the commonwealth,who ease every man of his burden.''

``You should not ease me of mine so lightly,''muttered Gurth, whose surly honesty could not betamed even by the pressure of immediate violence,---``had I it but in my power to give three strokesin its defence.''

``We shall see that presently,'' said the robber;and, speaking to his companions, he added, ``bringalong the knave. I see he would have his headbroken, as well as his purse cut, and so be let bloodin two veins at once.''

Gurth was hurried along agreeably to this mandate,and having been dragged somewhat roughlyover the bank, on the left-hand side of the lane,found himself in a straggling thicket, which lay betwixtit and the open common. He was compelledto follow his rough conductors into the very depthof this cover, where they stopt unexpectedly in anirregular open space, free in a great measure fromtrees, and on which, therefore, the beams of themoon fell without much interruption from boughsand leaves. Here his captors were joined by twoother persons, apparently belonging to the gang.They had short swords by their sides, and quarter-stavesin their hands, and Gurth could now observethat all six wore visors, which rendered their occupationa matter of no question, even had their formerproceedings left it in doubt.

``What money hast thou, churl?'' said one ofthe thieves.

``Thirty zecchins of my own property,'' answeredGurth, doggedly.

``A forfeit---a forfeit,'' shouted the robbers; ``aSaxon hath thirty zecchins, and returns sober froma village! An undeniable and unredeemable forfeitof all he hath about him.''

``I hoarded it to purchase my freedom,'' saidGurth.

``Thou art an ass,'' replied one of the thieves``three quarts of double ale had rendered thee asfree as thy master, ay, and freer too, if he be aSaxon like thyself.''

``A sad truth,'' replied Gurth; ``but if thesesame thirty zecchins will buy my freedom fromyou, unloose my hands, and I will pay them to you.''

``Hold,'' said one who seemed to exercise someauthority over the others; ``this bag which thoubearest, as I can feel through thy cloak, containsmore coin than thou hast told us of.''

``It is the good knight my master's,'' answeredGurth, ``of which, assuredly, I would not havespoken a word, had you been satisfied with workingyour will upon mine own property.''

``Thou art an honest fellow,'' replied the robber,``I warrant thee; and we worship not St Nicholasso devoutly but what thy thirty zecchins may yetescape, if thou deal uprightly with us. Meantimerender up thy trust for a time.'' So saying, hetook from Gurth's breast the large leathern pouch,in which the purse given him by Rebecca was enclosed,as well as the rest of the zecchins, and thencontinued his interrogation.---``Who is thy master?''

``The Disinherited Knight,'' said Gurth.

``Whose good lance,'' replied the robber, ``wonthe prize in to-day's tourney? What is his nameand lineage?''

``It is his pleasure,'' answered Gurth, ``that theybe concealed; and from me, assuredly, you willlearn nought of them.''

``What is thine own name and lineage?''

``To tell that,'' said Gurth, ``might reveal mymaster's.''``Thou art a saucy groom,'' said the robber, ``butof that anon. How comes thy master by this gold?

is it of his inheritance, or by what means hath itaccrued to him?''

``By his good lance,'' answered Gurth.---``Thesebags contain the ransom of four good horses, andfour good suits of armour.''

``How much is there?'' demanded the robber.

``Two hundred zecchins.''

``Only two hundred zecchins!'' said the bandit;``your master hath dealt liberally by the vanquished,and put them to a cheap ransom. Name thosewho paid the gold.''

Gurth did so.

``The armour and horse of the Templar Briande Bois-Guilbert, at what ransom were they held?---Thou seest thou canst not deceive me.''

``My master,'' replied Gurth, ``will take noughtfrom the Templar save his life's-blood. They areon terms of mortal defiance, and cannot hold courteousintercourse together.''

``Indeed!''---repeated the robber, and pausedafter he had said the word. ``And what wert thounow doing at Ashby with such a charge in thy custody?''

``I went thither to render to Isaac the Jew ofYork,'' replied Gurth, ``the price of a suit of armourwith which he fitted my master for this tournament.''

``And how much didst thou pay to Isaac?---Methinks, to judge by weight, there is still twohundred zecchins in this pouch.''

``I paid to Isaac,'' said the Saxon, ``eighty zecchins,and he restored me a hundred in lieu thereof.''

``How! what!'' exclaimed all the robbers atonce; ``darest thou trifle with us, that thou tellestsuch improbable lies?''

``What I tell you,'' said Gurth, ``is as true asthe moon is in heaven. You will find the just sumin a silken purse within the leathern pouch, and separatefrom the rest of the gold.''

``Bethink thee, man,'' said the Captain, ``thouspeakest of a Jew---of an Israelite,---as unapt torestore gold, as the dry sand of his deserts to returnthe cup of water which the pilgrim spills uponthem.''

``There is no more mercy in them,'' said anotherof the banditti, ``than in an unbribed sheriffs officer.''

``It is, however, as I say,'' said Gurth.

``Strike a light instantly,'' said the Captain; ``Iwill examine this said purse; and if it be as thisfellow says, the Jew's bounty is little less miraculousthan the stream which relieved his fathers inthe wilderness.''

A light was procured accordingly, and the robberproceeded to examine the purse. The otherscrowded around him, and even two who had hold ofGurth relaxed their grasp while they stretched theirnecks to see the issue of the search. Availing himselfof their negligence, by a sudden exertion ofstrength and activity, Gurth shook himself free oftheir hold, and might have escaped, could he haveresolved to leave his master's property behind him.But such was no part of his intention. He wrencheda quarter-staff from one of the fellows, struckdown the Captain, who was altogether unaware ofhis purpose, and had wellnigh repossessed himselfof the pouch and treasure. The thieves, however,were too nimble for him, and again secured boththe bag and the trusty Gurth.

``Knave!'' said the Captain, getting up, ``thouhast broken my head; and with other men of oursort thou wouldst fare the worse for thy insolence.But thou shalt know thy fate instantly. First letus speak of thy master; the knight's matters must

go before the squire's, according to the due orderof chivalry. Stand thou fast in the meantime---if thou stir again, thou shalt have that will makethee quiet for thy life---Comrades!'' he then said,addressing his gang, ``this purse is embroideredwith Hebrew characters, and I well believe theyeoman's tale is true. The errant knight, his master,must needs pass us toll-free. He is too likeourselves for us to make booty of him, since dogsshould not worry dogs where wolves and foxes areto be found in abundance.''

``Like us?'' answered one of the gang; ``Ishould like to hear how that is made good.''

``Why, thou fool,'' answered the Captain, ``ishe not poor and disinherited as we are?---Doth henot win his substance at the sword's point as wedo?---Hath he not beaten Front-de-B<oe>uf andMalvoisin, even as we would beat them if we could?Is he not the enemy to life and death of Brian deBois-Guilbert, whom we have so much reason tofear? And were all this otherwise, wouldst thouhave us show a worse conscience than an unbeliever,a Hebrew Jew?''

``Nay, that were a shame,'' muttered the otherfellow; ``and yet, when I served in the band ofstout old Gandelyn, we had no such scruples ofconscience. And this insolent peasant,---he too, Iwarrant me, is to be dismissed scatheless?''

``Not if _thou_ canst scathe him,'' replied the Captain.---``Here, fellow,'' continued he, addressingGurth, ``canst thou use the staff, that thou startsto it so readily?''

``I think,'' said Gurth, ``thou shouldst be bestable to reply to that question.''

``Nay, by my troth, thou gavest me a roundknock,'' replied the Captain; ``do as much for thisfellow, and thou shalt pass scot-free; and if thoudost not---why, by my faith, as thou art such asturdy knave, I think I must pay thy ransom myself.

---Take thy staff, Miller,'' he added, ``and keepthy head; and do you others let the fellow go, andgive him a staff---there is light enough to lay onload by.''

The two champions being alike armed with quarter-staves,stepped forward into the centre of theopen space, in order to have the full benefit of themoonlight; the thieves in the meantime laughing,and crying to their comrade, ``Miller! beware thytoll-dish.'' The Miller, on the other hand, holdinghis quarter-staff by the middle, and making it flourishround his head after the fashion which theFrench call _faire le moulinet_, exclaimed boastfully,``Come on, churl, an thou darest: thou shalt feelthe strength of a miller's thumb!''

``If thou best a miller,'' answered Gurth, undauntedly,making his weapon play around his headwith equal dexterity, ``thou art doubly a thief,and I, as a true man, bid thee defiance.''

So saying, the two champions closed together,and for a few minutes they displayed great equalityin strength, courage, and skill, intercepting andreturning the blows of their adversary with the mostrapid dexterity, while, from the continued clatterof their weapons, a person at a distance might havesupposed that there were at least six persons engagedon each side. Less obstinate, and even lessdangerous combats, have been described in goodheroic verse; but that of Gurth and the Millermust remain unsung, for want of a sacred poet todo justice to its eventful progress. Yet, thoughquarter-staff play be out of date, what we can inprose we will do for these bold champions.

Long they fought equally, until the Miller beganto lose temper at finding himself so stoutly opposed,and at hearing the laughter of his companions,who, as usual in such cases, enjoyed his vexation.This was not a state of mind favourable tothe noble game of quarter-staff, in which, as in ordinarycudgel-playing, the utmost coolness is requisite;and it gave Gurth, whose temper was

steady, though surly, the opportunity of acquiringa decided advantage, in availing himself of whichhe displayed great mastery.

The Miller pressed furiously forward, dealingblows with either end of his weapon alternately,and striving to come to half-staff distance, whileGurth defended himself against the attack, keepinghis hands about a yard asunder, and coveringhimself by shifting his weapon with great celerity,so as to protect his head and body. Thus did hemaintain the defensive, making his eye, foot, andhand keep true time, until, observing his antagonistto lose wind, he darted the staff at his facewith his left hand; and, as the Miller endeavouredto parry the thrust, he slid his right hand down tohis left, and with the full swing of the weaponstruck his opponent on the left side of the head,who instantly measured his length upon the greensward.

``Well and yeomanly done!'' shouted the robbers;``fair play and Old England for ever! TheSaxon hath saved both his purse and his hide, andthe Miller has met his match.''

``Thou mayst go thy ways, my friend,'' said theCaptain, addressing Gurth, in special confirmationof the general voice, ``and I will cause two of mycomrades to guide thee by the best way to thy master'spavilion, and to guard thee from night-walkersthat might have less tender consciences thanours; for there is many one of them upon the amblein such a night as this. Take heed, however,''he added sternly; ``remember thou hast refused totell thy name---ask not after ours, nor endeavourto discover who or what we are; for, if thou makestsuch an attempt, thou wilt come by worse fortunethan has yet befallen thee.''

Gurth thanked the Captain for his courtesy, andpromised to attend to his recommendation. Two ofthe outlaws, taking up their quarter-staves, and desiringGurth to follow close in the rear, walkedroundly forward along a by-path, which traversed

the thicket and the broken ground adjacent to it.On the very verge of the thicket two men spoke tohis conductors, and receiving an answer in a whisper,withdrew into the wood, and suffered them to passunmolested. This circumstance induced Gurth tobelieve both that the gang was strong in numbers,and that they kept regular guards around their placeof rendezvous.

When they arrived on the open heath, whereGurth might have had some trouble in finding hisroad, the thieves guided him straight forward to thetop of a little eminence, whence he could see, spreadbeneath him in the moonlight, the palisades of thelists, the glimmering pavilions pitched at eitherend, with the pennons which adorned them flutteringin the moonbeams, and from which could be heardthe hum of the song with which the sentinels werebeguiling their night-watch.

Here the thieves stopt.

``We go with you no farther,'' said they; ``itwere not safe that we should do so.---Rememberthe warning you have received---keep secret whathas this night befallen you, and you will have noroom to repent it---neglect what is now told you,and the Tower of London shall not protect youagainst our revenge.''

``Good night to you, kind sirs,'' said Gurth; ``Ishall remember your orders, and trust that there isno offence in wishing you a safer and an honestertrade.''

Thus they parted, the outlaws returning in thedirection from whence they had come, and Gurthproceeding to the tent of his master, to whom, notwithstandingthe injunction he had received, hecommunicated the whole adventures of the evening.

The Disinherited Knight was filled with astonishment,no less at the generosity of Rebecca, bywhich, however, he resolved he would not profit,than that of the robbers, to whose profession such

a quality seemed totally foreign. His course of reflectionsupon these singular circumstances was,however, interrupted by the necessity for takingrepose, which the fatigue of the preceding day, andthe propriety of refreshing himself for the morrow'sencounter, rendered alike indispensable.

The knight, therefore, stretched himself for reposeupon a rich couch with which the tent wasprovided; and the faithful Gurth, extending hishardy limbs upon a bear-skin which formed a sortof carpet to the pavilion, laid himself across theopening of the tent, so that no one could enterwithout awakening him.

CHAPTER XII

The heralds left their pricking up and down,Now ringen trumpets loud and clarion.There is no more to say, but east and west,In go the speares sadly in the rest,In goth the sharp spur into the side,There see men who can just and who can ride;There shiver shaftes upon shieldes thick,He feeleth through the heart-spone the prick;Up springen speares, twenty feet in height,Out go the swordes to the silver bright;The helms they to-hewn and to-shred;Out burst the blood with stern streames red. Chaucer.

Morning arose in unclouded splendour, and erethe sun was much above the horizon, the idlest orthe most eager of the spectators appeared on thecommon, moving to the lists as to a general centre,in order to secure a favourable situation for viewingthe continuation of the expected games.

The marshals and their attendants appeared nexton the field, together with the heralds, for the purposeof receiving the names of the knights who intended

to joust, with the side which each chose toespouse. This was a necessary precaution, in orderto secure equality betwixt the two bodies whoshould be opposed to each other.

According to due formality, the DisinheritedKnight was to be considered as leader of the onebody, while Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had beenrated as having done second-best in the precedingday, was named first champion of the other band.Those who had concurred in the challenge adheredto his party of course, excepting only Ralph de Vipont,whom his fall had rendered unfit so soon toput on his armour. There was no want of distinguishedand noble candidates to fill up the rankson either side.

In fact, although the general tournament, inwhich all knights fought at once, was more dangerousthan single encounters, they were, nevertheless,more frequented and practised by the chivalryof the age. Many knights, who had not sufficientconfidence in their own skill to defy a singleadversary of high reputation, were, nevertheless,desirous of displaying their valour in the generalcombat, where they might meet others with whomthey were more upon an equality. On the presentoccasion, about fifty knights were inscribed as desirousof combating upon each side, when the marshalsdeclared that no more could be admitted, tothe disappointment of several who were too late inpreferring their claim to be included.

About the hour of ten o'clock, the whole plainwas crowded with horsemen, horsewomen, and foot-passengers,hastening to the tournament; and shortlyafter, a grand flourish of trumpets announcedPrince John and his retinue, attended by many ofthose knights who meant to take share in the game,as well as others who had no such intention.

About the same time arrived Cedric the Saxon,with the Lady Rowena, unattended, however, byAthelstane. This Saxon lord had arrayed his talland strong person in armour, in order to take his

place among the combatants; and, considerably tothe surprise of Cedric, had chosen to enlist himselfon the part of the Knight Templar. The Saxon,indeed, had remonstrated strongly with his friendupon the injudicious choice he had made of hisparty; but he had only received that sort of answerusually given by those who are more obstinatein following their own course, than strong in justifyingit.

His best, if not his only reason, for adhering tothe party of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Athelstanehad the prudence to keep to himself. Though hisapathy of disposition prevented his taking anymeans to recommend himself to the Lady Rowena,he was, nevertheless, by no means insensible to hercharms, and considered his union with her as amatter already fixed beyond doubt, by the assentof Cedric and her other friends. It had thereforebeen with smothered displeasure that the proudthough indolent Lord of Coningsburgh beheld thevictor of the preceding day select Rowena as theobject of that honour which it became his privilegeto confer. In order to punish him for a preferencewhich seemed to interfere with his own suit, Athelstane,confident of his strength, and to whom hisflatterers, at least, ascribed great skill in arms, haddetermined not only to deprive the DisinheritedKnight of his powerful succour, but, if an opportunityshould occur, to make him feel the weightof his battle-axe.

De Bracy, and other knights attached to PrinceJohn, in obedience to a hint from him, had joinedthe party of the challengers, John being desirous tosecure, if possible, the victory to that side. On theother hand, many other knights, both English andNorman, natives and strangers, took part againstthe challengers, the more readily that the oppositeband was to be led by so distinguished a championas the Disinherited Knight had approved himself.

As soon as Prince John observed that the destinedQueen of the day had arrived upon the field,assuming that air of courtesy which sat well upon

him when he was pleased to exhibit it, he rode forwardto meet her, doffed his bonnet, and, alightingfrom his horse, assisted the Lady Rowena from hersaddle, while his followers uncovered at the sametime, and one of the most distinguished dismountedto hold her palfrey.

``It is thus,'' said Prince John, ``that we set thedutiful example of loyalty to the Queen of Loveand Beauty, and are ourselves her guide to thethrone which she must this day occupy.---Ladies,''he said, ``attend your Queen, as you wish in yourturn to be distinguished by like honours.''

So saying, the Prince marshalled Rowena to theseat of honour opposite his own, while the fairestand most distinguished ladies present crowded afterher to obtain places as near as possible to theirtemporary sovereign.

No sooner was Rowena seated, than a burst ofmusic, half-drowned by the shouts of the multitude,greeted her new dignity. Meantime, the sun shonefierce and bright upon the polished arms of theknights of either side, who crowded the oppositeextremities of the lists, and held eager conferencetogether concerning the best mode of arrangingtheir line of battle, and supporting the conflict.

The heralds then proclaimed silence until thelaws of the tourney should be rehearsed. Thesewere calculated in some degree to abate the dangersof the day; a precaution the more necessary,as the conflict was to be maintained with sharpswords and pointed lances.

The champions were therefore prohibited tothrust with the sword, and were confined to striking.A knight, it was announced, might use amace or battle-axe at pleasure, but the dagger wasa prohibited weapon. A knight unhorsed mightrenew the fight on foot with any other on the oppositeside in the same predicament; but mountedhorsemen were in that case forbidden to assail him.When any knight could force his antagonist to the

extremity of the lists, so as to touch the palisadewith his person or arms, such opponent was obligedto yield himself vanquished, and his armour andhorse were placed at the disposal of the conqueror.A knight thus overcome was not permitted to takefarther share in the combat. If any combatant wasstruck down, and unable to recover his feet, hissquire or page might enter the lists, and drag hismaster out of the press; but in that case the knightwas adjudged vanquished, and his arms and horsedeclared forfeited. The combat was to cease assoon as Prince John should throw down his leadingstaff, or truncheon; another precaution usually takento prevent the unnecessary effusion of bloodby the too long endurance of a sport so desperate.Any knight breaking the rules of the tournament,or otherwise transgressing the rules of honourablechivalry, was liable to be stript of his arms, and,having his shield reversed to be placed in that postureastride upon the bars of the palisade, and exposedto public derision, in punishment of his unknightlyconduct. Having announced these precautions,the heralds concluded with an exhortationto each good knight to do his duty, and to meritfavour from the Queen of Beauty and of Love.

This proclamation having been made, the heraldswithdrew to their stations. The knights, enteringat either end of the lists in long procession, arrangedthemselves in a double file, precisely oppositeto each other, the leader of each party being in thecentre of the foremost rank, a post which he didnot occupy until each had carefully marshalled theranks of his party, and stationed every one in hisplace.

It was a goodly, and at the same time an anxious,sight, to behold so many gallant champions, mountedbravely, and armed richly, stand ready preparedfor an encounter so formidable, seated on their war-saddleslike so many pillars of iron, and awaitingthe signal of encounter with the same ardour astheir generous steeds, which, by neighing and pawingthe ground, gave signal of their impatience.

As yet the knights held their long lances upright,their bright points glancing to the sun, andthe streamers with which they were decorated flutteringover the plumage of the helmets. Thusthey remained while the marshals of the field surveyedtheir ranks with the utmost exactness, lesteither party had more or fewer than the appointednumber. The tale was found exactly complete.The marshals then withdrew from the lists,and William de Wyvil, with a voice of thunder, pronouncedthe signal words---_Laissez aller_! Thetrumpets sounded as he spoke---the spears of thechampions were at once lowered and placed in therests---the spurs were dashed into the flanks of thehorses, and the two foremost ranks of either partyrushed upon each other in full gallop, and met inthe middle of the lists with a shock, the sound ofwhich was heard at a mile's distance. The rearrank of each party advanced at a slower pace tosustain the defeated, and follow up the success ofthe victors of their party.

The consequences of the encounter were not instantlyseen, for the dust raised by the tramplingof so many steeds darkened the air, and it was aminute ere the anxious spectator could see the fateof the encounter. When the fight became visible,half the knights on each side were dismounted,some by the dexterity of their adversary's lance,---some by the superior weight and strength of opponents,which had borne down both horse andman,---some lay stretched on earth as if never moreto rise,---some had already gained their feet, andwere closing hand to hand with those of their antagonistswho were in the same predicament,---andseveral on both sides, who had received wounds bywhich they were disabled, were stopping their bloodby their scarfs, and endeavouring to extricate themselvesfrom the tumult. The mounted knights,whose lances had been almost all broken by thefury of the encounter, were now closely engagedwith their swords, shouting their war-cries, and exchangingbuffets, as if honour and life depended onthe issue of the combat.

The tumult was presently increased by the advanceof the second rank on either side, which, actingas a reserve, now rushed on to aid their companions.The followers of Brian de Bois-Guilbertshouted ---``_Ha! Beau-seant! Beau-seant!_ * --- For

* _Beau-seant_ was the name of the Templars' banner, which* was half black, half white, to intimate, it is said, that they were* candid and fair towards Christians, but black and terrible towards* infidels.

the Temple---For the Temple!'' The opposite partyshouted in answer---``_Desdichado! Desdichado!_''---which watch-word they took from the mottoupon their leader's shield.

The champions thus encountering each otherwith the utmost fury, and with alternate success,the tide of battle seemed to flow now toward thesouthern, now toward the northern extremity ofthe lists, as the one or the other party prevailed.Meantime the clang of the blows, and the shouts ofthe combatants, mixed fearfully with the sound ofthe trumpets, and drowned the groans of those whofell, and lay rolling defenceless beneath the feet ofthe horses. The splendid armour of the combatantswas now defaced with dust and blood, and gave wayat every stroke of the sword and battle-axe. Thegay plumage, shorn from the crests, drifted uponthe breeze like snow-flakes. All that was beautifuland graceful in the martial array had disappeared,and what was now visible was only calculatedto awake terror or compassion.

Yet such is the force of habit, that not only thevulgar spectators, who are naturally attracted bysights of horror, but even the ladies of distinctionwho crowded the galleries, saw the conflict with athrilling interest certainly, but without a wish towithdraw their eyes from a sight so terrible. Hereand there, indeed, a fair cheek might turn pale, ora faint scream might be heard, as a lover, a brother,or a husband, was struck from his horse. But, ingeneral, the ladies around encouraged the combatants,not only by clapping their hands and waving

their veils and kerchiefs, but even by exclaiming,``Brave lance! Good sword!'' when any successfulthrust or blow took place under their observation.

Such being the interest taken by the fair sex inthis bloody game, that of the men is the more easilyunderstood. It showed itself in loud acclamationsupon every change of fortune, while all eyes wereso riveted on the lists, that the spectators seemedas if they themselves had dealt and received theblows which were there so freely bestowed. Andbetween every pause was heard the voice of theheralds, exclaiming, ``Fight on, brave knights!Man dies, but glory lives!---Fight on---death isbetter than defeat!---Fight on, brave knights!---for bright eyes behold your deeds!''

Amid the varied fortunes of the combat, the eyesof all endeavoured to discover the leaders of eachband, who, mingling in the thick of the fight, encouragedtheir companions both by voice and example.Both displayed great feats of gallantry, nordid either Bois-Guilbert or the Disinherited Knightfind in the ranks opposed to them a champion whocould be termed their unquestioned match. Theyrepeatedly endeavoured to single out each other,spurred by mutual animosity, and aware that thefall of either leader might be considered as decisiveof victory. Such, however, was the crowd and confusion,that, during the earlier part of the conflict,their efforts to meet were unavailing, and they wererepeatedly separated by the eagerness of their followers,each of whom was anxious to win honour,by measuring his strength against the leader of theopposite party.

But when the field became thin by the numberson either side who had yielded themselves vanquished,had been compelled to the extremity ofthe lists, or been otherwise rendered incapable ofcontinuing the strife, the Templar and the DisinheritedKnight at length encountered hand tohand, with all the fury that mortal animosity, joinedto rivalry of honour, could inspire. Such wasthe address of each in parrying and striking, that

the spectators broke forth into a unanimous andinvoluntary shout, expressive of their delight andadmiration.

But at this moment the party of the DisinheritedKnight had the worst; the gigantic arm ofFront-de-B<oe>uf on the one flank, and the ponderousstrength of Athelstane on the other, bearing downand dispersing those immediately exposed to them.Finding themselves freed from their immediate antagonists,it seems to have occurred to both theseknights at the same instant, that they would renderthe most decisive advantage to their party, byaiding the Templar in his contest with his rival.Turning their horses, therefore, at the same moment,the Norman spurred against the DisinheritedKnight on the one side, and the Saxon on theother. It was utterly impossible that the object ofthis unequal and unexpected assault could havesustained it, had he not been warned by a generalcry from the spectators, who could not but take interestin one exposed to such disadvantage.

``Beware! beware! Sir Disinherited!'' wasshouted so universally, that the knight becameaware of his danger; and, striking a full blow atthe Templar, he reined back his steed in the samemoment, so as to escape the charge of Athelstaneand Front-de-B<oe>uf. These knights, therefore, theiraim being thus eluded, rushed from opposite sidesbetwixt the object of their attack and the Templar,almost running their horses against each other erethey could stop their career. Recovering theirhorses however, and wheeling them round, thewhole three pursued their united purpose of bearingto the earth the Disinherited Knight.

Nothing could have saved him, except the remarkablestrength and activity of the noble horsewhich he had won on the preceding day.

This stood him in the more stead, as the horseof Bois-Guilbert was wounded, and those of Front-de-B<oe>ufand Athelstane were both tired with theweight of their gigantic masters, clad in complete

armour, and with the preceding exertions of theday. The masterly horsemanship of the DisinheritedKnight, and the activity of the noble animalwhich he mounted, enabled him for a few minutesto keep at sword's point his three antagonists,turning and wheeling with the agility of a hawkupon the wing, keeping his enemies as far separateas he could, and rushing now against the one, nowagainst the other, dealing sweeping blows with hissword, without waiting to receive those which wereaimed at him in return.

But although the lists rang with the applausesof his dexterity, it was evident that he must at lastbe overpowered; and the nobles around PrinceJohn implored him with one voice to throw downhis warder, and to save so brave a knight from thedisgrace of being overcome by odds.

``Not I, by the light of Heaven!'' answeredPrince John; ``this same springal, who concealshis name, and despises our proffered hospitality,hath already gained one prize, and may now affordto let others have their turn.'' As he spoke thus,an unexpected incident changed the fortune of theday.

There was among the ranks of the DisinheritedKnight a champion in black armour, mounted ona black horse, large of size, tall, and to all appearancepowerful and strong, like the rider by whomhe was mounted, This knight, who bore on hisshield no device of any kind, had hitherto evincedvery little interest in the event of the fight, beatingoff with seeming case those combatants whoattacked him, but neither pursuing his advantages,nor himself assailing any one. In short, he hadhitherto acted the part rather of a spectator thanof a party in the tournament, a circumstance whichprocured him among the spectators the name of_Le Noir Faineant_, or the Black Sluggard.

At once this knight seemed to throw aside hisapathy, when he discovered the leader of his partyso hard bestead; for, setting spurs to his horse,

which was quite fresh, he came to his assistancelike a thunderbolt, exclaiming, in a voice like atrumpet-call, ``_Desdichado_, to the rescue!'' It washigh time; for, while the Disinherited Knight waspressing upon the Templar, Front-de-B<oe>uf had gotnigh to him with his uplifted sword; but ere theblow could descend, the Sable Knight dealt a strokeon his head, which, glancing from the polished helmet,lighted with violence scarcely abated on the_chamfron_ of the steed, and Front-de-B<oe>uf rolledon the ground, both horse and man equally stunnedby the fury of the blow. _Le Noir Faineant_ thenturned his horse upon Athelstane of Coningsburgh;and his own sword having been broken in his encounterwith Front-de-B<oe>uf, he wrenched from thehand of the bulky Saxon the battle-axe which hewielded, and, like one familiar with the use of theweapon, bestowed him such a blow upon the crest,that Athelstane also lay senseless on the field. Havingachieved this double feat, for which he was themore highly applauded that it was totally unexpectedfrom him, the knight seemed to resume the sluggishnessof his character, returning calmly to thenorthern extremity of the lists, leaving his leaderto cope as he best could with Brian de Bois-Guilbert.This was no longer matter of so much difficultyas formerly. The Templars horse had bledmuch, and gave way under the shock of the DisinheritedKnight's charge. Brian de Bois-Guilbertrolled on the field, encumbered with the stirrup,from which he was unable to draw his foot. Hisantagonist sprung from horseback, waved his fatalsword over the head of his adversary, and commandedhim to yield himself; when Prince John,more moved by the Templars dangerous situationthan he had been by that of his rival, saved himthe mortification of confessing himself vanquished,by casting down his warder, and putting an end tothe conflict.

It was, indeed, only the relics and embers of thefight which continued to burn; for of the fewknights who still continued in the lists, the greaterpart had, by tacit consent, forborne the conflict forsome time, leaving it to be determined by the strife

of the leaders.

The squires, who had found it a matter of dangerand difficulty to attend their masters duringthe engagement, now thronged into the lists to paytheir dutiful attendance to the wounded, who wereremoved with the utmost care and attention to theneighbouring pavilions, or to the quarters preparedfor them in the adjoining village.

Thus ended the memorable field of Ashby-de-la-Zouche,one of the most gallantly contested tournamentsof that age; for although only four knights,including one who was smothered by the heat ofhis armour, had died upon the field, yet upwardsof thirty were desperately wounded, four or fiveof whom never recovered. Several more were disabledfor life; and those who escaped best carriedthe marks of the conflict to the grave with them.Hence it is always mentioned in the old records, asthe Gentle and Joyous Passage of Arms of Ashby.

It being now the duty of Prince John to namethe knight who had done best, he determined thatthe honour of the day remained with the knightwhom the popular voice had termed _Le Noir Faineant_.It was pointed out to the Prince, in impeachmentof this decree, that the victory had beenin fact won by the Disinherited Knight, who, inthe course of the day, had overcome six championswith his own hand, and who had finally unhorsedand struck down the leader of the opposite party.But Prince John adhered to his own opinion, onthe ground that the Disinherited Knight and hisparty had lost the day, but for the powerful assistanceof the Knight of the Black Armour, to whom,therefore, he persisted in awarding the prize.

To the surprise of all present, however, theknight thus preferred was nowhere to be found.He had left the lists immediately when the conflictceased, and had been observed by some spectatorsto move down one of the forest glades with thesame slow pace and listless and indifferent mannerwhich had procured him the epithet of the Black

Sluggard. After he had been summoned twice bysound of trumpet, and proclamation of the heralds,it became necessary to name another to receive thehonours which had been assigned to him. PrinceJohn had now no further excuse for resisting theclaim of the Disinherited Knight, whom, therefore,he named the champion of the day.

Through a field slippery with blood, and encumberedwith broken armour and the bodies of slainand wounded horses, the marshals of the lists againconducted the victor to the foot of Prince John'sthrone.

``Disinherited Knight,'' said Prince John, ``sinceby that title only you will consent to be known tous, we a second time award to you the honours ofthis tournament, and announce to you your rightto claim and receive from the hands of the Queenof Love and Beauty, the Chaplet of Honour whichyour valour has justly deserved.'' The Knightbowed low and gracefully, but returned no answer.

While the trumpets sounded, while the heraldsstrained their voices in proclaiming honour to thebrave and glory to the victor---while ladies wavedtheir silken kerchiefs and embroidered veils, andwhile all ranks joined in a clamorous shout of exultation,the marshals conducted the DisinheritedKnight across the lists to the foot of that throne ofhonour which was occupied by the Lady Rowena.

On the lower step of this throne the championwas made to kneel down. Indeed his whole actionsince the fight had ended, seemed rather to havebeen upon the impulse of those around him thanfrom his own free will; and it was observed thathe tottered as they guided him the second timeacross the lists. Rowena, descending from her stationwith a graceful and dignified step, was aboutto place the chaplet which she held in her handupon the helmet of the champion, when the marshalsexclaimed with one voice, ``It must not bethus---his head must be bare.'' The knight mutteredfaintly a few words, which were lost in the

hollow of his helmet, but their purport seemed tobe a desire that his casque might not be removed.

Whether from love of form, or from curiosity, themarshals paid no attention to his expressions ofreluctance, but unhelmed him by cutting the lacesof his casque, and undoing the fastening of his gorget.When the helmet was removed, the well-formed,yet sun-burnt features of a young man oftwenty-five were seen, amidst a profusion of shortfair hair. His countenance was as pale as death,and marked in one or two places with streaks ofblood.

Rowena had no sooner beheld him than she uttereda faint shriek; but at once summoning up theenergy of her disposition, and compelling herself,as it were, to proceed, while her frame yet trembledwith the violence of sudden emotion, she placedupon the drooping head of the victor the splendidchaplet which was the destined reward of the day,and pronounced, in a clear and distinct tone, thesewords: ``I bestow on thee this chaplet, Sir Knight,as the meed of valour assigned to this day's victor:''Here she paused a moment, and then firmly added,``And upon brows more worthy could a wreath ofchivalry never be placed!''

The knight stooped his head, and kissed thehand of the lovely Sovereign by whom his valourhad been rewarded; and then, sinking yet fartherforward, lay prostrate at her feet.

There was a general consternation. Cedric, whohad been struck mute by the sudden appearanceof his banished son, now rushed forward, as if toseparate him from Rowena. But this had beenalready accomplished by the marshals of the field,who, guessing the cause of Ivanhoe's swoon,had hastened to undo his armour, and found thatthe head of a lance had penetrated his breastplate,and inflicted a wound in his side.

CHAPTER XIII

``Heroes, approach!'' Atrides thus aloud,``Stand forth distinguish'd from the circling crowd,Ye who by skill or manly force may claim,Your rivals to surpass and merit fame.This cow, worth twenty oxen, is decreed,For him who farthest sends the winged reed.'' _Iliad_.

The name of Ivanhoe was no sooner pronouncedthan it flew from mouth to mouth, with all the celeritywith which eagerness could convey and curiosityreceive it. It was not long ere it reached thecircle of the Prince, whose brow darkened as heheard the news. Looking around him, however,with an air of scorn, ``My Lords,'' said he, ``andespecially you, Sir Prior, what think ye of thedoctrine the learned tell us, concerning innate attractionsand antipathies? Methinks that I feltthe presence of my brother's minion, even when Ileast guessed whom yonder suit of armour enclosed.''

``Front-de-B<oe>uf must prepare to restore his fiefof Ivanhoe,'' said De Bracy, who, having dischargedhis part honourably in the tournament, had laid hisshield and helmet aside, and again mingled withthe Prince's retinue.

``Ay,'' answered Waldemar Fitzurse, ``this gallantis likely to reclaim the castle and manor whichRichard assigned to him, and which your Highness'sgenerosity has since given to Front-de-B<oe>uf.''

``Front-de-B<oe>uf,'' replied John, ``is a man morewilling to swallow three manors such as Ivanhoe,than to disgorge one of them. For the rest, sirs, Ihope none here will deny my right to confer thefiefs of the crown upon the faithful followers whoare around me, and ready to perform the usual militaryservice, in the room of those who have wanderedto foreign Countries, and can neither render

homage nor service when called upon.''

The audience were too much interested in thequestion not to pronounce the Prince's assumedright altogether indubitable. ``A generous Prince!---a most noble Lord, who thus takes upon himselfthe task of rewarding his faithful followers!''

Such were the words which burst from the train,expectants all of them of similar grants at the expenseof King Richard's followers and favourites,if indeed they had not as yet received such. PriorAymer also assented to the general proposition,observing, however, ``That the blessed Jerusalemcould not indeed be termed a foreign country. Shewas _communis mater_---the mother of all Christians.But he saw not,'' he declared, ``how the Knight ofIvanhoe could plead any advantage from this, sincehe'' (the Prior) ``was assured that the crusaders, underRichard, had never proceeded much farther thanAskalon, which, as all the world knew, was a townof the Philistines, and entitled to none of the privilegesof the Holy City.''

Waldemar, whose curiosity had led him towardsthe place where Ivanhoe had fallen to the ground,now returned. ``The gallant,'' said he, ``is likelyto give your Highness little disturbance, and toleave Front-de-B<oe>uf in the quiet possession of hisgains--he is severely wounded.''

``Whatever becomes of him,'' said Prince John,``he is victor of the day; and were he tenfold ourenemy, or the devoted friend of our brother, whichis perhaps the same, his wounds must be looked to---our own physician shall attend him.''

A stern smile curled the Prince's lip as he spoke.Waldemar Fitzurse hastened to reply, that Ivanhoewas already removed from the lists, and in the custodyof his friends.

``I was somewhat afflicted,'' he said, ``to see thegrief of the Queen of Love and Beauty, whose sovereigntyof a day this event has changed into mourning.

I am not a man to be moved by a woman'slament for her lover, but this same Lady Rowenasuppressed her sorrow with such dignity of manner,that it could only be discovered by her folded hands,and her tearless eye, which trembled as it remainedfixed on the lifeless form before her.''

``Who is this Lady Rowena,'' said Prince John,``of whom we have heard so much?''

``A Saxon heiress of large possessions,'' repliedthe Prior Aymer; ``a rose of loveliness, and ajewel of wealth; the fairest among a thousand, abundle of myrrh, and a cluster of camphire.''

``We shall cheer her sorrows,'' said Prince John,``and amend her blood, by wedding her to a Norman.She seems a minor, and must therefore beat our royal disposal in marriage.---How sayst thou,De Bracy? What thinkst thou of gaining fairlands and livings, by wedding a Saxon, after thefashion of the followers of the Conqueror?''

``If the lands are to my liking, my lord,'' answeredDe Bracy, ``it will be hard to displease me with abride; and deeply will I hold myself bound to yourhighness for a good deed, which will fulfil all promisesmade in favour of your servant and vassal.''

``We will not forget it,'' said Prince John;``and that we may instantly go to work, commandour seneschal presently to order the attendance ofthe Lady Rowena and her company---that is, therude churl her guardian, and the Saxon ox whomthe Black Knight struck down in the tournament,upon this evening's banquet.---De Bigot,'' he addedto his seneschal, ``thou wilt word this our secondsummons so courteously, as to gratify the pride ofthese Saxons, and make it impossible for them againto refuse; although, by the bones of Becket, courtesyto them is casting pearls before swine.''

Prince John had proceeded thus far, and wasabout to give the signal for retiring from the lists,when a small billet was put into his hand.

``From whence?'' said Prince John, looking atthe person by whom it was delivered.

``From foreign parts, my lord, but from whenceI know not'' replied his attendant. ``A Frenchmanbrought it hither, who said, he had riddennight and day to put it into the hands of your highness.''

The Prince looked narrowly at the superscription,and then at the seal, placed so as to secure theflex-silk with which the billet was surrounded, andwhich bore the impression of three fleurs-de-lis.John then opened the billet with apparent agitation,which visibly and greatly increased when hehad perused the contents, which were expressed inthese words---

``_Take heed to yourself for the Devil is unchained!_''

The Prince turned as pale as death, looked firston the earth, and then up to heaven, like a manwho has received news that sentence of executionhas been passed upon him. Recovering from thefirst effects of his surprise, he took Waldemar Fitzurseand De Bracy aside, and put the billet intotheir hands successively. ``It means,'' he added,in a faltering voice, ``that my brother Richard hasobtained his freedom.''

``This may be a false alarm, or a forged letter,''said De Bracy.

``It is France's own hand and seal,'' repliedPrince John.

``It is time, then,'' said Fitzurse, ``to draw ourparty to a head, either at York, or some other centricalplace. A few days later, and it will be indeedtoo late. Your highness must break shortthis present mummery.''

``The yeomen and commons,'' said De Bracy,``must not be dismissed discontented, for lack oftheir share in the sports.''

``The day,'' said Waldemar, ``is not yet very farspent---let the archer's shoot a few rounds at thetarget, and the prize be adjudged. This will be anabundant fulfilment of the Prince's promises, so faras this herd of Saxon serfs is concerned.''

``I thank thee, Waldemar,'' said the Prince;``thou remindest me, too, that I have a debt to payto that insolent peasant who yesterday insulted ourperson. Our banquet also shall go forward to-nightas we proposed. Were this my last hour of power,it should be an hour sacred to revenge and to pleasure---let new cares come with to-morrow's newday.''

The sound of the trumpets soon recalled thosespectators who had already begun to leave the field;and proclamation was made that Prince John, suddenlycalled by high and peremptory public duties,held himself obliged to discontinue the entertainmentsof to-morrow's festival: Nevertheless, that,unwilling so many good yeoman should departwithout a trial of skill, he was pleased to appointthem, before leaving the ground, presently to executethe competition of archery intended for themorrow. To the best archer a prize was to beawarded, being a bugle-horn, mounted with silver,and a silken baldric richly ornamented with a medallionof St Hubert, the patron of silvan sport.

More than thirty yeomen at first presented themselvesas competitors, several of whom were rangersand under-keepers in the royal forests of Needwoodand Charnwood. When, however, the archers understoodwith whom they were to be matched, upwards of twenty withdrew themselves from the contest,unwilling to encounter the dishonour of almostcertain defeat. For in those days the skill of eachcelebrated marksman was as well known for manymiles round him, as the qualities of a horse trainedat Newmarket are familiar to those who frequentthat well-known meeting.

The diminished list of competitors for silvan

fame still amounted to eight. Prince John steppedfrom his royal seat to view more nearly the personsof these chosen yeomen, several of whom wore theroyal livery. Having satisfied his curiosity by thisinvestigation, he looked for the object of his resentment,whom he observed standing on the samespot, and with the same composed countenancewhich he had exhibited upon the preceding day.

``Fellow,'' said Prince John, ``I guessed by thyinsolent babble that thou wert no true lover of the longbow,and I see thou darest not adventure thy skillamong such merry-men as stand yonder.''

``Under favour, sir,'' replied the yeoman, ``Ihave another reason for refraining to shoot, besidesthe fearing discomfiture and disgrace.''

``And what is thy other reason?'' said PrinceJohn, who, for some cause which perhaps he couldnot himself have explained, felt a painful curiosityrespecting this individual.

``Because,'' replied the woodsman, ``I know notif these yeomen and I are used to shoot at the samemarks; and because, moreover, I know not howyour Grace might relish the winning of a third prizeby one who has unwittingly fallen under your displeasure.''

Prince John coloured as he put the question,``What is thy name, yeoman?''

``Locksley,'' answered the yeoman.

``Then, Locksley,'' said Prince John, ``thoushalt shoot in thy turn, when these yeomen havedisplayed their skill. If thou carriest the prize, Iwill add to it twenty nobles; but if thou losest it,thou shalt be stript of thy Lincoln green, andscourged out of the lists with bowstrings, for awordy and insolent braggart.''

``And how if I refuse to shoot on such a wager?''said the yeoman.---``Your Grace's power, supported,as it is, by so many men-at-arms, may indeed easily

strip and scourge me, but cannot compel me tobend or to draw my bow.''

``If thou refusest my fair proffer,'' said thePrince, ``the Provost of the lists shall cut thy bowstring,break thy bow and arrows, and expel theefrom the presence as a faint-hearted craven.''

``This is no fair chance you put on me, proudPrince,'' said the yeoman, ``to compel me to perilmyself against the best archers of Leicester AndStaffordshire, under the penalty of infamy if theyshould overshoot me. Nevertheless, I will obeyyour pleasure.''

``Look to him close, men-at-arms,'' said PrinceJohn, ``his heart is sinking; I am jealous lest heattempt to escape the trial.---And do you, goodfellows, shoot boldly round; a buck and a butt ofwine are ready for your refreshment in yonder tent,when the prize is won.''

A target was placed at the upper end of thesouthern avenue which led to the lists. The contendingarchers took their station in turn, at thebottom of the southern access, the distance betweenthat station and the mark allowing full distance forwhat was called a shot at rovers. The archers,having previously determined by lot their order ofprecedence, were to shoot each three shafts in succession.The sports were regulated by an officer ofinferior rank, termed the Provost of the Games;for the high rank of the marshals of the lists wouldhave been held degraded, had they condescendedto superintend the sports of the yeomanry.

One by one the archers, stepping forward, deliveredtheir shafts yeomanlike and bravely. Oftwenty-four arrows, shot in succession, ten werefixed in the target, and the others ranged so nearit, that, considering the distance of the mark, it wasaccounted good archery. Of the ten shafts whichhit the target, two within the inner ring were shotby Hubert, a forester in the service of Malvoisin,who was accordingly pronounced victorious.

``Now, Locksley,'' said Prince John to the boldyeoman, with a bitter smile, ``wilt thou try conclusionswith Hubert, or wilt thou yield up bow,baldric, and quiver, to the Provost of the sports?''

``Sith it be no better,'' said Locksley, ``I am contentto try my fortune; on condition that when Ihave shot two shafts at yonder mark of Hubert's,he shall be bound to shoot one at that which I shallpropose.''

``That is but fair,'' answered Prince John, ``andit shall not be refused thee.---If thou dost beat thisbraggart, Hubert, I will fill the bugle with silver-penniesfor thee.''

``A man can do but his best,'' answered Hubert;``but my grandsire drew a good long bow at Hastings,and I trust not to dishonour his memory.''

The former target was now removed, and a freshone of the same size placed in its room. Hubert,who, as victor in the first trial of skill, had theright to shoot first, took his aim with great deliberation,long measuring the distance with his eye,while he held in his hand his bended bow, with thearrow placed on the string. At length he made astep forward, and raising the bow at the full stretchof his left arm, till the centre or grasping-place wasnigh level with his face, he drew his bowstring tohis ear. The arrow whistled through the air, andlighted within the inner ring of the target, but notexactly in the centre.

``You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert,''said his antagonist, bending his bow, ``or that hadbeen a better shot.''

So saying, and without showing the least anxietyto pause upon his aim, Locksley stept to the appointedstation, and shot his arrow as carelessly inappearance as if he had not even looked at the mark.He was speaking almost at the instant that the shaftleft the bowstring, yet it alighted in the target two

inches nearer to the white spot which marked thecentre than that of Hubert.

``By the light of heaven!'' said Prince John toHubert, ``an thou suffer that runagate knave toovercome thee, thou art worthy of the gallows!''

Hubert had but one set speech for all occasions.``An your highness were to hang me,'' he said, `` aman can but do his best. Nevertheless, my grandsiredrew a good bow---''

``The foul fiend on thy grandsire and all his generation!''interrupted John , ``shoot, knave, andshoot thy best, or it shall be the worse for thee!''

Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, andnot neglecting the caution which he had receivedfrom his adversary, he made the necessary allowancefor a very light air of wind, which had justarisen, and shot so successfully that his arrow alightedin the very centre of the target.

``A Hubert! a Hubert!'' shouted the populace,more interested in a known person than in a stranger.``In the clout!---in the clout!---a Hubert forever!''

``Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley,'' saidthe Prince, with an insulting smile.

``I will notch his shaft for him, however,'' repliedLocksley.

And letting fly his arrow with a little more precautionthan before, it lighted right upon that ofhis competitor, which it split to shivers. The peoplewho stood around were so astonished at his wonderfuldexterity, that they could not even give ventto their surprise in their usual clamour. ``Thismust be the devil, and no man of flesh and blood,''whispered the yeoman to each other; ``such archerywas never seen since a bow was first bent inBritain.''

``And now,'' said Locksley, ``I will crave yourGrace's permission to plant such a mark as is usedin the North Country; and welcome every braveyeoman who shall try a shot at it to win a smilefrom the bonny lass he loves best.''

He then turned to leave the lists. ``Let yourguards attend me,'' he said, ``if you please---I gobut to cut a rod from the next willow-bush.''

Prince John made a signal that some attendantsshould follow him in case of his escape: but the cryof ``Shame! shame!'' which burst from the multitude,induced him to alter his ungenerous purpose.

Locksley returned almost instantly with a willowwand about six feet in length, perfectly straight,and rather thicker than a man's thumb. He beganto peel this with great composure, observing at thesame time, that to ask a good woodsman to shootat a target so broad as had hitherto been used, wasto put shame upon his skill. ``For his own part,''he said, ``and in the land where he was bred, menwould as soon take for their mark King Arthur'sround-table, which held sixty knights around it. Achild of seven years old,'' he said, `` might hit yondertarget with a headless shaft; but,'' added he,walking deliberately to the other end of the lists,and sticking the willow wand upright in the ground,``he that hits that rod at five-score yards, I call himan archer fit to bear both bow and quiver before aking, an it were the stout King Richard himself.''

``My grandsire,'' said Hubert, ``drew a goodbow at the battle of Hastings, and never shot atsuch a mark in his life---and neither will I. If thisyeoman can cleave that rod, I give him the bucklers---or rather, I yield to the devil that is in hisjerkin, and not to any human skill; a man can butdo his best, and I will not shoot where I am sure tomiss. I might as well shoot at the edge of our parson'swhittle, or at a wheat straw, or at a sunbeam,as at a twinkling white streak which I can hardlysee.''

``Cowardly dog!'' said Prince John.---``SirrahLocksley, do thou shoot; but, if thou hittest sucha mark, I will say thou art the first man ever didso. However it be, thou shalt not crow over us witha mere show of superior skill.''

``I will do my best, as Hubert says,'' answeredLocksley; ``no man can do more.''

So saying, he again bent his bow, but on the presentoccasion looked with attention to his weapon,and changed the string, which he thought was nolonger truly round, having been a little frayed bythe two former shots. He then took his aim withsome deliberation, and the multitude awaited theevent in breathless silence. The archer vindicatedtheir opinion of his skill: his arrow split the willowrod against which it was aimed. A jubilee ofacclamations followed; and even Prince John, inadmiration of Locksley's skill, lost for an instanthis dislike to his person. ``These twenty nobles,''he said, ``which, with the bugle, thou hast fairlywon, are thine own; we will make them fifty, ifthou wilt take livery and service with us as a yeomanof our body guard, and be near to our person.For never did so strong a hand bend a bow, or sotrue an eye direct a shaft.''

``Pardon me, noble Prince,'' said Locksley; ``butI have vowed, that if ever I take service, it shouldbe with your royal brother King Richard. Thesetwenty nobles I leave to Hubert, who has this daydrawn as brave a bow as his grandsire did at Hastings.Had his modesty not refused the trial, hewould have hit the wand as well I.''

Hubert shook his head as he received with reluctancethe bounty of the stranger, and Locksley,anxious to escape further observation, mixed withthe crowd, and was seen no more.

The victorious archer would not perhaps haveescaped John's attention so easily, had not thatPrince had other subjects of anxious and more importantmeditation pressing upon his mind at that

instant. He called upon his chamberlain as he gavethe signal for retiring from the lists, and commandedhim instantly to gallop to Ashby, and seek outIsaac the Jew. ``Tell the dog,'' he said, ``to sendme, before sun-down, two thousand crowns. Heknows the security; but thou mayst show him thisring for a token. The rest of the money must bepaid at York within six days. If he neglects, Iwill have the unbelieving villain's head. Look thatthou pass him not on the way; for the circumcisedslave was displaying his stolen finery amongst us.''

So saying, the Prince resumed his horse, and returnedto Ashby, the whole crowd breaking up anddispersing upon his retreat.

CHAPTER XIV

In rough magnificence array'd,When ancient Chivalry display'dThe pomp of her heroic games,And crested chiefs and tissued damesAssembled, at the clarion's call,In some proud castle's high arch'd hall.

Warton.

Prince John held his high festival in the Castleof Ashby. This was not the same building of whichthe stately ruins still interest the traveller, andwhich was erected at a later period by the LordHastings, High Chamberlain of England, one ofthe first victims of the tyranny of Richard the Third,and yet better known as one of Shakspeare's charactersthan by his historical fame. The castle andtown of Ashby, at this time, belonged to Roger deQuincy, Earl of Winchester, who, during the periodof our history, was absent in the Holy Land.Prince John, in the meanwhile, occupied his castle,and disposed of his domains without scruple; andseeking at present to dazzle men's eyes by his hospitality

and magnificence, had given orders for greatpreparations, in order to render the banquet assplendid as possible.

The purveyors of the Prince, who exercised onthis and other occasions the full authority of royalty,had swept the country of all that could be collectedwhich was esteemed fit for their master'stable. Guests also were invited in great numbers;and in the necessity in which he then foundhimself of courting popularity, Prince John hadextended his invitation to a few distinguished Saxonand Danish families, as well as to the Norman nobilityand gentry of the neighbourhood. Howeverdespised and degraded on ordinary occasions, thegreat numbers of the Anglo-Saxons must necessarilyrender them formidable in the civil commotionswhich seemed approaching, and it was an obviouspoint of policy to secure popularity with theirleaders.

It was accordingly the Prince's intention, whichhe for some time maintained, to treat these unwontedguests with a courtesy to which they had beenlittle accustomed. But although no man with lessscruple made his ordinary habits and feelings bendto his interest, it was the misfortune of this Prince,that his levity and petulance were perpetually breakingout, and undoing all that had been gained byhis previous dissimulation.

Of this fickle temper he gave a memorable examplein Ireland, when sent thither by his father,Henry the Second, with the purpose of buyinggolden opinions of the inhabitants of that new andimportant acquisition to the English crown. Uponthis occasion the Irish chieftains contended whichshould first offer to the young Prince their loyalhomage and the kiss of peace. But, instead of receivingtheir salutations with courtesy, John andhis petulant attendants could not resist the temptationof pulling the long beards of the Irish chieftains;a conduct which, as might have been expected,was highly resented by these insulted dignitaries,and produced fatal consequences to the English

domination in Ireland. It is necessary to keepthese inconsistencies of John's character in view,that the reader may understand his conduct duringthe present evening.

In execution of the resolution which he had formedduring his cooler moments, Prince John receivedCedric and Athelstane with distinguished courtesy,and expressed his disappointment, withoutresentment, when the indisposition of Rowena wasalleged by the former as a reason for her not attendingupon his gracious summons. Cedric andAthelstane were both dressed in the ancient Saxongarb, which, although not unhandsome in itself,and in the present instance composed of costly materials,was so remote in shape and appearance fromthat of the other guests, that Prince John tookgreat credit to himself with Waldemar Fitzursefor refraining from laughter at a sight which thefashion of the day rendered ridiculous. Yet, in theeye of sober judgment, the short close tunic andlong mantle of the Saxons was a more graceful, aswell as a more convenient dress, than the garb ofthe Normans, whose under garment was a longdoublet, so loose as to resemble a shirt or waggoner'sfrock, covered by a cloak of scanty dimensions,neither fit to defend the wearer from cold or fromrain, and the only purpose of which appeared to beto display as much fur, embroidery, and jewellerywork, as the ingenuity of the tailor could contriveto lay upon it. The Emperor Charlemagne, inwhose reign they were first introduced, seems tohave been very sensible of the inconveniences arisingfrom the fashion of this garment. ``In Heaven'sname,'' said he, ``to what purpose serve theseabridged cloaks? If we are in bed they are nocover, on horseback they are no protection fromthe wind and rain, and when seated, they do notguard our legs from the damp or the frost.''

Nevertheless, spite of this imperial objurgation,the short cloaks continued in fashion down to thetime of which we treat, and particularly among theprinces of the House of Anjou. They were thereforein universal use among Prince John's courtiers;

and the long mantle, which formed the uppergarment of the Saxons, was held in proportionalderision.

The guests were seated at a table which groanedunder the quantity of good cheer. The numerouscooks who attended on the Prince's progress, havingexerted all their art in varying the forms inwhich the ordinary provisions were served up, hadsucceeded almost as well as the modern professorsof the culinary art in rendering them perfectly unliketheir natural appearance. Besides these dishesof domestic origin, there were various delicaciesbrought from foreign parts, and a quantity of richpastry, as well as of the simnel-bread and wastlecakes, which were only used at the tables of thehighest nobility. The banquet was crowned withthe richest wines, both foreign and domestic.

But, though luxurious, the Norman nobles werenot generally speaking an intemperate race. Whileindulging themselves in the pleasures of the table,they aimed at delicacy, but avoided excess, and wereapt to attribute gluttony and drunkenness to thevanquished Saxons, as vices peculiar to their inferiorstation. Prince John, indeed, and those whocourted his pleasure by imitating his foibles, wereapt to indulge to excess in the pleasures of thetrencher and the goblet; and indeed it is wellknown that his death was occasioned by a surfeitupon peaches and new ale. His conduct, however,was an exception to the general manners of hiscountrymen.

With sly gravity, interrupted only by privatesigns to each other, the Norman knights and noblesbeheld the ruder demeanour of Athelstane andCedric at a banquet, to the form and fashion ofwhich they were unaccustomed. And while theirmanners were thus the subject of sarcastic observation,the untaught Saxons unwittingly transgressedseveral of the arbitrary rules established forthe regulation of society. Now, it is well known,that a man may with more impunity be guilty ofan actual breach either of real good breeding or of

good morals, than appear ignorant of the most minutepoint of fashionable etiquette. Thus Cedric,who dried his hands with a towel, instead of sufferingthe moisture to exhale by waving them gracefullyin the air, incurred more ridicule than his companionAthelstane, when he swallowed to his ownsingle share the whole of a large pasty composed ofthe most exquisite foreign delicacies, and termed atthat time a _Karum-Pie_. When, however, it wasdiscovered, by a serious cross-examination, that theThane of Coningsburgh (or Franklin, as the Normanstermed him) had no idea what he had beendevouring, and that he had taken the contents ofthe Karum-pie for larks and pigeons, whereas theywere in fact beccaficoes and nightingales, his ignorancebrought him in for an ample share of the ridiculewhich would have been more justly bestowedon his gluttony.

The long feast had at length its end; and, whilethe goblet circulated freely, men talked of the featsof the preceding tournament,---of the unknown victorin the archery games, of the Black Knight,whose self-denial had induced him to withdrawfrom the honours he had won,---and of the gallantIvanhoe, who had so dearly bought the honours ofthe day. The topics were treated with militaryfrankness, and the jest and laugh went round thehall. The brow of Prince John alone was overcloudedduring these discussions; some overpoweringcare seemed agitating his mind, and it was onlywhen he received occasional hints from his attendants,that he seemed to take interest in whatwas passing around him. On such occasions hewould start up, quaff a cup of wine as if to raisehis spirits, and then mingle in the conversation bysome observation made abruptly or at random.

``We drink this beaker,'' said he, ``to the healthof Wilfred of Ivanhoe, champion of this Passageof Arms, and grieve that his wound renders himabsent from our board---Let all fill to the pledge,and especially Cedric of Rotherwood, the worthyfather of a son so promising.''

``No, my lord,'' replied Cedric, standing up, andplacing on the table his untasted cup, ``I yield notthe name of son to the disobedient youth, who atonce despises my commands, and relinquishes themanners and customs of his fathers.''

``'Tis impossible,'' cried Prince John, with well-feignedastonishment, ``that so gallant a knightshould be an unworthy or disobedient son!''

``Yet, my lord,'' answered Cedric, ``so it is withthis Wilfred. He left my homely dwelling to minglewith the gay nobility of your brother's court,where he learned to do those tricks of horsemanshipwhich you prize so highly. He left it contraryto my wish and command; and in the days of Alfredthat would have been termed disobedience---ay, and a crime severely punishable.''

``Alas!'' replied Prince John, with a deep sighof affected sympathy, ``since your son was a followerof my unhappy brother, it need not be enquiredwhere or from whom he learned the lessonof filial disobedience.''

Thus spake Prince John, wilfully forgetting, thatof all the sons of Henry the Second, though no onewas free from the charge, he himself had been mostdistinguished for rebellion and ingratitude to hisfather.

``I think,'' said be, after a moment's pause, ``thatmy brother proposed to confer upon his favouritethe rich manor of Ivanhoe.''

``He did endow him with it,'' answered Cedric;``nor is it my least quarrel with my son, that hestooped to hold, as a feudal vassal, the very domainswhich his fathers possessed in free and independentright.''

``We shall then have your willing sanction, goodCedric,'' said Prince John, ``to confer this fief upona person whose dignity will not be diminishedby holding land of the British crown.---Sir Reginald

Front-de-B<oe>uf,'' he said, turning towards thatBaron, ``I trust you will so keep the goodly Baronyof Ivanhoe, that Sir Wilfred shall not incurhis father's farther displeasure by again enteringupon that fief.''

``By St Anthony!'' answered the black-brow'dgiant, ``I will consent that your highness shall holdme a Saxon, if either Cedric or Wilfred, or the bestthat ever bore English blood, shall wrench from methe gift with which your highness has graced me.''

``Whoever shall call thee Saxon, Sir Baron,'' repliedCedric, offended at a mode of expression bywhich the Normans frequently expressed their habitualcontempt of the English, ``will do thee anhonour as great as it is undeserved.''

Front-de-B<oe>uf would have replied, but PrinceJohn's petulance and levity got the start.

``Assuredly,'' said be, ``my lords, the noble Cedricspeaks truth; and his race may claim precedenceover us as much in the length of their pedigreesas in the longitude of their cloaks.''

``They go before us indeed in the field---as deerbefore dogs,'' said Malvoisin.

``And with good right may they go before us---forget not,'' said the Prior Aymer, ``the superiordecency and decorum of their manners.''

``Their singular abstemiousness and temperance,''said De Bracy, forgetting the plan which promisedhim a Saxon bride.

``Together with the courage and conduct,'' saidBrian de Bois-Guilbert, ``by which they distinguishedthemselves at Hastings and elsewhere.''

While, with smooth and smiling cheek, the courtiers,each in turn, followed their Prince's example,and aimed a shaft of ridicule at Cedric, the face ofthe Saxon became inflamed with passion, and he

glanced his eyes fiercely from one to another, as ifthe quick succession of so many injuries had preventedhis replying to them in turn; or, like a baitedbull, who, surrounded by his tormentors, is ata loss to choose from among them the immediateobject of his revenge. At length he spoke, in avoice half choked with passion; and, addressinghimself to Prince John as the head and front of theoffence which he had received, ``Whatever,'' he said,``have been the follies and vices of our race, a Saxonwould have been held _nidering_,'' * (the most emphatic

* There was nothing accounted so ignominious among the* Saxons as to merit this disgraceful epithet. Even William the* Conqueror, hated as he was by them, continued to draw a considerable* army of Anglo-Saxons to his standard, by threatening* to stigmatize those who staid at home, as nidering. Bartholinus,* I think, mentions a similar phrase which had like influence on* the Danes. L. T.

term for abject worthlessness,) ``who shouldin his own hall, and while his own wine-cup passed,have treated, or suffered to be treated, an unoffendingguest as your highness has this day beheld meused; and whatever was the misfortune of our fatherson the field of Hastings, those may at leastbe silent,'' here he looked at Front-de-B<oe>uf and theTemplar, ``who have within these few hours onceand again lost saddle and stirrup before the lance ofa Saxon.''

``By my faith, a biting jest!'' said Prince John.``How like you it, sirs?---Our Saxon subjects risein spirit and courage; become shrewd in wit, andbold in bearing, in these unsettled times---What sayye, my lords?---By this good light, I hold it best totake our galleys, and return to Normandy in time.''

``For fear of the Saxons?'' said De Bracy, laughing;``we should need no weapon but our huntingspears to bring these boars to bay.''

``A truce with your raillery, Sir Knights,'' saidFitzurse;---``and it were well,'' he added, addressingthe Prince, ``that your highness should assure

the worthy Cedric there is no insult intended himby jests, which must sound but harshly in the earof a stranger.''

``Insult?'' answered Prince John, resuming hiscourtesy of demeanour; ``I trust it will not bethought that I could mean, or permit any, to be offeredin my presence. Here! I fill my cup to Cedrichimself, since he refuses to pledge his son's health.''

The cup went round amid the well-dissembledapplause of the courtiers, which, however, failed tomake the impression on the mind of the Saxon thathad been designed. He was not naturally acute ofperception, but those too much undervalued his understandingwho deemed that this flattering complimentwould obliterate the sense of the prior insult.He was silent, however, when the royal pledgeagain passed round, ``To Sir Athelstane of Coningsburgh.''

The knight made his obeisance, and showed hissense of the honour by draining a huge goblet inanswer to it.

``And now, sirs,'' said Prince John, who beganto be warmed with the wine which he had drank,``having done justice to our Saxon guests, we willpray of them some requital to our courtesy.---WorthyThane,'' he continued, addressing Cedric, ``maywe pray you to name to us some Norman whosemention may least sully your mouth, and to washdown with a goblet of wine all bitterness which thesound may leave behind it?''

Fitzurse arose while Prince John spoke, andgliding behind the seat of the Saxon, whispered tohim not to omit the opportunity of putting an endto unkindness betwixt the two races, by namingPrince John. The Saxon replied not to this politicinsinuation, but, rising up, and filling his cup to thebrim, be addressed Prince John in these words:``Your highness has required that I should name aNorman deserving to be remembered at our banquet.This, perchance, is a hard task, since it callson the slave to sing the praises of the master---

upon the vanquished, while pressed by all the evilsof conquest, to sing the praises of the conqueror.Yet I will name a Norman---the first in arms andin place---the best and the noblest of his race. Andthe lips that shall refuse to pledge me to his well-earnedfame, I term false and dishonoured, and willso maintain them with my life.---I quaff this gobletto the health of Richard the Lion-hearted!''

Prince John, who had expected that his ownname would have closed the Saxon's speech, startedwhen that of his injured brother was so unexpectedlyintroduced. He raised mechanically the wine-cupto his lips, then instantly set it down, to viewthe demeanour of the company at this unexpectedproposal, which many of them felt it as unsafe tooppose as to comply with. Some of them, ancientand experienced courtiers, closely imitated the exampleof the Prince himself, raising the goblet totheir lips, and again replacing it before them. Therewere many who, with a more generous feeling, exclaimed,``Long live King Richard! and may hebe speedily restored to us!'' And some few, amongwhom were Front-de-B<oe>uf and the Templar, insullen disdain suffered their goblets to stand untastedbefore them. But no man ventured directlyto gainsay a pledge filled to the health of the reigningmonarch.

Having enjoyed his triumph for about a minute,Cedric said to his companion, ``Up, noble Athelstane!we have remained here long enough, sincewe have requited the hospitable courtesy of PrinceJohn's banquet. Those who wish to know furtherof our rude Saxon manners must henceforth seekus in the homes of our fathers, since we have seenenough of royal banquets, and enough of Normancourtesy.''

So saying, he arose and left the banqueting room,followed by Athelstane, and by several other guests,who, partaking of the Saxon lineage, held themselvesinsulted by the sarcasms of Prince John andhis courtiers.

``By the bones of St Thomas,'' said Prince John,as they retreated, ``the Saxon churls have borneoff the best of the day, and have retreated with triumph!''

``_Conclamatum est, poculatum est_,'' said PriorAymer; ``we have drunk and we have shouted,---it were time we left our wine flagons.''

``The monk hath some fair penitent to shriveto-night, that he is in such a hurry to depart,'' saidDe Bracy.

``Not so, Sir Knight,'' replied the Abbot; ``butI must move several miles forward this eveningupon my homeward journey.''

``They are breaking up,'' said the Prince in awhisper to Fitzurse; ``their fears anticipate theevent, and this coward Prior is the first to shrinkfrom me.''

``Fear not, my lord,'' said Waldemar; ``I willshow him such reasons as shall induce him to joinus when we hold our meeting at York.---Sir Prior,''he said, ``I must speak with you in private, beforeyou mount your palfrey.''

The other guests were now fast dispersing, withthe exception of those immediately attached to,Prince John's faction, and his retinue.

``This, then, is the result of your advice,'' saidthe Prince, turning an angry countenance uponFitzurse; ``that I should be bearded at my ownboard by a drunken Saxon churl, and that, on themere sound of my brother's name, men should falloff from me as if I had the leprosy?''

``Have patience, sir,'' replied his counsellor; ``Imight retort your accusation, and blame the inconsideratelevity which foiled my design, and misledyour own better judgment. But this is no timefor recrimination. De Bracy and I will instantlygo among these shuffling cowards, and convincethem they have gone too far to recede.''

``It will be in vain,'' said Prince John, pacingthe apartment with disordered steps, and expressinghimself with an agitation to which the wine hehad drank partly contributed---``It will be in vain--they have seen the handwriting on the wall---they have marked the paw of the lion in the sand---they have heard his approaching roar shake thewood---nothing will reanimate their courage.''

``Would to God,'' said Fitzurse to De Bracy,``that aught could reanimate his own! His brother'svery name is an ague to him. Unhappy arethe counsellors of a Prince, who wants fortitudeand perseverance alike in good and in evil!''

CHAPTER XV

And yet he thinks,---ha, ha, ha, ha,---he thinksI am the tool and servant of his will.Well, let it be; through all the maze of troubleHis plots and base oppression must create,I'll shape myself a way to higher things,And who will say 'tis wrong? _Basil, a Tragedy_.

No spider ever took more pains to repair theshattered meshes of his web, than did WaldemarFitzurse to reunite and combine the scattered membersof Prince John's cabal. Few of these wereattached to him from inclination, and none frompersonal regard. It was therefore necessary, thatFitzurse should open to them new prospects of advantage,and remind them of those which they atpresent enjoyed. To the young and wild nobles,he held out the prospect of unpunished license anduncontrolled revelry; to the ambitious, that ofpower, and to the covetous, that of increased wealthand extended domains. The leaders of the mercenariesreceived a donation in gold; an argument

the most persuasive to their minds, and withoutwhich all others would have proved in vain. Promiseswere still more liberally distributed than moneyby this active agent; and, in fine, nothing wasleft undone that could determine the wavering, oranimate the disheartened. The return of KingRichard he spoke of as an event altogether beyondthe reach of probability; yet, when he observed,from the doubtful looks and uncertain answerswhich he received, that this was the apprehensionby which the minds of his accomplices were mosthaunted, he boldly treated that event, should itreally take place, as one which ought not to altertheir political calculations.

``If Richard returns,'' said Fitzurse, ``he returnsto enrich his needy and impoverished crusaders atthe expense of those who did not follow him to theHoly Land. He returns to call to a fearful reckoning,those who, during his absence, have doneaught that can be construed offence or encroachmentupon either the laws of the land or the privilegesof the crown. He returns to avenge uponthe Orders of the Temple and the Hospital, thepreference which they showed to Philip of Franceduring the wars in the Holy Land. He returns,in fine, to punish as a rebel every adherent of hisbrother Prince John. Are ye afraid of his power?''continued the artful confident of that Prince, ``weacknowledge him a strong and valiant knight; butthese are not the days of King Arthur, when achampion could encounter an army. If Richardindeed comes back, it must be alone,---unfollowed---unfriended. The bones of his gallant army havewhitened the sands of Palestine. The few of hisfollowers who have returned have straggled hitherlike this Wilfred of Ivanhoe, beggared and brokenmen.---And what talk ye of Richard's right ofbirth?'' he proceeded, in answer to those who objectedscruples on that head. ``Is Richard's titleof primogeniture more decidedly certain than thatof Duke Robert of Normandy, the Conqueror'seldest son? And yet William the Red, and Henry,his second and third brothers, were successivelypreferred to him by the voice of the nation, Robert

had every merit which can be pleaded for Richard;he was a bold knight, a good leader, generous tohis friends and to the church, and, to crown thewhole, a crusader and a conqueror of the Holy Sepulchre;and yet he died a blind and miserableprisoner in the Castle of Cardiff, because he opposedhimself to the will of the people, who chose thathe should not rule over them. It is our right,'' hesaid, `` to choose from the blood royal the princewho is best qualified to hold the supreme power---that is,'' said he, correcting himself, ``him whoseelection will best promote the interests of the nobility.In personal qualifications,'' he added, ``it waspossible that Prince John might be inferior to hisbrother Richard; but when it was considered thatthe latter returned with the sword of vengeance inhis hand, while the former held out rewards, immunities,privileges, wealth, and honours, it couldnot be doubted which was the king whom in wisdomthe nobility were called on to support.''

These, and many more arguments, some adaptedto the peculiar circumstances of those whom he addressed,had the expected weight with the noblesof Prince John's faction. Most of them consentedto attend the proposed meeting at York, for thepurpose of making general arrangements for placingthe crown upon the head of Prince John.

It was late at night, when, worn out and exhaustedwith his various exertions, however gratifiedwith the result, Fitzurse, returning to theCastle of Ashby, met with De Bracy, who had exchangedhis banqueting garments for a short greenkittle, with hose of the same cloth and colour, aleathern cap or head-piece, a short sword, a hornslung over his shoulder, a long bow in his hand,and a bundle of arrows stuck in his belt. HadFitzurse met this figure in an outer apartment, hewould have passed him without notice, as one ofthe yeomen of the guard; but finding him in theinner hall, he looked at him with more attention,and recognised the Norman knight in the dress ofan English yeoman.

``What mummery is this, De Bracy?'' said Fitzurse,somewhat angrily; ``is this a time for Christmasgambols and quaint maskings, when the fate ofour master, Prince John, is on the very verge of decision?Why hast thou not been, like me, amongthese heartless cravens, whom the very name of KingRichard terrifies, as it is said to do the children ofthe Saracens?'

``I have been attending to mine own business,''answered De Bracy calmly, ``as you, Fitzurse, havebeen minding yours.''

``I minding mine own business!'' echoed Waldemar;``I have been engaged in that of PrinceJohn, our joint patron.''

``As if thou hadst any other reason for that,Waldemar,'' said De Bracy, ``than the promotionof thine own individual interest? Come, Fitzurse,we know each other---ambition is thy pursuit, pleasureis mine, and they become our different ages.Of Prince John thou thinkest as I do; that he istoo weak to be a determined monarch, too tyrannicalto be an easy monarch, too insolent and presumptuousto be a popular monarch, and too fickleand timid to be long a monarch of any kind. Buthe is a monarch by whom Fitzurse and De Bracyhope to rise and thrive; and therefore you aid himwith your policy, and I with the lances of my FreeCompanions.''

``A hopeful auxiliary,'' said Fitzurse impatiently;``playing the fool in the very moment of utternecessity.---What on earth dost thou purpose bythis absurd disguise at a moment so urgent?''

``To get me a wife,'' answered De Bracy coolly,``after the manner of the tribe of Benjamin.''

``The tribe of Benjamin?'' said Fitzurse; ``Icomprehend thee not.''

``Wert thou not in presence yester-even,'' saidDe Bracy, ``when we heard the Prior Aymer tell

us a tale in reply to the romance which was sungby the Minstrel?---He told how, long since in Palestine,a deadly feud arose between the tribe ofBenjamin and the rest of the Israelitish nation;and how they cut to pieces wellnigh all the chivalryof that tribe; and how they swore by our blessedLady, that they would not permit those who remainedto marry in their lineage; and how theybecame grieved for their vow, and sent to consulthis holiness the Pope how they might be absolvedfrom it; and how, by the advice of the Holy Father,the youth of the tribe of Benjamin carried offfrom a superb tournament all the ladies who werethere present, and thus won them wives withoutthe consent either of their brides or their brides'families.''

``I have heard the story,'' said Fitzurse, ``thougheither the Prior or thou has made some singularalterations in date and circumstances.''

``I tell thee,'' said De Bracy, ``that I mean topurvey me a wife after the fashion of the tribe ofBenjamin; which is as much as to say, that in thissame equipment I will fall upon that herd of Saxonbullocks, who have this night left the castle, andcarry off from them the lovely Rowena.''

``Art thou mad, De Bracy?'' said Fitzurse. ``Bethinkthee that, though the men be Saxons, theyare rich and powerful, and regarded with the morerespect by their countrymen, that wealth and honourare but the lot of few of Saxon descent.''

``And should belong to none,'' said De Bracy;``the work of the Conquest should be completed.''

``This is no time for it at least,'' said Fitzurse``the approaching crisis renders the favour of themultitude indispensable, and Prince John cannotrefuse justice to any one who injures their favourites.''

``Let him grant it, if he dare,'' said De Bracy;``he will soon see the difference betwixt the supportof such a lusty lot of spears as mine, and that

of a heartless mob of Saxon churls. Yet I meanno immediate discovery of myself. Seem I not inthis garb as bold a forester as ever blew horn? Theblame of the violence shall rest with the outlaws ofthe Yorkshire forests. I have sure spies on theSaxon's motions---To-night they sleep in the conventof Saint Wittol, or Withold, or whatever theycall that churl of a Saxon Saint at Burton-on-Trent.Next day's march brings them within our reach,and, falcon-ways, we swoop on them at once. Presentlyafter I will appear in mine own shape, playthe courteous knight, rescue the unfortunate andafflicted fair one from the hands of the rude ravishers,conduct her to Front-de-B<oe>uf's Castle, or toNormandy, if it should be necessary, and produceher not again to her kindred until she be the brideand dame of Maurice de Bracy.''

``A marvellously sage plan,'' said Fitzurse, ``and,as I think, not entirely of thine own device.---Come,be frank, De Bracy, who aided thee in the invention?and who is to assist in the execution? for,as I think, thine own band lies as far of as York.''

``Marry, if thou must needs know,'' said DeBracy, ``it was the Templar Brian de Bois-Guilbertthat shaped out the enterprise, which the adventureof the men of Benjamin suggested to me.He is to aid me in the onslaught, and he and hisfollowers will personate the outlaws, from whommy valorous arm is, after changing my garb, torescue the lady.''

``By my halidome,'' said Fitzurse, ``the planwas worthy of your united wisdom! and thy prudence,De Bracy, is most especially manifested inthe project of leaving the lady in the hands of thyworthy confederate. Thou mayst, I think, succeedin taking her from her Saxon friends, but how thouwilt rescue her afterwards from the clutches ofBois-Guilbert seems considerably more doubtful---He is a falcon well accustomed to pounce on apartridge, and to hold his prey fast.''

``He is a Templar,'' said De Bracy, ``and cannot

therefore rival me in my plan of wedding thisheiress;---and to attempt aught dishonourableagainst the intended bride of De Bracy---By Heaven!were he a whole Chapter of his Order in hissingle person, he dared not do me such an injury!''

``Then since nought that I can say,'' said Fitzurse,``will put this folly from thy imagination,(for well I know the obstinacy of thy disposition,)at least waste as little time as possible---let not thyfolly be lasting as well as untimely.''

``I tell thee,'' answered De Bracy, ``that it willbe the work of a few hours, and I shall be at York---at the head of my daring and valorous fellows, asready to support any bold design as thy policy canbe to form one.---But I hear my comrades assembling,and the steeds stamping and neighing in theouter court.---Farewell.---I go, like a true knight,to win the smiles of beauty.''

``Like a true knight?'' repeated Fitzurse, lookingafter him; ``like a fool, I should say, or likea child, who will leave the most serious and needfuloccupation, to chase the down of the thistle thatdrives past him.---But it is with such tools that Imust work;---and for whose advantage?---For thatof a Prince as unwise as he is profligate, and aslikely to be an ungrateful master as he has alreadyproved a rebellious son and an unnatural brother.---But he---he, too, is but one of the tools withwhich I labour; and, proud as he is, should he presumeto separate his interest from mine, this is asecret which he shall soon learn.''

The meditations of the statesman were here interruptedby the voice of the Prince from an interiorapartment, calling out, ``Noble WaldemarFitzurse!'' and, with bonnet doffed, the futureChancellor (for to such high preferment did thewily Norman aspire) hastened to receive the ordersof the future sovereign.

CHAPTER XVI

Far in a wild, unknown to public view,From youth to age a reverend hermit grew;The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,His food the fruits, his drink the crystal wellRemote from man, with God he pass'd his days,Prayer all his business---all his pleasure praise. _Parnell._

The reader cannot have forgotten that the eventof the tournament was decided by the exertions ofan unknown knight, whom, on account of the passiveand indifferent conduct which he had manifestedon the former part of the day, the spectatorshad entitled, _Le Noir Faineant_. This knight hadleft the field abruptly when the victory was achieved;and when he was called upon to receive thereward of his valour, he was nowhere to be found.In the meantime, while summoned by heralds andby trumpets, the knight was holding his coursenorthward, avoiding all frequented paths, and takingthe shortest road through the woodlands. Hepaused for the night at a small hostelry lying outof the ordinary route, where, however, he obtainedfrom a wandering minstrel news of the event of thetourney.

On the next morning the knight departed early,with the intention of making a long journey; thecondition of his horse, which he had carefully sparedduring the preceding morning, being such as enabledhim to travel far without the necessity of muchrepose. Yet his purpose was baffled by the deviouspaths through which he rode, so that when eveningclosed upon him, he only found himself on thefrontiers of the West Riding of Yorkshire. Bythis time both horse and man required refreshment,and it became necessary, moreover, to look out forsome place in which they might spend the night,which was now fast approaching.

The place where the traveller found himselfseemed unpropitious for obtaining either shelter orrefreshment, and he was likely to be reduced to theusual expedient of knights-errant, who, on such occasions,turned their horses to graze, and laid themselvesdown to meditate on their lady-mistress, withan oak-tree for a canopy. But the Black Knighteither had no mistress to meditate upon, or, beingas indifferent in love as he seemed to be in war,was not sufficiently occupied by passionate reflectionsupon her beauty and cruelty, to be able toparry the effects of fatigue and hunger, and sufferlove to act as a substitute for the solid comforts ofa bed and supper. He felt dissatisfied, therefore,when, looking around, he found himself deeply involvedin woods, through which indeed there weremany open glades, and some paths, but such asseemed only formed by the numerous herds of cattlewhich grazed in the forest, or by the animals ofchase, and the hunters who made prey of them.

The sun, by which the knight had chiefly directedhis course, had now sunk behind the Derbyshirehills on his left, and every effort which hemight make to pursue his journey was as likely tolead him out of his road as to advance him on hisroute. After having in vain endeavoured to selectthe most beaten path, in hopes it might lead to thecottage of some herdsman, or the silvan lodge ofa forester, and having repeatedly found himselftotally unable to determine on a choice, the knightresolved to trust to the sagacity of his horse; experiencehaving, on former occasions, made himacquainted with the wonderful talent possessed bythese animals for extricating themselves and theirriders on such emergencies.

The good steed, grievously fatigued with so longa day's journey under a rider cased in mail, had nosooner found, by the slackened reins, that he wasabandoned to his own guidance, than he seemed toassume new strength and spirit; and whereas, formerlyhe had scarce replied to the spur, otherwisethan by a groan, he now, as if proud of the confidencereposed in him, pricked up his ears, and assumed,

of his own accord, a more lively motion.The path which the animal adopted rather turnedoff from the course pursued by the knight duringthe day; but as the horse seemed confident in hischoice, the rider abandoned himself to his discretion.

He was justified by the event; for the footpathsoon after appeared a little wider and more worn,and the tinkle of a small bell gave the knight to understandthat he was in the vicinity of some chapel or hermitage.

Accordingly, he soon reached an open plat ofturf, on the opposite side of which, a rock, risingabruptly from a gently sloping plain, offered itsgrey and weatherbeaten front to the traveller. Ivymantled its sides in some places, and in others oaksand holly bushes, whose roots found nourishment inthe cliffs of the crag, waved over the precipices below,like the plumage of the warrior over his steelhelmet, giving grace to that whose chief expressionwas terror. At the bottom of the rock, and leaning,as it were, against it, was constructed a rudehut, built chiefly of the trunks of trees felled in theneighbouring forest, and secured against the weatherby having its crevices stuffed with moss mingledwith clay. The stem of a young fir-tree loppedof its branches, with a piece of wood tied acrossnear the top, was planted upright by the door, asa rude emblem of the holy cross. At a little distanceon the right hand, a fountain of the purestwater trickled out of the rock, and was received ina hollow stone, which labour had formed into arustic basin. Escaping from thence, the streammurmured down the descent by a channel whichits course had long worn, and so wandered throughthe little plain to lose itself in the neighbouring wood.

Beside this fountain were the ruins of a verysmall chapel, of which the roof had partly fallen in.The building, when entire, had never been abovesixteen feet long by twelve feet in breadth, and theroof, low in proportion, rested upon four concentricarches which sprung from the four corners of thebuilding, each supported upon a short and heavypillar. The ribs of two of these arches remained,

though the roof had fallen down betwixt them;over the others it remained entire. The entranceto this ancient place of devotion was under a verylow round arch, ornamented by several courses ofthat zig-zag moulding, resembling shark's teeth,which appears so often in the more ancient Saxonarchitecture. A belfry rose above the porch onfour small pillars, within which hung the green andweatherbeaten bell, the feeble sounds of which hadbeen some time before heard by the Black Knight.

The whole peaceful and quiet scene lay glimmeringin twilight before the eyes of the traveller,giving him good assurance of lodging for the night;since it was a special duty of those hermits whodwelt in the woods, to exercise hospitality towardsbenighted or bewildered passengers.

Accordingly, the knight took no time to considerminutely the particulars which we have detailed,but thanking Saint Julian (the patron of travellers)who had sent him good harbourage, he leapedfrom his horse and assailed the door of the hermitagewith the butt of his lance, in order to arouse attentionand gain admittance.

It was some time before he obtained any answer,and the reply, when made, was unpropitious.

``Pass on, whosoever thou art,'' was the answergiven by a deep hoarse voice from within the hut,``and disturb not the servant of God and St Dunstanin his evening devotions.''

``Worthy father,'' answered the knight,``here is a poor wanderer bewildered in these woods,who gives thee the opportunity of exercisingthy charity and hospitality.''

``Good brother,'' replied the inhabitant of thehermitage, ``it has pleased Our Lady and St Dunstanto destine me for the object of those virtues,instead of the exercise thereof. I have no provisionshere which even a dog would share with me,and a horse of any tenderness of nurture would despise

my couch---pass therefore on thy way, and God speed thee.''

``But how,'' replied the knight, ``is it possible forme to find my way through such a wood as this,when darkness is coming on? I pray you, reverendfather as you are a Christian, to undo your door,and at least point out to me my road.''

``And I pray you, good Christian brother,'' repliedthe anchorite, ``to disturb me no more. Youhave already interrupted one _pater_, two _aves_, and a_credo_, which I, miserable sinner that I am, should,according to my vow, have said before moonrise.''

``The road---the road!'' vociferated the knight,``give me directions for the road, if I am to expectno more from thee.''

``The road,'' replied the hermit, ``is easy to hit.The path from the wood leads to a morass, andfrom thence to a ford, which, as the rains have abated,may now be passable. When thou hast crossedthe ford, thou wilt take care of thy footing upthe left bank, as it is somewhat precipitous; andthe path, which hangs over the river, has lately, asI learn, (for I seldom leave the duties of my chapel,)given way in sundry places. Thou wilt thenkeep straight forward''

``A broken path---a precipice---a ford, and amorass!'' said the knight interrupting him,---``SirHermit, if you were the holiest that ever worebeard or told bead, you shall scarce prevail on meto hold this road to-night. I tell thee, that thou,who livest by the charity of the country---ill deserved,as I doubt it is---hast no right to refuseshelter to the wayfarer when in distress.Either open the door quickly, or, by the rood,I will beat it down and make entry for myself.''

``Friend wayfarer,'' replied the hermit, ``be notimportunate; if thou puttest me to use the carnalweapon in mine own defence, it will be e'en theworse for you.''

At this moment a distant noise of barking andgrowling, which the traveller had for some timeheard, became extremely loud and furious, andmade the knight suppose that the hermit, alarmedby his threat of making forcible entry, had calledthe dogs who made this clamour to aid him in hisdefence, out of some inner recess in which they hadbeen kennelled. Incensed at this preparation onthe hermit's part for making good his inhospitablepurpose, the knight struck the door so furiouslywith his foot, that posts as well as staples shookwith violence.

The anchorite, not caring again to expose hisdoor to a similar shock, now called out aloud,``Patience, patience---spare thy strength, good traveller,and I will presently undo the door, though, it maybe, my doing so will be little to thy pleasure.''

The door accordingly was opened; and the hermit,a large, strong-built man, in his sackclothgown and hood, girt with a rope of rushes, stoodbefore the knight. He had in one hand a lightedtorch, or link, and in the other a baton of crab-tree,so thick and heavy, that it might well be termeda club. Two large shaggy dogs, half greyhoundhalf mastiff, stood ready to rush upon the travelleras soon as the door should be opened. But whenthe torch glanced upon the lofty crest and goldenspurs of the knight, who stood without, the hermit,altering probably his original intentions, repressedthe rage of his auxiliaries, and, changing his toneto a sort of churlish courtesy, invited the knight toenter his hut, making excuse for his unwillingnessto open his lodge after sunset, by alleging themultitude of robbers and outlaws who were abroad,and who gave no honour to Our Lady or St Dunstan,nor to those holy men who spent life in their service.

``The poverty of your cell, good father,'' said theknight, looking around him, and seeing nothingbut a bed of leaves, a crucifix rudely carved in oak,a missal, with a rough-hewn table and two stools,and one or two clumsy articles of furniture---``thepoverty of your cell should seem a sufficient defence

against any risk of thieves, not to mentionthe aid of two trusty dogs, large and strong enough,I think, to pull down a stag, and of course, tomatch with most men.''

``The good keeper of the forest,'' said the hermit,``hath allowed me the use of these animals,to protect my solitude until the times shall mend.''

Having said this, he fixed his torch in a twistedbranch of iron which served for a candlestick; and,placing the oaken trivet before the embers of thefire, which he refreshed with some dry wood, heplaced a stool upon one side of the table, and beckonedto the knight to do the same upon the other.

They sat down, and gazed with great gravity ateach other, each thinking in his heart that he hadseldom seen a stronger or more athletic figure thanwas placed opposite to him.

``Reverend hermit,'' said the knight, after lookinglong and fixedly at his host, ``were it not tointerrupt your devout meditations, I would prayto know three things of your holiness; first, whereI am to put my horse?---secondly, what I can havefor supper?---thirdly, where I am to take up mycouch for the night?''

``I will reply to you,'' said the hermit, ``withmy finger, it being against my rule to speak bywords where signs can answer the purpose.'' Sosaying, he pointed successively to two corners ofthe hut. ``Your stable,'' said he, ``is there---yourbed there; and,'' reaching down a platter with twohandfuls of parched pease upon it from the neighbouringshelf, and placing it upon the table, he added,``your supper is here.''

The knight shrugged his shoulders, and leavingthe hut, brought in his horse, (which in the interimhe had fastened to a tree,) unsaddled him withmuch attention, and spread upon the steed's wearyback his own mantle.

The hermit was apparently somewhat moved tocompassion by the anxiety as well as address whichthe stranger displayed in tending his horse; for,muttering something about provender left for thekeeper's palfrey, he dragged out of a recess a bundleof forage, which he spread before the knight'scharger, and immediately afterwards shook down aquantity of dried fern in the corner which he hadassigned for the rider's couch. The knight returnedhim thanks for his courtesy; and, this duty done,both resumed their seats by the table, whereonstood the trencher of pease placed between them.The hermit, after a long grace, which had once beenLatin, but of which original language few traces remained,excepting here and there the long rollingtermination of some word or phrase, set exampleto his guest, by modestly putting into a very largemouth, furnished with teeth which might haveranked with those of a boar both in sharpness andwhiteness, some three or four dried pease, a miserablegrist as it seemed for so large and able a mill.

The knight, in order to follow so laudable an example,laid aside his helmet, his corslet, and thegreater part of his armour, and showed to the hermita head thick-curled with yellow hair, high features,blue eyes, remarkably bright and sparkling,a mouth well formed, having an upper lip clothedwith mustachoes darker than his hair, and bearingaltogether the look of a bold, daring, and enterprisingman, with which his strong form well corresponded.

The hermit, as if wishing to answer to the confidenceof his guest, threw back his cowl, and showeda round bullet head belonging to a man in the primeof life. His close-shaven crown, surrounded by acircle of stiff curled black hair, had something theappearance of a parish pinfold begirt by its highhedge. The features expressed nothing of monasticausterity, or of ascetic privations; on the contrary,it was a bold bluff countenance, with broad blackeyebrows, a well-turned forehead, and cheeks asround and vermilion as those of a trumpeter, fromwhich descended a long and curly black beard. Such.a visage, joined to the brawny form of the holy man,

spoke rather of sirloins and haunches, than of peaseand pulse. This incongruity did not escape the guest.After he had with great difficulty accomplishedthe mastication of a mouthful of the driedpease, he found it absolutely necessary to requesthis pious entertainer to furnish him with some liquor;who replied to his request by placing beforehim a large can of the purest water from the fountain.

``It is from the well of St Dunstan,'' said he,``in which, betwixt sun and sun, he baptized fivehundred heathen Danes and Britons---blessed behis name!'' And applying his black beard to thepitcher, he took a draught much more moderate inquantity than his encomium seemed to warrant.

``It seems to me, reverend father,'' said theknight, ``that the small morsels which you eat, togetherwith this holy, but somewhat thin beverage,have thriven with you marvellously. You appeara man more fit to win the ram at a wrestling match,or the ring at a bout at quarter-staff, or the bucklersat a sword-play, than to linger out your timein this desolate wilderness, saying masses, and livingupon parched pease and cold water.''

``Sir Knight,'' answered the hermit, ``yourthoughts, like those of the ignorant laity, are accordingto the flesh. It has pleased Our Lady andmy patron saint to bless the pittance to which I restrainmyself, even as the pulse and water was blessedto the children Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego,who drank the same rather than defile themselveswith the wine and meats which were appointedthem by the King of the Saracens.''

``Holy father,'' said the knight, ``upon whosecountenance it hath pleased Heaven to work sucha miracle, permit a sinful layman to crave thyname?''

``Thou mayst call me,'' answered the hermit,``the Clerk of Copmanhurst, for so I am termed inthese parts---They add, it is true, the epithet holy,but I stand not upon that, as being unworthy of

such addition.---And now, valiant knight, may Ipray ye for the name of my honourable guest?''

``Truly,'' said the knight, ``Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst,men call me in these parts the BlackKnight,---many, sir, add to it the epithet of Sluggard,whereby I am no way ambitious to be distinguished.''

The hermit could scarcely forbear from smilingat his guest's reply.

``I see,'' said he, ``Sir Sluggish Knight, thatthou art a man of prudence and of counsel; andmoreover, I see that my poor monastic fare likesthee not, accustomed, perhaps, as thou hast been,to the license of courts and of camps, and the luxuriesof cities; and now I bethink me, Sir Sluggard,that when the charitable keeper of this forest-walkleft those dogs for my protection, and also thosebundles of forage, he left me also some food, which,being unfit for my use, the very recollection of ithad escaped me amid my more weighty meditations.''

``I dare be sworn he did so,'' said the knight; ``Iwas convinced that there was better food in the cell,Holy Clerk, since you first doffed your cowl.---Yourkeeper is ever a jovial fellow; and none who beheldthy grinders contending with these pease, andthy throat flooded with this ungenial element, couldsee thee doomed to such horse-provender and horse-beverage,''(pointing to the provisions upon thetable,) `` and refrain from mending thy cheer. Letus see the keeper's bounty, therefore, without delay.''

The hermit cast a wistful look upon the knight,in which there was a sort of comic expression ofhesitation, as if uncertain how far be should act prudentlyin trusting his guest. There was, however,as much of bold frankness in the knight's countenanceas was possible to be expressed by features.His smile, too, had something in it irresistibly comic,and gave an assurance of faith and loyalty, withwhich his host could not refrain from sympathizing.

After exchanging a mute glance or two, the hermit

went to the further side of the hut, and openeda hutch, which was concealed with great careand some ingenuity. Out of the recesses of a darkcloset, into which this aperture gave admittance, hebrought a large pasty, baked in a pewter platter ofunusual dimensions. This mighty dish he placedbefore his guest, who, using his poniard to cut itopen, lost no time in making himself acquaintedwith its contents.

``How long is it since the good keeper has beenhere?'' said the knight to his host, after havingswallowed several hasty morsels of this reinforcementto the hermit's good cheer.

``About two months,'' answered the father hastily.

``By the true Lord,'' answered the knight,``every thing in your hermitage is miraculous,Holy Clerk! for I would have been sworn that thefat buck which furnished this venison had been runningon foot within the week.''

The hermit was somewhat discountenanced bythis observation; and, moreover, he made but apoor figure while gazing on the diminution of thepasty, on which his guest was making desperate inroads;a warfare in which his previous professionof abstinence left him no pretext for joining.

``I have been in Palestine, Sir Clerk,'' said theknight, stopping short of a sudden, ``and I bethinkme it is a custom there that every host who entertainsa guest shall assure him of the wholesomenessof his food, by partaking of it along with him. Farbe it from me to suspect so holy a man of aughtinhospitable; nevertheless I will be highly boundto you would you comply with this Eastern custom.''

``To ease your unnecessary scruples, Sir Knight,I will for once depart from my rule,'' replied thehermit. And as there were no forks in those days,his clutches were instantly in the bowels of thepasty.

The ice of ceremony being once broken, it seemedmatter of rivalry between the guest and the entertainerwhich should display the best appetite;and although the former had probably fasted longest,yet the hermit fairly surpassed him.

``Holy Clerk,'' said the knight, when his hungerwas appeased, ``I would gage my good horse yonderagainst a zecchin, that that same honest keeperto whom we are obliged for the venison has leftthee a stoup of wine, or a reinlet of canary, or somesuch trifle, by way of ally to this noble pasty. Thiswould be a circumstance, doubtless, totally unworthyto dwell in the memory of so rigid an anchorite;yet, I think, were you to search yonder crypt oncemore, you would find that I am right in my conjecture.''

The hermit only replied by a grin; and returningto the hutch, he produced a leathern bottle,which might contain about four quarts. He alsobrought forth two large drinking cups, made out ofthe horn of the urus, and hooped with silver. Havingmade this goodly provision for washing downthe supper, he seemed to think no farther ceremoniousscruple necessary on his part; but fillingboth cups, and saying, in the Saxon fashion, ``_Waeshael_, Sir Sluggish Knight!'' he emptied his own ata draught.

``_Drink hael_, Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst!''answered the warrior, and did his host reason in asimilar brimmer.

``Holy Clerk,'' said the stranger, after the firstcup was thus swallowed, ``I cannot but marvel thata man possessed of such thews and sinews as thine,and who therewithal shows the talent of so goodlya trencher-man, should think of abiding by himselfin this wilderness. In my judgment, you are fitterto keep a castle or a fort, eating of the fat and drinkingof the strong, than to live here upon pulse andwater, or even upon the charity of the keeper. Atleast, were I as thou, I should find myself both disportand plenty out of the king's deer. There ismany a goodly herd in these forests, and a buck

will never be missed that goes to the use of SaintDunstan's chaplain.''

``Sir Sluggish Knight,'' replied the Clerk, ``theseare dangerous words, and I pray you to forbearthem. I am true hermit to the king and law, andwere I to spoil my liege's game, I should be sureof the prison, and, an my gown saved me not, werein some peril of hanging.''

``Nevertheless, were I as thou,'' said the knight,``I would take my walk by moonlight, when forestersand keepers were warm in bed, and ever andanon,---as I pattered my prayers,---I would let flya shaft among the herds of dun deer that feed in theglades---Resolve me, Holy Clerk, hast thou neverpractised such a pastime?''

``Friend Sluggard,'' answered the hermit, ``thouhast seen all that can concern thee of my housekeeping,and something more than he deserves whotakes up his quarters by violence. Credit me, it isbetter to enjoy the good which God sends thee,than to be impertinently curious how it comes.Fill thy cup, and welcome; and do not, I pray thee,by further impertinent enquiries, put me to showthat thou couldst hardly have made good thy lodginghad I been earnest to oppose thee.''

``By my faith,'' said the knight, ``thou makestme more curious than ever! Thou art the mostmysterious hermit I ever met; and I will knowmore of thee ere we part. As for thy threats,know, holy man, thou speakest to one whose tradeit is to find out danger wherever it is to be metwith.''

`Sir Sluggish Knight, I drink to thee,'' said thehermit; ``respecting thy valour much, but deemingwondrous slightly of thy discretion. If thou wilttake equal arms with me, I will give thee, in allfriendship and brotherly love, such sufficing penanceand complete absolution, that thou shalt not for thenext twelve months sin the sin of excess of curiosity.''

The knight pledged him, and desired him toname his weapons.

``There is none,'' replied the hermit, ``from thescissors of Delilah, and the tenpenny nail of Jael,to the scimitar of Goliath, at which I am not amatch for thee---But, if I am to make the election,what sayst thou, good friend, to these trinkets?''

Thus speaking, he opened another hutch, andtook out from it a couple of broadswords and bucklers,such as were used by the yeomanry of theperiod. The knight, who watched his motions, observedthat this second place of concealment wasfurnished with two or three good long-bows, a cross-bow,a bundle of bolts for the latter, and half-a-dozensheaves of arrows for the former. A harp, andother matters of a very uncanonical appearance,were also visible when this dark recess was opened.

``I promise thee, brother Clerk,'' said he, ``Iwill ask thee no more offensive questions. The contentsof that cupboard are an answer to all my enquiries;and I see a weapon there'' (here be stoopedand took out the harp) ``on which I would moregladly prove my skill with thee, than at the swordand buckler.''

``I hope, Sir Knight,'' said the hermit, ``thouhast given no good reason for thy surname of theSluggard. I do promise thee I suspect thee grievously.Nevertheless, thou art my guest, and I willnot put thy manhood to the proof without thineown free will. Sit thee down, then, and fill thycup; let us drink, sing, and be merry. If thouknowest ever a good lay, thou shalt be welcome toa nook of pasty at Copmanhurst so long as I servethe chapel of St. Dunstan, which, please God, shallbe till I change my grey covering for one of greenturf. But come, fill a flagon, for it will crave sometime to tune the harp; and nought pitches thevoice and sharpens the ear like a cup of wine. Formy part, I love to feel the grape at my very finger-endsbefore they make the harp-strings tinkle.''*

* The Jolly Hermit.---All readers, however slightly acquainted* with black letter, must recognise in the Clerk of Copmanhurst,* Friar Tuck, the buxom Confessor of Robin Hood's* gang, the Curtal Friar of Fountain's Abbey.

CHAPTER XVII

At eve, within yon studious nook,I ope my brass-embossed book,Portray'd with many a holy deedOf martyrs crown'd with heavenly meed;Then, as my taper waxes dim,Chant, ere I sleep, my measured hymn.<*> <*> <*> <*>Who but would cast his pomp away,To take my staff and amice grey,And to the world's tumultuous stage,Prefer the peaceful Hermitage? Warton

Notwithstanding the prescription of the genialhermit, with which his guest willingly complied,he found it no easy matter to bring the harpto harmony.

``Methinks, holy father,'' said he, ``the instrumentwants one string, and the rest have been somewhatmisused.''

``Ay, mark'st thou that?'' replied the hermit;``that shows thee a master of the craft. Wine andwassail,'' he added, gravely casting up his eyes---``all the fault of wine and wassail!---I told Allana-Dale, the northern minstrel, that he would damagethe harp if he touched it after the seventh cup,but he would not be controlled---Friend, I drink tothy successful performance.''

So saying, he took off his cup with much gravity,at the same time shaking his head at the intemperance

of the Scottish harper.

The knight in the meantime, had brought thestrings into some order, and after a short prelude,asked his host whether he would choose a _sirvente_in the language of _oc_, or a _lai_ in the language of_oui_, or a _virelai_, or a ballad in the vulgar English.*

* Note C. Minstrelsy.

``A ballad, a ballad,'' said the hermit, ``againstall the _ocs_ and _ouis_ of France. Downright Englisham I, Sir Knight, and downright English wasmy patron St Dunstan, and scorned _oc_ and _oui_, ashe would have scorned the parings of the devil'shoof---downright English alone shall be sung inthis cell.''

``I will assay, then,'' said the knight, ``a balladcomposed by a Saxon glee-man, whom I knew inHoly Land.''

It speedily appeared, that if the knight was nota complete master of the minstrel art, his taste forit had at least been cultivated under the best instructors.Art had taught him to soften the faultsof a voice which had little compass, and was naturallyrough rather than mellow, and, in short, haddone all that culture can do in supplying natural deficiencies.His performance, therefore, might havebeen termed very respectable by abler judges thanthe hermit, especially as the knight threw into thenotes now a degree of spirit, and now of plaintiveenthusiasm, which gave force and energy to theverses which he sung.

THE CRUSADER'S RETURN.

1.

High deeds achieved of knightly fame,From Palestine the champion came;The cross upon his shoulders borne,Battle and blast had dimm'd and torn.Each dint upon his batter'd shield

Was token of a foughten field;And thus, beneath his lady's bower,He sung as fell the twilight hour:---

2.

``Joy to the fair!---thy knight behold,Return'd from yonder land of gold;No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need,Save his good arms and battle-steedHis spurs, to dash against a foe,His lance and sword to lay him low;Such all the trophies of his toil,Such---and the hope of Tekla's smile!

3.

``Joy to the fair! whose constant knightHer favour fired to feats of might;Unnoted shall she not remain,Where meet the bright and noble train;Minstrel shall sing and herald tell---`Mark yonder maid of beauty well,'Tis she for whose bright eyes were wonThe listed field at Askalon!

4.

`` `Note well her smile!---it edged the bladeWhich fifty wives to widows made,When, vain his strength and Mahound's spell,Iconium's turban'd Soldan fell.Seest thou her locks, whose sunny glowHalf shows, half shades, her neck of snow?Twines not of them one golden thread,But for its sake a Paynim bled.' 5.

``Joy to the fair!---my name unknown,Each deed, and all its praise thine ownThen, oh! unbar this churlish gate,The night dew falls, the hour is late.Inured to Syria's glowing breath,I feel the north breeze chill as death;Let grateful love quell maiden shame,

And grant him bliss who brings thee fame.''

During this performance, the hermit demeanedhimself much like a first-rate critic of the presentday at a new opera. He reclined back upon hisseat, with his eyes half shut; now, folding hishands and twisting his thumbs, he seemed absorbedin attention, and anon, balancing his expandedpalms, he gently flourished them in time to themusic. At one or two favourite cadences, he threwin a little assistance of his own, where the knight'svoice seemed unable to carry the air so high as hisworshipful taste approved. When the song wasended, the anchorite emphatically declared it a goodone, and well sung.

``And yet,'' said he, ``I think my Saxon countrymenhad herded long enough with the Normans,to fall into the tone of their melancholy ditties.What took the honest knight from home? or whatcould he expect but to find his mistress agreeablyengaged with a rival on his return, and his serenade,as they call it, as little regarded as the caterwaulingof a cat in the gutter? Nevertheless, Sir Knight,I drink this cup to thee, to the success of all truelovers---I fear you are none,'' he added, on observingthat the knight (whose brain began to be heatedwith these repeated draughts) qualified his flagonfrom the water pitcher.

``Why,'' said the knight, ``did you not tell methat this water was from the well of your blessedpatron, St Dunstan?''

``Ay, truly,'' said the hermit, ``and many a hundredof pagans did he baptize there, but I neverheard that he drank any of it. Every thing shouldbe put to its proper use in this world. St Dunstanknew, as well as any one, the prerogatives of a jovialfriar.''

And so saying, he reached the harp, and entertainedhis guest with the following characteristicsong, to a sort of derry-down chorus, appropriateto an old English ditty.*

* It may be proper to remind the reader, that the chorus of* ``derry down'' is supposed to be as ancient, not only as the times* of the Heptarchy, but as those of the Druids, and to have furnished* the chorus to the hymns of those venerable persons when* they went to the wood to gather mistletoe.

THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR.

1.

I'll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain,To search Europe through, from Byzantium to Spain;But ne'er shall you find, should you search till you tire,So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar.

2.

Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career,And is brought home at even-song prick'd through with a spear;I confess him in haste---for his lady desiresNo comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar's.

3.

Your monarch?---Pshaw! many a prince has been knownTo barter his robes for our cowl and our gown,But which of us e'er felt the idle desireTo exchange for a crown the grey hood of a Friar!

4.

The Friar has walk'd out, and where'er he has gone,The land and its fatness is mark'd for his own;He can roam where he lists, he can stop when he tires,For every man's house is the Barefooted Friar's.

5.

He's expected at noon, and no wight till he comesMay profane the great chair, or the porridge of plumsFor the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire,Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar.

6.

He's expected at night, and the pasty's made hot,They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot,And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire,Ere he lack'd a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar.

7.

Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope,The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope;For to gather life's roses, unscathed by the briar,Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar.

``By my troth,'' said the knight, ``thou hastsung well and lustily, and in high praise of thineorder. And, talking of the devil, Holy Clerk, areyou not afraid that he may pay you a visit daringsome of your uncanonical pastimes?''

``I uncanonical!'' answered the hermit; ``Iscorn the charge---I scorn it with my heels!---Iserve the duty of my chapel duly and truly---Twomasses daily, morning and evening, primes, noons,and vespers, _aves, credos, paters_------''

``Excepting moonlight nights, when the venisonis in season,'' said his guest.

``_Exceptis excipiendis_,'' replied the hermit, ``asour old abbot taught me to say, when impertinentlaymen should ask me if I kept every punctilio ofmine order.''

``True, holy father,'' said the knight; ``but thedevil is apt to keep an eye on such exceptions; hegoes about, thou knowest, like a roaring lion.''

``Let him roar here if he dares,'' said the friar;``a touch of my cord will make him roar as loudas the tongs of St Dunstan himself did. I neverfeared man, and I as little fear the devil and hisimps. Saint Dunstan, Saint Dubric, Saint Winibald,Saint Winifred, Saint Swibert, Saint Willick,

not forgetting Saint Thomas a Kent, and my ownpoor merits to speed, I defy every devil of them,come cut and long tail.---But to let you into a secret,I never speak upon such subjects, my friend,until after morning vespers.''

He changed the conversation; fast and furiousgrew the mirth of the parties, and many a songwas exchanged betwixt them, when their revelswere interrupted by a loud knocking at the doorof the hermitage.

The occasion of this interruption we can onlyexplain by resuming the adventures of another setof our characters; for, like old Ariosto, we do notpique ourselves upon continuing uniformly to keepcompany with any one personage of our drama.

CHAPTER XVIII

Away! our journey lies through dell and dingle,Where the blithe fawn trips by its timid mother,Where the broad oak, with intercepting boughs,Chequers the sunbeam in the green-sward alley---Up and away!---for lovely paths are theseTo tread, when the glad Sun is on his throneLess pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia's lampWith doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest. _Ettrick Forest._

When Cedric the Saxon saw his son drop downsenseless in the lists at Ashby, his first impulsewas to order him into the custody and care of hisown attendants, but the words choked in his throat.He could not bring himself to acknowledge, in presenceof such an assembly, the son whom he hadrenounced and disinherited. He ordered, however,Oswald to keep an eye upon him; and directedthat officer, with two of his serfs, to convey Ivanhoeto Ashby as soon as the crowd had dispersed.Oswald, however, was anticipated in this good office.

The crowd dispersed, indeed, but the knightwas nowhere to be seen.

It was in vain that Cedric's cupbearer lookedaround for his young master---he saw the bloodyspot on which he had lately sunk down, but himselfhe saw no longer; it seemed as if the fairieshad conveyed him from the spot. Perhaps Oswald(for the Saxons were very superstitious) might haveadopted some such hypothesis, to account for Ivanhoe'sdisappearance, had he not suddenly cast hiseye upon a person attired like a squire, in whom herecognised the features of his fellow-servant Gurth.Anxious concerning his master's fate, and in despairat his sudden disappearance, the translated swineherdwas searching for him everywhere, and hadneglected, in doing so, the concealment on which hisown safety depended. Oswald deemed it his dutyto secure Gurth, as a fugitive of whose fate his masterwas to judge.

Renewing his enquiries concerning the fate ofIvanhoe, the only information which the cupbearercould collect from the bystanders was, that theknight had been raised with care by certain well-attiredgrooms, and placed in a litter belonging toa lady among the spectators, which had immediatelytransported him out of the press. Oswald, onreceiving this intelligence, resolved to return to hismaster for farther instructions, carrying along withhim Gurth, whom he considered in some sort as adeserter from the service of Cedric.

The Saxon had been under very intense andagonizing apprehensions concerning his son; for Naturehad asserted her rights, in spite of the patrioticstoicism which laboured to disown her. But nosooner was he informed that Ivanhoe was in careful,and probably in friendly hands, than the paternalanxiety which had been excited by the dubietyof his fate, gave way anew to the feeling of injuredpride and resentment, at what he termedWilfred's filial disobedience. ``Let him wanderhis way,'' said he---``let those leech his wounds forwhose sake he encountered them. He is fitter to

do the juggling tricks of the Norman chivalry thanto maintain the fame and honour of his English ancestrywith the glaive and brown-bill, the good oldweapons of his country.''

``If to maintain the honour of ancestry,'' saidRowena, who was present, ``it is sufficient to bewise in council and brave in execution---to be boldestamong the bold, and gentlest among the gentle,I know no voice, save his father's------''

``Be silent, Lady Rowena!---on this subject onlyI hear you not. Prepare yourself for the Prince'sfestival: we have been summoned thither with unwontedcircumstance of honour and of courtesy,such as the haughty Normans have rarely used toour race since the fatal day of Hastings. Thitherwill I go, were it only to show these proud Normanshow little the fate of a son, who could defeattheir bravest, can affect a Saxon.''

``Thither,'' said Rowena, ``do I =not= go; andI pray you to beware, lest what you mean for courageand constancy, shall be accounted hardness ofheart.''

``Remain at home, then, ungrateful lady,'' answeredCedric; ``thine is the hard heart, whichcan sacrifice the weal of an oppressed people to anidle and unauthorized attachment. I seek the nobleAthelstane, and with him attend the banquet ofJohn of Anjou.''

He went accordingly to the banquet, of whichwe have already mentioned the principal events.Immediately upon retiring from the castle, theSaxon thanes, with their attendants, took horse;and it was during the bustle which attended theirdoing so, that Cedric, for the first time, cast hiseyes upon the deserter Gurth. The noble Saxonhad returned from the banquet, as we have seen,in no very placid humour, and wanted but a pretextfor wreaking his anger upon some one. ``Thegyves!'' he said, ``the gyves!---Oswald---Hundibert!---Dogs and villains!---why leave ye the knave

unfettered?''Without daring to remonstrate, the companionsof Gurth bound him with a halter, as the readiestcord which occurred. He submitted to the operationwithout remonstrance, except that, darting areproachful look at his master, he said, ``Thiscomes of loving your flesh and blood better thanmine own.''

``To horse, and forward!'' said Cedric.

``It is indeed full time,'' said the noble Athelstane;``for, if we ride not the faster, the worthyAbbot Waltheoff's preparations for a rere-supper*

* A rere-supper was a night-meal, and sometimes signified a* collation, which was given at a late hour, after the regular supper* had made its appearance. L. T.

will be altogether spoiled.''

The travellers, however, used such speed as toreach the convent of St Withold's before the apprehendedevil took place. The Abbot, himself ofancient Saxon descent, received the noble Saxonswith the profuse and exuberant hospitality of theirnation, wherein they indulged to a late, or ratheran early hour; nor did they take leave of theirreverend host the next morning until they hadshared with him a sumptuous refection.

As the cavalcade left the court of the monastery,an incident happened somewhat alarming to,the Saxons, who, of all people of Europe, were mostaddicted to a superstitious observance of omens,and to whose opinions can be traced most of thosenotions upon such subjects, still to be found amongour popular antiquities. For the Normans beinga mixed race, and better informed according to theinformation of the times, had lost most of the superstitiousprejudices which their ancestors had broughtfrom Scandinavia, and piqued themselves uponthinking freely on such topics.

In the present instance, the apprehension of impending

evil was inspired by no less respectable aprophet than a large lean black dog, which, sittingupright, howled most piteously as the foremostriders left the gate, and presently afterwards, barkingwildly, and jumping to and fro, seemed bentupon attaching itself to the party.

``I like not that music, father Cedric,'' said Athelstane;for by this title of respect he was accustomedto address him.

``Nor I either, uncle,'' said Wamba; ``I greatlyfear we shall have to pay the piper.''

``In my mind,'' said Athelstane, upon whosememory the Abbot's good ale (for Burton was alreadyfamous for that genial liquor) had made afavourable impression,---``in my mind we had betterturn back, and abide with the Abbot until the afternoon.It is unlucky to travel where your pathis crossed by a monk, a hare, or a howling dog,until you have eaten your next meal.''

``Away!'' said Cedric, impatiently; ``the dayis already too short for our journey. For the dog,I know it to be the cur of the runaway slave Gurth,a useless fugitive like its master.''

So saying, and rising at the same time in hisstirrups, impatient at the interruption of his journey,he launched his javelin at poor Fangs---forFangs it was, who, having traced his master thusfar upon his stolen expedition, had here lost him,and was now, in his uncouth way, rejoicing at hisreappearance. The javelin inflicted a wound uponthe animal's shoulder, and narrowly missed pinninghim to the earth; and Fangs fled howling fromthe presence of the enraged thane. Gurth's heartswelled within him; for he felt this meditatedslaughter of his faithful adherent in a degree muchdeeper than the harsh treatment he had himselfreceived. Having in vain attempted to raise hishand to his eyes, he said to Wamba, who, seeinghis master's ill humour had prudently retreated tothe rear, ``I pray thee, do me the kindness to wipe

my eyes with the skirt of thy mantle; the dustoffends me, and these bonds will not let me helpmyself one way or another.''

Wamba did him the service he required, andthey rode side by side for some time, during whichGurth maintained a moody silence. At length hecould repress his feelings no longer.

``Friend Wamba,'' said he, ``of all those whoare fools enough to serve Cedric, thou alone hastdexterity enough to make thy folly acceptable tohim. Go to him, therefore, and tell him that neitherfor love nor fear will Gurth serve him longer.He may strike the head from me---he may scourgeme---he may load me with irons---but henceforthhe shall never compel me either to love or to obeyhim. Go to him, then, and tell him that Gurth theson of Beowulph renounces his service.''

``Assuredly,'' said Wamba, ``fool as I am, Ishall not do your fool's errand. Cedric hath anotherjavelin stuck into his girdle, and thou knowest hedoes not always miss his mark.''

``I care not,'' replied Gurth, ``how soon he makesa mark of me. Yesterday he left Wilfred, my youngmaster, in his blood. To-day he has striven to killbefore my face the only other living creature thatever showed me kindness. By St Edmund, StDunstan, St Withold, St Edward the Confessor,and every other Saxon saint in the calendar,'' (forCedric never swore by any that was not of Saxonlineage, and all his household had the same limiteddevotion,) ``I will never forgive him!''

``To my thinking now,'' said the Jester, whowas frequently wont to act as peace-maker in thefamily, ``our master did not propose to hurt Fangs,but only to affright him. For, if you observed, herose in his stirrups, as thereby meaning to overcastthe mark; and so he would have done, but Fangshappening to bound up at the very moment, receiveda scratch, which I will be bound to heal witha penny's breadth of tar.''

``If I thought so,'' said Gurth---``if I could butthink so---but no---I saw the javelin was well aimed---I heard it whizz through the air with all thewrathful malevolence of him who cast it, and itquivered after it had pitched in the ground, as ifwith regret for having missed its mark. By thehog dear to St Anthony, I renounce him!''

And the indignant swineherd resumed his sullensilence, which no efforts of the Jester could againinduce him to break.

Meanwhile Cedric and Athelstane, the leadersof the troop, conversed together on the state of theland, on the dissensions of the royal family, on thefeuds and quarrels among the Norman nobles, andon the chance which there was that the oppressedSaxons might be able to free themselves from theyoke of the Normans, or at least to elevate themselvesinto national consequence and independence,during the civil convulsions which were likely toensue. On this subject Cedric was all animation.The restoration of the independence of his race wasthe idol of his heart, to which he had willingly sacrificeddomestic happiness and the interests of hisown son. But, in order to achieve this great revolutionin favour of the native English, it was necessarythat they should be united among themselves,and act under an acknowledged head. Thenecessity of choosing their chief from the Saxonblood-royal was not only evident in itself, but hadbeen made a solemn condition by those whomCedric had intrusted with his secret plans andhopes. Athelstane had this quality at least; andthough he had few mental accomplishments or talentsto recommend him as a leader, he had still agoodly person, was no coward, had been accustomedto martial exercises, and seemed willing to deferto the advice of counsellors more wise than himself.Above all, he was known to be liberal and hospitable,and believed to be good-natured. But whateverpretensions Athelstane had to be consideredas head of the Saxon confederacy, many of thatnation were disposed to prefer to his the title of the

Lady Rowena, who drew her descent from Alfred,and whose father having been a chief renowned forwisdom, courage, and generosity, his memory washighly honoured by his oppressed countrymen.

It would have been no difficult thing for Cedric,had he been so disposed, to have placed himself atthe head of a third party, as formidable at least asany of the others. To counterbalance their royaldescent, he had courage, activity, energy, and,above all, that devoted attachment to the causewhich had procured him the epithet of The Saxon,and his birth was inferior to none, exceptingonly that of Athelstane and his ward. These qualities,however, were unalloyed by the slightestshade of selfishness; and, instead of dividing yetfarther his weakened nation by forming a factionof his own, it was a leading part of Cedric's planto extinguish that which already existed, by promotinga marriage betwixt Rowena and Athelstane.An obstacle occurred to this his favourite project,in the mutual attachment of his ward and his sonand hence the original cause of the banishment ofWilfred from the house of his father.

This stern measure Cedric had adopted, in hopesthat, during Wilfred's absence, Rowena might relinquishher preference, but in this hope he wasdisappointed; a disappointment which might beattributed in part to the mode in which his wardhad been educated. Cedric, to whom the name ofAlfred was as that of a deity, had treated the soleremaining scion of that great monarch with a degreeof observance, such as, perhaps, was in thosedays scarce paid to an acknowledged princess.Rowena's will had been in almost all cases a lawto his household; and Cedric himself, as if determinedthat her sovereignty should be fully acknowledgedwithin that little circle at least, seemed totake a pride in acting as the first of her subjects.Thus trained in the exercise not only of free will,but despotic authority, Rowena was, by her previouseducation, disposed both to resist and to resentany attempt to control her affections, or disposeof her hand contrary to her inclinations, and to assert

her independence in a case in which even thosefemales who have been trained up to obedience andsubjection, are not infrequently apt to dispute theauthority of guardians and parents. The opinionswhich she felt strongly, she avowed boldly; andCedric, who could not free himself from his habitualdeference to her opinions, felt totally at a losshow to enforce his authority of guardian.

It was in vain that he attempted to dazzle herwith the prospect of a visionary throne. Rowena,who possessed strong sense, neither considered hisplan as practicable, nor as desirable, so far as shewas concerned, could it have been achieved. Withoutattempting to conceal her avowed preference ofWilfred of Ivanhoe, she declared that, were thatfavoured knight out of question, she would rathertake refuge in a convent, than share a throne withAthelstane, whom, having always despised, shenow began, on account of the trouble she receivedon his account, thoroughly to detest.

Nevertheless, Cedric, whose opinions of women'sconstancy was far from strong, persisted in usingevery means in his power to bring about the proposedmatch, in which he conceived he was renderingan important service to the Saxon cause. Thesudden and romantic appearance of his son in thelists at Ashby, he had justly regarded as almost adeath's blow to his hopes. His paternal affection,it is true, had for an instant gained the victory overpride and patriotism; but both had returned in fullforce, and under their joint operation, he was nowbent upon making a determined effort for theunion of Athelstane and Rowena, together withexpediting those other measures which seemed necessaryto forward the restoration of Saxon independence.

On this last subject, he was now labouring withAthelstane, not without having reason, every nowand then, to lament, like Hotspur, that he shouldhave moved such a dish of skimmed milk to so honourablean action. Athelstane, it is true, was vainenough, and loved to have his ears tickled withtales of his high descent, and of his right by inheritance

to homage and sovereignty. But his pettyvanity was sufficiently gratified by receiving thishomage at the hands of his immediate attendants,and of the Saxons who approached him. If he hadthe courage to encounter danger, he at least hatedthe trouble of going to seek it; and while he agreedin the general principles laid down by Cedric concerningthe claim of the Saxons to independence,and was still more easily convinced of his own titleto reign over them when that independence shouldbe attained, yet when the means of asserting theserights came to be discussed, he was still ``Athelstanethe Unready,'' slow, irresolute, procrastinating,and unenterprising. The warm and impassionedexhortations of Cedric had as little effect uponhis impassive temper, as red-hot balls alighting inthe water, which produce a little sound and smoke,and are instantly extinguished.

If, leaving this task, which might be comparedto spurring a tired jade, or to hammering upon coldiron, Cedric fell back to his ward Rowena, he receivedlittle more satisfaction from conferring withher. For, as his presence interrupted the discoursebetween the lady and her favourite attendant uponthe gallantry and fate of Wilfred, Elgitha, failed notto revenge both her mistress and herself, by recurringto the overthrow of Athelstane in the lists, themost disagreeable subject which could greet the earsof Cedric. To this sturdy Saxon, therefore, theday's journey was fraught with all manner of displeasureand discomfort; so that he more than onceinternally cursed the tournament, and him who hadproclaimed it, together with his own folly in everthinking of going thither.

At noon, upon the motion of Athelstane, thetravellers paused in a woodland shade by a fountain,to repose their horses and partake of someprovisions, with which the hospitable Abbot hadloaded a sumpter mule. Their repast was a prettylong one; and these several interruptions renderedit impossible for them to hope to reach Rotherwoodwithout travelling all night, a convictionwhich induced them to proceed on their way at a

more hasty pace than they had hitherto used.

CHAPTER XIX

A train of armed men, some noble dameEscorting, (so their scatter'd words discover'd,As unperceived I hung upon their rear,)Are close at hand, and mean to pass the nightWithin the castle. _Orra, a Tragedy._

The travellers had now reached the verge of thewooded country, and were about to plunge into itsrecesses, held dangerous at that time from the numberof outlaws whom oppression and poverty haddriven to despair, and who occupied the forests insuch large bands as could easily bid defiance to thefeeble police of the period. From these rovers,however, notwithstanding the lateness of the hourCedric and Athelstane accounted themselves secure,as they had in attendance ten servants, besidesWamba and Gurth, whose aid could not becounted upon, the one being a jester and the othera captive. It may be added, that in travelling thuslate through the forest, Cedric and Athelstane reliedon their descent and character, as well as theircourage. The outlaws, whom the severity of theforest laws had reduced to this roving and desperatemode of life, were chiefly peasants and yeomenof Saxon descent, and were generally supposed torespect the persons and property of their countrymen.

As the travellers journeyed on their way, theywere alarmed by repeated cries for assistance; andwhen they rode up to the place from whence theycame, they were surprised to find a horse-litterplaced upon the ground, beside which sat a youngwoman, richly dressed in the Jewish fashion, whilean old man, whose yellow cap proclaimed him tobelong to the same nation, walked up and down

with gestures expressive of the deepest despair,and wrung his hands, as if affected by some strangedisaster.

To the enquiries of Athelstane and Cedric, theold Jew could for some time only answer by invokingthe protection of all the patriarchs of the OldTestament successively against the sons of Ishmael,who were coming to smite them, hip and thigh,with the edge of the sword. When he began tocome to himself out of this agony of terror, Isaacof York (for it was our old friend) was at lengthable to explain, that he had hired a body-guard ofsix men at Ashby, together with mules for carryingthe litter of a sick friend. This party had undertakento escort him as far as Doncaster. Theyhad come thus far in safety; but having receivedinformation from a wood-cutter that there was astrong band of outlaws lying in wait in the woodsbefore them, Isaac's mercenaries had not only takenflight, but had carried off with them the horseswhich bore the litter and left the Jew and his daughterwithout the means either of defence or of retreat,to be plundered, and probably murdered, bythe banditti, who they expected every momentwould bring down upon them. ``Would it but pleaseyour valours,'' added Isaac, in a tone of deep humiliation,``to permit the poor Jews to travel underyour safeguard, I swear by the tables of our law,that never has favour been conferred upon a childof Israel since the days of our captivity, which shallbe more gratefully acknowledged.''``Dog of a Jew!'' said Athelstane, whose memorywas of that petty kind which stores up triflesof all kinds, but particularly trifling offences, ``dostnot remember how thou didst beard us in the galleryat the tilt-yard? Fight or flee, or compoundwith the outlaws as thou dost list, ask neither aidnor company from us; and if they rob only such asthee, who rob all the world, I, for mine own share,shall hold them right honest folk.''

Cedric did not assent to the severe proposal ofhis companion. ``We shall do better,'' said be, ``toleave them two of our attendants and two horses to

convey them back to the next village. It will diminishour strength but little; and with your goodsword, noble Athelstane, and the aid of those whoremain, it will be light work for us to face twentyof those runagates.''

Rowena, somewhat alarmed by the mention ofoutlaws in force, and so near them, strongly secondedthe proposal of her guardian. But Rebeccasuddenly quitting her dejected posture, and makingher way through the attendants to the palfrey ofthe Saxon lady, knelt down, and, after the Orientalfashion in addressing superiors, kissed the hemof Rowena's garment. Then rising, and throwingback her veil, she implored her in the great nameof the God whom they both worshipped, and bythat revelation of the Law upon Mount Sinai, inwhich they both believed, that she would have compassionupon them, and suffer them to go forwardunder their safeguard. ``It is not for myself thatI pray this favour,'' said Rebecca; ``nor is it evenfor that poor old man. I know, that to wrong andto spoil our nation is a light fault, if not a merit,with the Christians; and what is it to us whetherit be done in the city, in the desert, or in the field?But it is in the name of one dear to many, and deareven to you, that I beseech you to let this sick personbe transported with care and tenderness underyour protection. For, if evil chance him, the lastmoment of your life would be embittered with regretfor denying that which I ask of you.''

The noble and solemn air with which Rebeccamade this appeal, gave it double weight with thefair Saxon.

``The man is old and feeble,'' she said to herguardian, ``the maiden young and beautiful, theirfriend sick and in peril of his life---Jews thoughthey be, we cannot as Christians leave them in thisextremity. Let them unload two of the sumpter-mules,and put the baggage behind two of the serfs.The mules may transport the litter, and we haveled horses for the old man and his daughter.''

Cedric readily assented to what she proposed,and Athelstane only added the condition, ``thatthey should travel in the rear of the whole party,where Wamba,'' he said, ``might attend them withhis shield of boar's brawn.''

``I have left my shield in the tilt-yard,'' answeredthe Jester, ``as has been the fate of many a betterknight than myself.''

Athelstane coloured deeply, for such had beenhis own fate on the last day of the tournament;while Rowena, who was pleased in the same proportion,as if to make amends for the brutal jest ofher unfeeling suitor, requested Rebecca to ride byher side.

``It were not fit I should do so,'' answered Rebecca,with proud humility, ``where my societymight be held a disgrace to my protectress.''

By this time the change of baggage was hastilyachieved; for the single word ``outlaws'' renderedevery one sufficiently alert, and the approach oftwilight made the sound yet more impressive.Amid the bustle, Gurth was taken from horseback,in the course of which removal he prevailed uponthe Jester to slack the cord with which his armswere bound. It was so negligently refastened, perhapsintentionally, on the part of Wamba, thatGurth found no difficulty in freeing his arms altogetherfrom bondage, and then, gliding into thethicket, he made his escape from the party.

The bustle had been considerable, and it wassome time before Gurth was missed; for, as he wasto be placed for the rest of the journey behind aservant, every one supposed that some other of hiscompanions had him under his custody, and whenit began to be whispered among them that Gurthhad actually disappeared, they were under such immediateexpectation of an attack from the outlaws,that it was not held convenient to pay much attentionto the circumstance.

The path upon which the party travelled wasnow so narrow, as not to admit, with any sort ofconvenience, above two riders abreast, and beganto descend into a dingle, traversed by a brook whosebanks were broken, swampy, and overgrown withdwarf willows. Cedric and Athelstane, who wereat the head of their retinue, saw the risk of beingattacked at this pass; but neither of them havinghad much practice in war, no better mode of preventingthe danger occurred to them than that theyshould hasten through the defile as fast as possible.Advancing, therefore, without much order, theyhad just crossed the brook with a part of their followers,when they were assailed in front, flank, andrear at once, with an impetuosity to which, in theirconfused and ill-prepared condition, it was impossibleto offer effectual resistance. The shout of ``Awhite dragon!---a white dragon!---Saint Georgefor merry England!'' war-cries adopted by the assailants,as belonging to their assumed character ofSaxon outlaws, was heard on every side, and onevery side enemies appeared with a rapidity of advanceand attack which seemed to multiply theirnumbers.

Both the Saxon chiefs were made prisoners atthe same moment, and each under circumstancesexpressive of his character. Cedric, the instant thatan enemy appeared, launched at him his remainingjavelin, which, taking better effect than that whichhe had hurled at Fangs, nailed the man against anoak-tree that happened to be close behind him.Thus far successful, Cedric spurred his horse againsta second, drawing his sword at the same time, andstriking with such inconsiderate fury, that his weaponencountered a thick branch which hung overhim, and he was disarmed by the violence of hisown blow. He was instantly made prisoner, andpulled from his horse by two or three of the bandittiwho crowded around him. Athelstane sharedhis captivity, his bridle having been seized, and hehimself forcibly dismounted, long before he coulddraw his weapon, or assume any posture of effectualdefence.

The attendants, embarrassed with baggage, surprisedand terrified at the fate of their masters, fellan easy prey to the assailants; while the LadyRowena, in the centre of the cavalcade, and theJew and his daughter in the rear, experienced thesame misfortune.

Of all the train none escaped except Wamba,who showed upon the occasion much more couragethan those who pretended to greater sense. Hepossessed himself of a sword belonging to one ofthe domestics, who was just drawing it with a tardyand irresolute hand, laid it about him like a lion,drove back several who approached him, and madea brave though ineffectual attempt to succour hismaster. Finding himself overpowered, the Jesterat length threw himself from his horse, plungedinto the thicket, and, favoured by the general confusion,escaped from the scene of action.Yet the valiant Jester, as soon as he found himselfsafe, hesitated more than once whether heshould not turn back and share the captivity of amaster to whom he was sincerely attached.

``I have heard men talk of the blessings of freedom,''he said to himself, ``but I wish any wise manwould teach me what use to make of it now that Ihave it.''

As he pronounced these words aloud, a voicevery near him called out in a low and cautious tone,``Wamba!'' and, at the same time, a dog, whichbe recognised to be Fangs, jumped up and fawnedupon him. ``Gurth!'' answered Wamba, with thesame caution, and the swineherd immediately stoodbefore him.

``What is the matter?'' said he eagerly; ``whatmean these cries, and that clashing of swords?''

``Only a trick of the times,'' said Wamba; ``theyare all prisoners.''

``Who are prisoners?'' exclaimed Gurth, impatiently.

``My lord, and my lady, and Athelstane, andHundibert, and Oswald.''

``In the name of God!'' said Gurth, ``how camethey prisoners?---and to whom?''

``Our master was too ready to fight,'' said theJester; ``and Athelstane was not ready enough,and no other person was ready at all. And theyare prisoners to green cassocks, and black visors.And they lie all tumbled about on the green, likethe crab-apples that you shake down to your swine.And I would laugh at it,'' said the honest Jester,``if I could for weeping.'' And he shed tears ofunfeigned sorrow.

Gurth's countenance kindled---``Wamba,'' hesaid, ``thou hast a weapon, and thy heart was everstronger than thy brain,---we are only two---but asudden attack from men of resolution will do much---follow me!''

``Whither?---and for what purpose?'' said theJester.

``To rescue Cedric.''

``But you have renounced his service but now,''said Wamba.``That,'' said Gurth, ``was but while he was fortunate---follow me!''

As the Jester was about to obey, a third personsuddenly made his appearance, and commandedthem both to halt. From his dress and arms,Wamba would have conjectured him to be one ofthose outlaws who had just assailed his master; but,besides that he wore no mask, the glittering baldricacross his shoulder, with the rich bugle-horn whichit supported, as well as the calm and commandingexpression of his voice and manner, made him, notwithstandingthe twilight, recognise Locksley theyeoman, who had been victorious, under such disadvantageouscircumstances, in the contest for theprize of archery.

``What is the meaning of all this,'' said he, ``orwho is it that rifle, and ransom, and make prisoners,in these forests?''

``You may look at their cassocks close by,'' saidWamba, ``and see whether they be thy children'scoats or no---for they are as like thine own, as onegreen pea-cod is to another.''

``I will learn that presently,'' answered Locksley;``and I charge ye, on peril of your lives, notto stir from the place where ye stand, until I havereturned. Obey me, and it shall be the better foryou and your masters.---Yet stay, I must rendermyself as like these men as possible.''

So saying he unbuckled his baldric with thebugle, took a feather from his cap, and gave themto Wamba; then drew a vizard from his pouch,and, repeating his charges to them to stand fast,went to execute his purposes of reconnoitring.

``Shall we stand fast, Gurth?'' said Wamba;``or shall we e'en give him leg-bail? In my foolishmind, he had all the equipage of a thief too muchin readiness, to be himself a true man.''

``Let him be the devil,'' said Gurth, ``an he will.We can be no worse of waiting his return. If hebelong to that party, he must already have giventhem the alarm, and it will avail nothing either tofight or fly. Besides, I have late experience, thaterrant thieves are not the worst men in the worldto have to deal with.''

The yeoman returned in the course of a fewminutes.

``Friend Gurth,'' he said, ``I have mingledamong yon men, and have learnt to whom they belong,and whither they are bound. There is, I think,no chance that they will proceed to any actualviolence against their prisoners. For three men toattempt them at this moment, were little else than

madness; for they are good men of war, and have,as such, placed sentinels to give the alarm whenany one approaches. But I trust soon to gathersuch a force, as may act in defiance of all their precautions;you are both servants, and, as I think,faithful servants, of Cedric the Saxon, the friendof the rights of Englishmen. He shall not wantEnglish hands to help him in this extremity. Comethen with me, until I gather more aid.''

So saying, he walked through the wood at agreat pace, followed by the jester and the swineherd.It was not consistent with Wamba's humourto travel long in silence.

``I think,'' said he, looking at the baldric andbugle which he still carried, ``that I saw the arrowshot which won this gay prize, and that not so longsince as Christmas.''

``And I,'' said Gurth, ``could take it on myhalidome, that I have heard the voice of the goodyeoman who won it, by night as well as by day,and that the moon is not three days older since Idid so.''

``Mine honest friends,'' replied the yeoman,``who, or what I am, is little to the present purpose;should I free your master, you will have reasonto think me the best friend you have ever hadin your lives. And whether I am known by onename or another---or whether I can draw a bow aswell or better than a cow-keeper, or whether it ismy pleasure to walk in sunshine or by moonlight,are matters, which, as they do not concern you, soneither need ye busy yourselves respecting them.''

``Our heads are in the lion's mouth,'' said Wamba,in a whisper to Gurth, ``get them out how wecan.''

``Hush---be silent,'' said Gurth. ``Offend him notby thy folly, and I trust sincerely that all will go well.''

CHAPTER XX

When autumn nights were long and drear,And forest walks were dark and dim,How sweetly on the pilgrim's earWas wont to steal the hermit's hymn

Devotion borrows Music's tone,And Music took Devotion's wing;And, like the bird that hails the sun,They soar to heaven, and soaring sing. _The Hermit of St Clement's Well._

It was after three hours' good walking that theservants of Cedric, with their mysterious guide, arrivedat a small opening in the forest, in the centreof which grew an oak-tree of enormous magnitude,throwing its twisted branches in every direction.Beneath this tree four or five yeomen laystretched on the ground, while another, as sentinel,walked to and fro in the moonlight shade.

Upon hearing the sound of feet approaching,the watch instantly gave the alarm, and the sleepersas suddenly started up and bent their bows.Six arrows placed on the string were pointed towardsthe quarter from which the travellers approached,when their guide, being recognised, waswelcomed with every token of respect and attachment,and all signs and fears of a rough receptionat once subsided.

``Where is the Miller?'' was his first question.

``On the road towards Rotherham.''

``With how many?'' demanded the leader, forsuch he seemed to be.

``With six men, and good hope of booty, if itplease St. Nicholas.''

``Devoutly spoken,'' said Locksley; ``and where

is Allan-a-dale ?''

``Walked up towards the Watling-street, towatch for the Prior of Jorvaulx.''

``That is well thought on also,'' replied the Captain;---``and where is the Friar ?''

``In his cell.''

``Thither will I go,'' said Locksley. ``Disperseand seek your companions. Collect what force youcan, for there's game afoot that must be huntedhard, and will turn to bay. Meet me here by daybreak.---And stay,'' he added, ``I have forgottenwhat is most necessary of the whole---Two of youtake the road quickly towards Torquilstone, theCastle of Front-de-B<oe>uf. A set of gallants, whohave been masquerading in such guise as our own,are carrying a band of prisoners thither---Watchthem closely, for even if they reach the castle beforewe collect our force, our honour is concernedto punish them, and we will find means to do so.Keep a close watch on them therefore; and dispatchone of your comrades, the lightest of foot, tobring the news of the yeomen thereabout.''

They promised implicit obedience, and departedwith alacrity on their different errands. In themeanwhile, their leader and his two companions,who now looked upon him with great respect, aswell as some fear, pursued their way to the Chapelof Copmanhurst.

When they had reached the little moonlightglade, having in front the reverend, though ruinouschapel, and the rude hermitage, so well suitedto ascetic devotion, Wamba whispered to Gurth,``If this be the habitation of a thief, it makesgood the old proverb, The nearer the church thefarther from God.---And by my cockscomb,'' headded, ``I think it be even so---Hearken but tothe black sanctus which they are singing in thehermitage!''

In fact the anchorite and his guest were performing,at the full extent of their very powerfullungs, an old drinking song, of which this was theburden:---

``Come, trowl the brown bowl to me,Bully boy, bully boy,Come, trowl the brown bowl to me:Ho! jolly Jenkin, I spy a knave in drinking,Come, trowl the brown bowl to me.''

``Now, that is not ill sung,'' said Wamba, whohad thrown in a few of his own flourishes to helpout the chorus. ``But who, in the saint's name,ever expected to have heard such a jolly chantcome from out a hermit's cell at midnight!''

``Marry, that should I,'' said Gurth, ``for thejolly Clerk of Copmanhurst is a known man, andkills half the deer that are stolen in this walk. Mensay that the keeper has complained to his official,and that he will be stripped of his cowl and copealtogether, if he keeps not better order.''

While they were thus speaking, Locksley's loudand repeated knocks had at length disturbed theanchorite and his guest. ``By my beads,'' said thehermit, stopping short in a grand flourish, ``herecome more benighted guests. I would not for mycowl that they found us in this goodly exercise.All men have their enemies, good Sir Sluggard;and there be those malignant enough to construethe hospitable refreshment which I have been offeringto you, a weary traveller, for the matter ofthree short hours, into sheer drunkenness and debauchery,vices alike alien to my profession and mydisposition.''

``Base calumniators!'' replied the knight; ``Iwould I had the chastising of them. Nevertheless,Holy Clerk, it is true that all have their enemies;and there be those in this very land whom I wouldrather speak to through the bars of my helmet thanbarefaced.''

``Get thine iron pot on thy head then, friendSluggard, as quickly as thy nature will permit,''said the hermit, ``while I remove these pewterflagons, whose late contents run strangely in mineown pate; and to drown the clatter---for, in faith,I feel somewhat unsteady---strike into the tunewhich thou hearest me sing; it is no matter for thewords---I scarce know them myself.''

So saying, he struck up a thundering _De profundisclamavi_, under cover of which he removedthe apparatus of their banquet: while the knight,laughing heartily, and arming himself all the while,assisted his host with his voice from time to timeas his mirth permitted.

``What devil's matins are you after at thishour?'' said a voice from without.

``Heaven forgive you, Sir Traveller!'' said thehermit, whose own noise, and perhaps his nocturnalpotations, prevented from recognising accents whichwere tolerably familiar to him---``Wend on yourway, in the name of God and Saint Dunstan,and disturb not the devotions of me and my holybrother.''

``Mad priest,'' answered the voice from without,``open to Locksley!''

``All's safe---all's right,'' said the hermit to hiscompanion.

``But who is he?'' said the Black Knight; ``itimports me much to know.''

``Who is he?'' answered the hermit; ``I tellthee he is a friend.''``But what friend?'' answered the knight; ``forhe may be friend to thee and none of mine?''

``What friend?'' replied the hermit; ``that,now, is one of the questions that is more easilyasked than answered. What friend?---why, he is,now that I bethink me a little, the very same honest

keeper I told thee of a while since.''

``Ay, as honest a keeper as thou art a pioushermit,'' replied the knight, ``I doubt it not.But undo the door to him before he beat it fromits hinges.''

The dogs, in the meantime, which had made adreadful baying at the commencement of the disturbance,seemed now to recognise the voice ofhim who stood without; for, totally changing theirmanner, they scratched and whined at the door,as if interceding for his admission. The hermitspeedily unbolted his portal, and admitted Locksley,with his two companions.

``Why, hermit,'' was the yeoman's first questionas soon as he beheld the knight, ``what boon companionhast thou here ?''

``A brother of our order,'' replied the friar, shakinghis head; ``we have been at our orisons allnight.''

``He is a monk of the church militant, I think,''answered Locksley; ``and there be more of themabroad. I tell thee, friar, thou must lay down therosary and take up the quarter-staff; we shall needevery one of our merry men, whether clerk or layman.---But,'' he added, taking him a step aside,``art thou mad? to give admittance to a knightthou dost not know? Hast thou forgot our articles?''

``Not know him!'' replied the friar, boldly, ``Iknow him as well as the beggar knows his dish.''

``And what is his name, then?'' demandedLocksley.

``His name,'' said the hermit---``his name is SirAnthony of Scrabelstone---as if I would drink witha man, and did not know his name!''

``Thou hast been drinking more than enough,friar,'' said the woodsman, ``and, I fear, prating

more than enough too.''

``Good yeoman,'' said the knight, coming forward,``be not wroth with my merry host. He didbut afford me the hospitality which I would havecompelled from him if he had refused it.''

``Thou compel!'' said the friar; ``wait but tillhave changed this grey gown for a green cassock,and if I make not a quarter-staff ring twelve uponthy pate, I am neither true clerk nor good woodsman.''

While he spoke thus, he stript off his gown, andappeared in a close black buckram doublet anddrawers, over which he speedily did on a cassockof green, and hose of the same colour. ``I praythee truss my points,'' said he to Wamba, ``andthou shalt have a cup of sack for thy labour.''

``Gramercy for thy sack,'' said Wamba; ``butthink'st thou it is lawful for me to aid you totransmew thyself from a holy hermit into a sinfulforester?''

``Never fear,'' said the hermit; ``I will but confessthe sins of my green cloak to my greyfriar'sfrock, and all shall be well again.''

``Amen!'' answered the Jester; ``a broadclothpenitent should have a sackcloth confessor, andyour frock may absolve my motley doublet intothe bargain.''

So saying, he accommodated the friar with hisassistance in tying the endless number of points,as the laces which attached the hose to the doubletwere then termed.

While they were thus employed, Locksley ledthe knight a little apart, and addressed him thus:---

``Deny it not, Sir Knight---you are he who decidedthe victory to the advantage of the Englishagainst the strangers on the second day of thetournament at Ashby.''

``And what follows if you guess truly, goodyeoman?'' replied the knight.

``I should in that case hold you,'' replied theyeoman, ``a friend to the weaker party.''

``Such is the duty of a true knight at least,'' repliedthe Black Champion; ``and I would not willinglythat there were reason to think otherwise ofme.''

``But for my purpose,'' said the yeoman, ``thoushouldst be as well a good Englishman as a goodknight; for that, which I have to speak of, concerns,indeed, the duty of every honest man, butis more especially that of a true-born native ofEngland.''

``You can speak to no one,'' replied the knight,``to whom England, and the life of every Englishman,can be dearer than to me.''

``I would willingly believe so,'' said the woodsman,``for never had this country such need to besupported by those who love her. Hear me, and Iwill tell thee of an enterprise, in which, if thou bestreally that which thou seemest, thou mayst takean honourable part. A band of villains, in the disguiseof better men than themselves, have madethemselves master of the person of a noble Englishman,called Cedric the Saxon, together with hisward, and his friend Athelstane of Coningsburgh,and have transported them to a castle in this forest,called Torquilstone. I ask of thee, as a good knightand a good Englishman, wilt thou aid in their rescue?''

``I am bound by my vow to do so,'' replied theknight; ``but I would willingly know who you are,who request my assistance in their behalf ?''

``I am,'' said the forester, ``a nameless man;but I am the friend of my country, and of mycountry's friends---With this account of me youmust for the present remain satisfied, the more

especially since you yourself desire to continue unknown.Believe, however, that my word, whenpledged, is as inviolate as if I wore golden spurs.''

``I willingly believe it,'' said the knight; ``Ihave been accustomed to study men's countenances,and I can read in thine honesty and resolution. Iwill, therefore, ask thee no further questions, butaid thee in setting at freedom these oppressed captives;which done, I trust we shall part better acquainted,and well satisfied with each other.''

``So,'' said Wamba to Gurth,---for the friarbeing now fully equipped, the Jester, having approachedto the other side of the hut, had heardthe conclusion of the conversation,---``So we havegot a new ally ?---l trust the valour of the knightwill be truer metal than the religion of the hermit,or the honesty of the yeoman; for this Locksleylooks like a born deer-stealer, and the priest like alusty hypocrite.''

``Hold thy peace, Wamba,'' said Gurth; ``itmay all be as thou dost guess; but were the horneddevil to rise and proffer me his assistance to set atliberty Cedric and the Lady Rowena, I fear Ishould hardly have religion enough to refuse thefoul fiend's offer, and bid him get behind me.''

The friar was now completely accoutred as ayeoman, with sword and buckler, bow, and quiver,and a strong partisan over his shoulder. He lefthis cell at the head of the party, and, having carefullylocked the door, deposited the key under thethreshold.

``Art thou in condition to do good service, friar,''said Locksley, ``or does the brown bowl still runin thy head ?''

``Not more than a drought of St Dunstan'sfountain will allay,'' answered the priest; ``somethingthere is of a whizzing in my brain, and of instabilityin my legs, but you shall presently see bothpass away.''

So saying, he stepped to the stone basin, inwhich the waters of the fountain as they fell formedbubbles which danced in the white moonlight, andtook so long a drought as if he had meant to exhaustthe spring.

``When didst thou drink as deep a drought ofwater before, Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst?'' saidthe Black Knight.

``Never since my wine-but leaked, and let outits liquor by an illegal vent,'' replied the friar, ``andso left me nothing to drink but my patron's bountyhere.''

Then plunging his hands and head into the fountain,he washed from them all marks of the midnightrevel.

Thus refreshed and sobered, the jolly priesttwirled his heavy partisan round his head withthree fingers, as if he had been balancing a reed,exclaiming at the same time, ``Where be thosefalse ravishers, who carry off wenches against theirwill? May the foul fiend fly off with me, if I amnot man enough for a dozen of them.''

``Swearest thou, Holy Clerk?'' said the BlackKnight.

``Clerk me no Clerks,'' replied the transformedpriest; ``by Saint George and the Dragon, I amno longer a shaveling than while my frock is on myback---When I am cased in my green cassock, Iwill drink, swear, and woo a lass, with any blitheforester in the West Riding.''

``Come on, Jack Priest,'' said Locksley, ``andbe silent; thou art as noisy as a whole convent ona holy eve, when the Father Abbot has gone to bed.---Come on you, too, my masters, tarry not to talkof it---I say, come on, we must collect all our forces,and few enough we shall have, if we are to stormthe Castle of Reginald Front-de-B<oe>uf.''

``What! is it Front-de-B<oe>uf,'' said the BlackKnight, ``who has stopt on the king's highway theking's liege subjects?---Is he turned thief and oppressor?''

``Oppressor he ever was,'' said Locksley.

``And for thief,'' said the priest, ``I doubt ifever he were even half so honest a man as many athief of my acquaintance.''

``Move on, priest, and be silent,'' said the yeoman;``it were better you led the way to the placeof rendezvous, than say what should be left unsaid,both in decency and prudence.''

CHAPTER XXI

Alas, how many hours and years have past,Since human forms have round this table sate,Or lamp, or taper, on its surface gleam'd!Methinks, I hear the sound of time long pass'dStill murmuring o'er us, in the lofty voidOf these dark arches, like the ling'ring voicesOf those who long within their graves have slept.

_Orra, a Tragedy._

While these measures were taking in behalf ofCedric and his companions, the armed men by whomthe latter had been seized, hurried their captivesalong towards the place of security, where they intendedto imprison them. But darkness came onfast, and the paths of the wood seemed but imperfectlyknown to the marauders. They were compelledto make several long halts, and once or twiceto return on their road to resume the directionwhich they wished to pursue. The summer mornhad dawned upon them ere they could travel in fullassurance that they held the right path. But confidencereturned with light, and the cavalcade nowmoved rapidly forward. Meanwhile, the following

dialogue took place between the two leaders of thebanditti.``It is time thou shouldst leave us, Sir Maurice,''said the Templar to De Bracy, ``in order to preparethe second part of thy mystery. Thou art next,thou knowest, to act the Knight Deliverer.''

``I have thought better of it,'' said De Bracy; ``Iwill not leave thee till the prize is fairly depositedin Front-de-B<oe>uf's castle. There will I appear beforethe Lady Rowena in mine own shape, and trustthat she will set down to the vehemence of mypassion the violence of which I have been guilty.''

``And what has made thee change thy plan, DeBracy?'' replied the Knight Templar.

``That concerns thee nothing,'' answered hiscompanion.

``I would hope, however, Sir Knight,'' said theTemplar, ``that this alteration of measures arisesfrom no suspicion of my honourable meaning, suchas Fitzurse endeavoured to instil into thee?''

``My thoughts are my own,'' answered De Bracy;``the fiend laughs, they say, when one thief robsanother; and we know, that were he to spit fireand brimstone instead, it would never prevent aTemplar from following his bent.''

``Or the leader of a Free Company,'' answeredthe Templar, ``from dreading at the hands of acomrade and friend, the injustice he does to allmankind.''

``This is unprofitable and perilous recrimination,''answered De Bracy; ``suffice it to say, Iknow the morals of the Temple-Order, and I willnot give thee the power of cheating me out of thefair prey for which I have run such risks.''

``Psha,'' replied the Templar, ``what hast thouto fear?---Thou knowest the vows of our order.''

``Right well,'' said De Bracy, ``and also howthey are kept. Come, Sir Templar, the laws ofgallantry have a liberal interpretation in Palestine,and this is a case in which I will trust nothing toyour conscience.''

``Hear the truth, then,'' said the Templar; ``Icare not for your blue-eyed beauty. There is inthat train one who will make me a better mate.''

``What! wouldst thou stoop to the waiting damsel?''said De Bracy.``No, Sir Knight,'' said the Templar, haughtily.``To the waiting-woman will I not stoop. I have aprize among the captives as lovely as thine own.''

``By the mass, thou meanest the fair Jewess!''said De Bracy.

``And if I do,'' said Bois-Guilbert, ``who shallgainsay me?''

``No one that I know,'' said De Bracy, ``unlessit be your vow of celibacy, or a cheek of consciencefor an intrigue with a Jewess.''

``For my vow,'' said the Templar, ``our GrandMaster hath granted me a dispensation. And formy conscience, a man that has slain three hundredSaracens, need not reckon up every little failing,like a village girl at her first confession upon GoodFriday eve.''

``Thou knowest best thine own privileges,'' saidDe Bracy. ``Yet, I would have sworn thy thoughthad been more on the old usurer's money bags, thanon the black eyes of the daughter.''

``I can admire both,'' answered the Templar;``besides, the old Jew is but half-prize. I mustshare his spoils with Front-de-B<oe>uf, who will notlend us the use of his castle for nothing. I musthave something that I can term exclusively my ownby this foray of ours, and I have fixed on the lovelyJewess as my peculiar prize. But, now thou

knowest my drift, thou wilt resume thine own originalplan, wilt thou not?---Thou hast nothing,thou seest, to fear from my interference.''

``No,'' replied De Bracy, ``I will remain besidemy prize. What thou sayst is passing true, butI like not the privileges acquired by the dispensationof the Grand Master, and the merit acquiredby the slaughter of three hundred Saracens. Youhave too good a right to a free pardon, to renderyou very scrupulous about peccadilloes.''

While this dialogue was proceeding, Cedric wasendeavouring to wring out of those who guardedhim an avowal of their character and purpose.``You should be Englishmen,'' said he; ``and yet,sacred Heaven! you prey upon your countrymen asif you were very Normans. You should be myneighbours, and, if so, my friends; for which of myEnglish neighbours have reason to be otherwise?I tell ye, yeomen, that even those among ye whohave been branded with outlawry have had fromme protection; for I have pitied their miseries, andcurst the oppression of their tyrannic nobles. What,then, would you have of me? or in what can thisviolence serve ye?---Ye are worse than brute beastsin your actions, and will you imitate them in theirvery dumbness?''

It was in vain that Cedric expostulated with hisguards, who had too many good reasons for theirsilence to be induced to break it either by his wrathor his expostulations. They continued to hurry himalong, travelling at a very rapid rate, until, at theend of an avenue of huge trees, arose Torquilstone,now the hoary and ancient castle of ReginaldFront-de-B<oe>uf. It was a fortress of no great size,consisting of a donjon, or large and high squaretower, surrounded by buildings of inferior height,which were encircled by an inner court-yard.Around the exterior wall was a deep moat, suppliedwith water from a neighbouring rivulet.Front-de-B<oe>uf, whose character placed him oftenat feud with his enemies, had made considerableadditions to the strength of his castle, by building

towers upon the outward wall, so as to flank it atevery angle. The access, as usual in castles of theperiod, lay through an arched barbican, or outwork,which was terminated and defended by a small turretat each corner.

Cedric no sooner saw the turrets of Front-de-B<oe>uf'scastle raise their grey and moss-grown battlements,glimmering in the morning sun above thewood by which they were surrounded, than he instantlyaugured more truly concerning the cause ofhis misfortune.

``I did injustice,'' he said, ``to the thieves andoutlaws of these woods, when I supposed such bandittito belong to their bands; I might as justlyhave confounded the foxes of these brakes with theravening wolves of France. Tell me, dogs---is itmy life or my wealth that your master aims at? Isit too much that two Saxons, myself and the nobleAthelstane, should hold land in the country whichwas once the patrimony of our race?---Put us thento death, and complete your tyranny by taking ourlives, as you began with our liberties. If the SaxonCedric cannot rescue England, he is willing to diefor her. Tell your tyrannical master, I do onlybeseech him to dismiss the Lady Rowena in honourand safety. She is a woman, and he need notdread her; and with us will die all who dare fightin her cause.''

The attendants remained as mute to this addressas to the former, and they now stood before thegate of the castle. De Bracy winded his horn threetimes, and the archers and cross-bow men, who hadmanned the wall upon seeing their approach, hastenedto lower the drawbridge, and admit them.The prisoners were compelled by their guards toalight, and were conducted to an apartment wherea hasty repast was offered them, of which none butAthelstane felt any inclination to partake. Neitherhad the descendant of the Confessor much time todo justice to the good cheer placed before them, fortheir guards gave him and Cedric to understandthat they were to be imprisoned in a chamber apart

from Rowena. Resistance was vain; and theywere compelled to follow to a large room, which,rising on clumsy Saxon pillars, resembled those refectoriesand chapter-houses which may be still seenin the most ancient parts of our most ancient monasteries.

The Lady Rowena was next separated from hertrain, and conducted, with courtesy, indeed, butstill without consulting her inclination, to a distantapartment. The same alarming distinction wasconferred on Rebecca, in spite of her father's entreaties,who offered even money, in this extremityof distress, that she might be permitted to abidewith him. ``Base unbeliever,'' answered one of hisguards, ``when thou hast seen thy lair, thou wiltnot wish thy daughter to partake it.'' And, withoutfarther discussion, the old Jew was forcibly draggedoff in a different direction from the other prisoners.The domestics, after being carefully searchedand disarmed, were confined in another part ofthe castle; and Rowena was refused even the comfortshe might have derived from the attendance ofher handmaiden Elgitha.

The apartment in which the Saxon chiefs wereconfined, for to them we turn our first attention,although at present used as a sort of guard-room,had formerly been the great hall of the castle. Itwas now abandoned to meaner purposes, becausethe present lord, among other additions to the convenience,security, and beauty of his baronial residence,had erected a new and noble hall, whosevaulted roof was supported by lighter and moreelegant pillars, and fitted up with that higher degreeof ornament, which the Normans had alreadyintroduced into architecture.

Cedric paced the apartment, filled with indignantreflections on the past and on the present, while theapathy of his companion served, instead of patienceand philosophy, to defend him against every thingsave the inconvenience of the present moment; andso little did he feel even this last, that he was onlyfrom time to time roused to a reply by Cedric'sanimated and impassioned appeal to him.

``Yes,'' said Cedric, half speaking to himself,and half addressing himself to Athelstane, ``it wasin this very hall that my father feasted with TorquilWolfganger, when he entertained the valiant andunfortunate Harold, then advancing against theNorwegians, who had united themselves to therebel Tosti. It was in this hall that Harold returnedthe magnanimous answer to the ambassadorof his rebel brother. Oft have I heard my fatherkindle as he told the tale. The envoy of Tostiwas admitted, when this ample room could scarcecontain the crowd of noble Saxon leaders, whowere quaffing the blood-red wine around their monarch.''

``I hope,'' said Athelstane, somewhat moved bythis part of his friend's discourse, ``they will notforget to send us some wine and refactions at noon---we had scarce a breathing-space allowed to breakour fast, and I never have the benefit of my foodwhen I eat immediately after dismounting fromhorseback, though the leeches recommend thatpractice.''

Cedric went on with his story without noticingthis interjectional observation of his friend.

``The envoy of Tosti,'' he said, ``moved up thehall, undismayed by the frowning countenances ofall around him, until he made his obeisance beforethe throne of King Harold.

`` `What terms,' he said, `Lord King, hath thybrother Tosti to hope, if he should lay down hisarms, and crave peace at thy hands?'

`` `A brother's love,' cried the generous Harold,`and the fair earldom of Northumberland.'

`` `But should Tosti accept these terms,' continuedthe envoy, ` what lands shall be assigned to his faithfulally, Hardrada, King of Norway?'

`` `Seven feet of English ground,' answered Harold,fiercely, 'or, as Hardrada is said to be a giant,

perhaps we may allow him twelve inches more.'

``The hall rung with acclamations, and cup andhorn was filled to the Norwegian, who should bespeedily in possession of his English territory.''

``I could have pledged him with all my soul,''said Athelstane, ``for my tongue cleaves to mypalate.''

``The baffled envoy,'' continued Cedric, pursuingwith animation his tale, though it interested notthe listener, ``retreated, to carry to Tosti and hisally the ominous answer of his injured brother. Itwas then that the distant towers of York, and thebloody streams of the Derwent,* beheld that direful

* Note D. Battle of Stamford.

conflict, in which, after displaying the most undauntedvalour, the King of Norway, and Tosti,both fell, with ten thousand of their bravest followers.Who would have thought that upon the proudday when this battle was won, the very gale whichwaved the Saxon banners in triumph, was fillingthe Norman sails, and impelling them to the fatalshores of Sussex?---Who would have thought thatHarold, within a few brief days, would himself possessno more of his kingdom, than the share whichhe allotted in his wrath to the Norwegian invader?---Who would have thought that you, noble Athelstane---that you, descended of Harold's blood, andthat I, whose father was not the worst defender ofthe Saxon crown, should be prisoners to a vile Norman,in the very hall in which our ancestors heldsuch high festival?''

``It is sad enough,'' replied Athelstane; ``butI trust they will hold us to a moderate ransom---At any rate it cannot be their purpose to starve usoutright; and yet, although it is high noon, I seeno preparations for serving dinner. Look up at thewindow, noble Cedric, and judge by the sunbeamsif it is not on the verge of noon.''

``It may be so,'' answered Cedric; ``but I cannotlook on that stained lattice without its awakeningother reflections than those which concern thepassing moment, or its privations. When that windowwas wrought, my noble friend, our hardy fathersknew not the art of making glass, or of stainingit---The pride of Wolfganger's father broughtan artist from Normandy to adorn his hall with thisnew species of emblazonment, that breaks the goldenlight of God's blessed day into so many fantastichues. The foreigner came here poor, beggarly,cringing, and subservient, ready to doff his cap tothe meanest native of the household. He returnedpampered and proud, to tell his rapacious countrymenof the wealth and the simplicity of the Saxonnobles---a folly, oh, Athelstane, foreboded of old, aswell as foreseen, by those descendants of Hengistand his hardy tribes, who retained the simplicityof their manners. We made these strangers ourbosom friends, our confidential servants; we borrowedtheir artists and their arts, and despised thehonest simplicity and hardihood with which ourbrave ancestors supported themselves, and we becameenervated by Norman arts long ere we fellunder Norman arms. Far better was our homelydiet, eaten in peace and liberty, than the luxuriousdainties, the love of which hath delivered us asbondsmen to the foreign conqueror!''

``I should,'' replied Athelstane, ``hold very humblediet a luxury at present; and it astonishes me,noble Cedric, that you can bear so truly in mindthe memory of past deeds, when it appeareth youforget the very hour of dinner.''

``It is time lost,'' muttered Cedric apart and impatiently,``to speak to him of aught else but thatwhich concerns his appetite! The soul of Hardicanutehath taken possession of him, and he hath nopleasure save to fill, to swill, and to call for more.---Alas!'' said he, looking at Athelstane with compassion,``that so dull a spirit should be lodged inso goodly a form! Alas! that such an enterpriseas the regeneration of England should turn on ahinge so imperfect! Wedded to Rowena, indeed,

her nobler and more generous soul may yet awakethe better nature which is torpid within him. Yethow should this be, while Rowena, Athelstane, andI myself, remain the prisoners of this brutal marauderand have been made so perhaps from a senseof the dangers which our liberty might bring to theusurped power of his nation?''

While the Saxon was plunged in these painfulreflections, the door of their prison opened, and gaveentrance to a sewer, holding his white rod of office.This important person advanced into the chamberwith a grave pace, followed by four attendants,bearing in a table covered with dishes, the sightand smell of which seemed to be an instant compensationto Athelstane for all the inconveniencehe had undergone. The persons who attended onthe feast were masked and cloaked.

``What mummery is this?'' said Cedric; ``thinkyou that we are ignorant whose prisoners we are,when we are in the castle of your master? Tellhim,'' he continued, willing to use this opportunityto open a negotiation for his freedom,---``Tell yourmaster, Reginald Front-de-B<oe>uf, that we knowno reason he can have for withholding our liberty,excepting his unlawful desire to enrich himself atour expense. Tell him that we yield to his rapacity,as in similar circumstances we should do tothat of a literal robber. Let him name the ransomat which he rates our liberty, and it shall be paid,providing the exaction is suited to our means.''The sewer made no answer, but bowed his head.

``And tell Sir Reginald Front-de-B<oe>uf,'' saidAthelstane, ``that I send him my mortal defiance,and challenge him to combat with me, on foot orhorseback, at any secure place, within eight daysafter our liberation; which, if he be a true knight,he will not, under these circumstances, venture torefuse or to delay.''

``I shall deliver to the knight your defiance,''answered the sewer; ``meanwhile I leave you toyour food.''

The challenge of Athelstane was delivered withno good grace; for a large mouthful, which requiredthe exercise of both jaws at once, added toa natural hesitation, considerably damped the effectof the bold defiance it contained. Still, however,his speech was hailed by Cedric as an incontestibletoken of reviving spirit in his companion,whose previous indifference had begun, notwithstandinghis respect for Athelstane's descent, towear out his patience. But he now cordially shookhands with him in token of his approbation, andwas somewhat grieved when Athelstane observed,``that he would fight a dozen such men as Front-de-B<oe>uf,if, by so doing, he could hasten his departurefrom a dungeon where they put so muchgarlic into their pottage.'' Notwithstanding thisintimation of a relapse into the apathy of sensuality,Cedric placed himself opposite to Athelstane, andsoon showed, that if the distresses of his countrycould banish the recollection of food while the tablewas uncovered, yet no sooner were the victuals putthere, than he proved that the appetite of his Saxonancestors had descended to him along with theirother qualities.

The captives had not long enjoyed their refreshment,however, ere their attention was disturbedeven from this most serious occupation by the blastof a horn winded before the gate. It was repeatedthree times, with as much violence as if it had beenblown before an enchanted castle by the destinedknight, at whose summons halls and towers, barbicanand battlement, were to roll off like a morningvapour. The Saxons started from the table, andhastened to the window. But their curiosity wasdisappointed; for these outlets only looked uponthe court of the castle, and the sound came from beyondits precincts. The summons, however, seemedof importance, for a considerable degree of bustleinstantly took place in the castle.

CHAPTER XXII

My daughter---O my ducats---O my daughter!------------O my Christian ducats!Justice---the Law---my ducats, and my daughter! _Merchant of Venice._

Leaving the Saxon chiefs to return to their banquetas soon as their ungratified curiosity shouldpermit them to attend to the calls of their half-satiatedappetite, we have to look in upon the yetmore severe imprisonment of Isaac of York. Thepoor Jew had been hastily thrust into a dungeon-vaultof the castle, the floor of which was deep beneaththe level of the ground, and very damp, beinglower than even the moat itself. The only lightwas received through one or two loop-holes farabove the reach of the captive's hand. These aperturesadmitted, even at mid-day, only a dim anduncertain light, which was changed for utter darknesslong before the rest of the castle had lost theblessing of day. Chains and shackles, which hadbeen the portion of former captives, from whomactive exertions to escape had been apprehended,hung rusted and empty on the walls of the prison,and in the rings of one of those sets of fetters thereremained two mouldering bones, which seemed tohave been once those of the human leg, as if someprisoner had been left not only to perish there, butto be consumed to a skeleton.

At one end of this ghastly apartment was a largefire-grate, over the top of which were stretchedsome transverse iron bars, half devoured with rust.

The whole appearance of the dungeon mighthave appalled a stouter heart than that of Isaac,who, nevertheless, was more composed under theimminent pressure of danger, than he had seemedto be while affected by terrors, of which the causewas as yet remote and contingent. The lovers of thechase say that the hare feels more agony during thepursuit of the greyhounds, than when she is strugglingin their fangs.* And thus it is probable, that

* _Nota Bene._---We by no means warrant the accuracy of this* piece of natural history, which we give on the authority of the* Wardour MS. L. T.

the Jews, by the very frequency of their fear on alloccasions, had their minds in some degree preparedfor every effort of tyranny which could be practisedupon them; so that no aggression, when it had takenplace, could bring with it that surprise whichis the most disabling quality of terror. Neither wasit the first time that Isaac had been placed in circumstancesso dangerous. He had therefore experienceto guide him, as well as hope, that he mightagain, as formerly, be delivered as a prey from thefowler. Above all, he had upon his side the unyieldingobstinacy of his nation, and that unbendingresolution, with which Israelites have beenfrequently known to submit to the uttermost evilswhich power and violence can inflict upon them,rather than gratify their oppressors by grantingtheir demands.

In this humour of passive resistance, and withhis garment collected beneath him to keep his limbsfrom the wet pavement, Isaac sat in a corner of hisdungeon, where his folded hands, his dishevelledhair and beard, his furred cloak and high cap, seenby the wiry and broken light, would have affordeda study for Rembrandt, had that celebrated painterexisted at the period. The Jew remained, withoutaltering his position, for nearly three hours, at theexpiry of which steps were heard on the dungeonstair. The bolts screamed as they were withdrawn---the hinges creaked as the wicket opened, andReginald Front-de-B<oe>uf, followed by the two Saracenslaves of the Templar, entered the prison.

Front-de-B<oe>uf, a tall and strong man, whoselife had been spent in public war or in private feudsand broils, and who had hesitated at no means ofextending his feudal power, had features correspondingto his character, and which strongly expressedthe fiercer and more malignant passions ofthe mind. The scars with which his visage wasseamed, would, on features of a different cast, have

excited the sympathy and veneration due to themarks of honourable valour; but, in the peculiarcase of Front-de-B<oe>uf, they only added to the ferocityof his countenance, and to the dread whichhis presence inspired. This formidable baron wasclad in a leathern doublet, fitted close to his body,which was frayed and soiled with the stains of hisarmour. He had no weapon, excepting a poniardat his belt, which served to counterbalance theweight of the bunch of rusty keys that hung at hisright side.

The black slaves who attended Front-de-B<oe>ufwere stripped of their gorgeous apparel, and attiredin jerkins and trowsers of coarse linen, their sleevesbeing tucked up above the elbow, like those ofbutchers when about to exercise their function inthe slaughter-house. Each had in his hand a smallpannier; and, when they entered the dungeon, theystopt at the door until Front-de-B<oe>uf himself carefullylocked and double-locked it. Having takenthis precaution, he advanced slowly up the apartmenttowards the Jew, upon whom he kept his eyefixed, as if he wished to paralyze him with hisglance, as some animals are said to fascinate theirprey. It seemed indeed as if the sullen and malignanteye of Front-de-B<oe>uf possessed some portionof that supposed power over his unfortunate prisoner.The Jew sate with his mouth a-gape, andhis eyes fixed on the savage baron with such earnestnessof terror, that his frame seemed literallyto shrink together, and to diminish in size whileencountering the fierce Norman's fixed and balefulgaze. The unhappy Isaac was deprived not onlyof the power of rising to make the obeisance whichhis terror dictated, but he could not even doff hiscap, or utter any word of supplication; so stronglywas he agitated by the conviction that tortures anddeath were impending over him.

On the other hand, the stately form of the Normanappeared to dilate in magnitude, like that ofthe eagle, which ruffles up its plumage when aboutto pounce on its defenceless prey. He paused withinthree steps of the corner in which the unfortunate

Jew had now, as it were, coiled himself up intothe smallest possible space, and made a sign for oneof the slaves to approach. The black satellite cameforward accordingly, and, producing from his basketa large pair of scales and several weights, helaid them at the feet of Front-de-B<oe>uf, and againretired to the respectful distance, at which his companionhad already taken his station.

The motions of these men were slow and solemn,as if there impended over their souls some preconceptionof horror and of cruelty. Front-de-B<oe>ufhimself opened the scene by thus addressing his ill-fatedcaptive.

``Most accursed dog of an accursed race,'' hesaid, awaking with his deep and sullen voice thesullen echoes of his dungeon vault, ``seest thouthese scales?''

The unhappy Jew returned a feeble affirmative.

``In these very scales shalt thou weigh me out,''said the relentless Baron, ``a thousand silver pounds,after the just measure and weight of the Tower ofLondon.''

``Holy Abraham!'' returned the Jew, findingvoice through the very extremity of his danger,``heard man ever such a demand?---Who everheard, even in a minstrel's tale, of such a sum as athousand pounds of silver?---What human sight wasever blessed with the vision of such a mass of treasure?---Not within the walls of York, ransack myhouse and that of all my tribe, wilt thou find thetithe of that huge sum of silver that thou speakestof.''

``I am reasonable,'' answered Front-de-B<oe>uf,``and if silver be scant, I refuse not gold. At therate of a mark of gold for each six pounds of silver,thou shalt free thy unbelieving carcass from suchpunishment as thy heart has never even conceived.''

``Have mercy on me, noble knight!'' exclaimed

Isaac; ``I am old, and poor, and helpless. It wereunworthy to triumph over me---It is a poor deedto crush a worm.''

``Old thou mayst be,'' replied the knight; ``moreshame to their folly who have suffered thee to growgrey in usury and knavery---Feeble thou mayst be,for when had a Jew either heart or hand---But richit is well known thou art.''

``I swear to you, noble knight,'' said the Jew``by all which I believe, and by all which we believein common------''

``Perjure not thyself,'' said the Norman, interruptinghim, ``and let not thine obstinacy seal thydoom, until thou hast seen and well considered thefate that awaits thee. Think not I speak to theeonly to excite thy terror, and practise on the basecowardice thou hast derived from thy tribe. I swearto thee by that which thou dost =not= believe, by thegospel which our church teaches, and by the keyswhich are given her to bind and to loose, that mypurpose is deep and peremptory. This dungeon isno place for trifling. Prisoners ten thousand timesmore distinguished than thou have died within thesewalls, and their fate hath never been known! Butfor thee is reserved a long and lingering death, towhich theirs were luxury.''

He again made a signal for the slaves to approach,and spoke to them apart, in their own language;for he also had been in Palestine, where perhaps,he had learnt his lesson of cruelty. The Saracensproduced from their baskets a quantity of charcoal,a pair of bellows, and a flask of oil. While the onestruck a light with a flint and steel, the other disposedthe charcoal in the large rusty grate whichwe have already mentioned, and exercised the bellowsuntil the fuel came to a red glow.

``Seest thou, Isaac,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf, ``therange of iron bars above the glowing charcoal?*---

* Note E. The range of iron bars above that glowing

* charcoal.

on that warm couch thou shalt lie, stripped of thyclothes as if thou wert to rest on a bed of down.One of these slaves shall maintain the fire beneaththee, while the other shall anoint thy wretchedlimbs with oil, lest the roast should burn.---Now,choose betwixt such a scorching bed and the paymentof a thousand pounds of silver; for, by thehead of my father, thou hast no other option.''

``It is impossible,'' exclaimed the miserable Jew---``it is impossible that your purpose can be real!The good God of nature never made a heart capableof exercising such cruelty!''

``Trust not to that, Isaac,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf,``it were a fatal error. Dost thou think that I, whohave seen a town sacked, in which thousands of myChristian countrymen perished by sword, by flood,and by fire, will blench from my purpose for theoutcries or screams of one single wretched Jew?---or thinkest thou that these swarthy slaves, whohave neither law, country, nor conscience, but theirmaster's will---who use the poison, or the stake, orthe poniard, or the cord, at his slightest wink---thinkest thou that _they_ will have mercy, who donot even understand the language in which it isasked?---Be wise, old man; discharge thyself of aportion of thy superfluous wealth; repay to thehands of a Christian a part of what thou hast acquiredby the usury thou hast practised on thoseof his religion. Thy cunning may soon swell outonce more thy shrivelled purse, but neither leechnor medicine can restore thy scorched hide and fleshwert thou once stretched on these bars. Tell downthy ransom, I say, and rejoice that at such rate thoucanst redeem thee from a dungeon, the secrets ofwhich few have returned to tell. I waste no morewords with thee---choose between thy dross andthy flesh and blood, and as thou choosest, so shallit be.''

``So may Abraham, Jacob, and all the fathersof our people assist me,'' said Isaac, ``I cannot make

the choice, because I have not the means of satisfyingyour exorbitant demand!''

``Seize him and strip him, slaves,'' said theknight, ``and let the fathers of his race assist himif they can.''

The assistants, taking their directions more fromthe Baron's eye and his hand than his tongue, oncemore stepped forward, laid hands on the unfortunateIsaac, plucked him up from the ground, and,holding him between them, waited the hard-heartedBaron's farther signal. The unhappy Jew eyedtheir countenances and that of Front-de-B<oe>uf, inhope of discovering some symptoms of relenting;but that of the Baron exhibited the same cold, half-sullen,half-sarcastic smile which had been the preludeto his cruelty; and the savage eyes of the Saracens,rolling gloomily under their dark brows, acquiringa yet more sinister expression by the whitenessof the circle which surrounds the pupil, evincedrather the secret pleasure which they expected fromthe approaching scene, than any reluctance to be itsdirectors or agents. The Jew then looked at theglowing furnace, over which he was presently to bestretched, and seeing no chance of his tormentor'srelenting, his resolution gave way.

``I will pay,'' he said, ``the thousand pounds ofsilver---That is,'' he added, after a moment's pause,``I will pay it with the help of my brethren; forI must beg as a mendicant at the door of our synagogueere I make up so unheard-of a sum.---Whenand where must it be delivered?''

``Here,'' replied Front-de-B<oe>uf, ``here it mustbe delivered---weighed it must be---weighed andtold down on this very dungeon floor.---Thinkestthou I will part with thee until thy ransom is secure?''

``And what is to be my surety,'' said the Jew,``that I shall be at liberty after this ransom ispaid?''

``The word of a Norman noble, thou pawn-broking

slave,'' answered Front-de-B<oe>uf; ``the faithof a Norman nobleman, more pure than the goldand silver of thee and all thy tribe.''

``I crave pardon, noble lord,'' said Isaac timidly,``but wherefore should I rely wholly on theword of one who will trust nothing to mine?''

``Because thou canst not help it, Jew,'' said theknight, sternly. ``Wert thou now in thy treasure-chamberat York, and were I craving a loan of thyshekels, it would be thine to dictate the time ofpayment, and the pledge of security. This is _my_treasure-chamber. Here I have thee at advantage,nor will I again deign to repeat the terms on whichI grant thee liberty.''

The Jew groaned deeply.---``Grant me,'' he said,``at least with my own liberty, that of the companionswith whom I travel. They scorned me as aJew, yet they pitied my desolation, and becausethey tarried to aid me by the way, a share of myevil hath come upon them; moreover, they maycontribute in some sort to my ransom.''

``If thou meanest yonder Saxon churls,'' saidFront-de-B<oe>uf, ``their ransom will depend uponother terms than thine. Mind thine own concerns,Jew, I warn thee, and meddle not with those ofothers.''

``I am, then,'' said Isaac, ``only to be set at liberty,together with mine wounded friend?''

``Shall I twice recommend it,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf,``to a son of Israel, to meddle with his ownconcerns, and leave those of others alone?---Sincethou hast made thy choice, it remains but thatthou payest down thy ransom, and that at a shortday.''

``Yet hear me,'' said the Jew---``for the sakeof that very wealth which thou wouldst obtain atthe expense of thy------'' Here he stopt short, afraidof irritating the savage Norman. But Front-de-B<oe>uf

only laughed, and himself filled up the blankat which the Jew had hesitated. ``At the expenseof my conscience, thou wouldst say, Isaac; speak itout---I tell thee, I am reasonable. I can bear thereproaches of a loser, even when that loser is a Jew.Thou wert not so patient, Isaac, when thou didstinvoke justice against Jacques Fitzdotterel, forcalling thee a usurious blood-sucker, when thy exactionshad devoured his patrimony.''

``I swear by the Talmud,'' said the Jew, ``thatyour valour has been misled in that matter. Fitzdottereldrew his poniard upon me in mine ownchamber, because I craved him for mine own silver.The term of payment was due at the Passover.''

``I care not what he did,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf;``the question is, when shall I have mine own?---when shall I have the shekels, Isaac?''

``Let my daughter Rebecca go forth to York,''answered Isaac, ``with your safe conduct, nobleknight, and so soon as man and horse can return,the treasure------'' Here he groaned deeply, but added,after the pause of a few seconds,---``The treasureshall be told down on this very floor.''

``Thy daughter!'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf, as ifsurprised,---``By heavens, Isaac, I would I hadknown of this. I deemed that yonder black-browedgirl had been thy concubine, and I gave her tobe a handmaiden to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert,after the fashion of patriarchs and heroes of thedays of old, who set us in these matters a wholesomeexample.''

The yell which Isaac raised at this unfeelingcommunication made the very vault to ring, andastounded the two Saracens so much that they letgo their hold of the Jew. He availed himself ofhis enlargement to throw himself on the pavement,and clasp the knees of Front-de-B<oe>uf.

``Take all that you have asked,'' said he, ``SirKnight---take ten times more---reduce me to ruin

and to beggary, if thou wilt,---nay, pierce me withthy poniard, broil me on that furnace, but sparemy daughter, deliver her in safety and honour!---As thou art born of woman, spare the honour of ahelpless maiden---She is the image of my deceasedRachel, she is the last of six pledges of her love---Will you deprive a widowed husband of his soleremaining comfort?---Will you reduce a father towish that his only living child were laid beside herdead mother, in the tomb of our fathers?''

``I would,'' said the Norman, somewhat relenting,``that I had known of this before. I thoughtyour race had loved nothing save their moneybags.''

``Think not so vilely of us, Jews though we be,''said Isaac, eager to improve the moment of apparentsympathy; ``the hunted fox, the tortured wildcatloves its young---the despised and persecutedrace of Abraham love their children!''

``Be it so,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf; ``I will believeit in future, Isaac, for thy very sake---but itaids us not now, I cannot help what has happened,or what is to follow; my word is passed to my comradein arms, nor would I break it for ten Jews andJewesses to boot. Besides, why shouldst thou thinkevil is to come to the girl, even if she became Bois-Guilbert'sbooty?''

``There will, there must!'' exclaimed Isaac,wringing his hands in agony; ``when did Templarsbreathe aught but cruelty to men, and dishonourto women!''

``Dog of an infidel,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf, withsparkling eyes, and not sorry, perhaps, to seize apretext for working himself into a passion, ``blasphemenot the Holy Order of the Temple of Zion,but take thought instead to pay me the ransom thouhast promised, or woe betide thy Jewish throat!''

``Robber and villain!'' said the Jew, retortingthe insults of his oppressor with passion, which,however impotent, he now found it impossible to

bridle, ``I will pay thee nothing---not one silverpenny will I pay thee, unless my daughter is deliveredto me in safety and honour?''

``Art thou in thy senses, Israelite?'' said theNorman, sternly---``has thy flesh and blood a charmagainst heated iron and scalding oil?''

``I care not!'' said the Jew, rendered desperateby paternal affection; ``do thy worst. My daughteris my flesh and blood, dearer to me a thousandtimes than those limbs which thy cruelty threatens.No silver will I give thee, unless I were to pour itmolten down thy avaricious throat---no, not a silverpenny will I give thee, Nazarene, were it tosave thee from the deep damnation thy whole lifehas merited! Take my life if thou wilt, and say,the Jew, amidst his tortures, knew how to disappointthe Christian.''

``We shall see that,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf; ``forby the blessed rood, which is the abomination ofthy accursed tribe, thou shalt feel the extremitiesof fire and steel!---Strip him, slaves, and chain himdown upon the bars.''

In spite of the feeble struggles of the old man,the Saracens had already torn from him his uppergarment, and were proceeding totally to disrobehim, when the sound of a bugle, twice winded withoutthe castle, penetrated even to the recesses of thedungeon, and immediately after loud voices wereheard calling for Sir Reginald Front-de-B<oe>uf.Unwilling to be found engaged in his hellish occupation,the savage Baron gave the slaves a signal to restoreIsaac's garment, and, quitting the dungeon with his attendants,he left the Jew to thank God for his own deliverance,or to lament over his daughter's captivity, and probable fate,as his personal or parental feelings might prove strongest.

CHAPTER XXIII

Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving wordsCan no way change you to a milder form,I'll woo you, like a soldier, at arms' end,And love you 'gainst the nature of love, force you. _Two Gentlemen of Verona._

The apartment to which the Lady Rowena hadbeen introduced was fitted up with some rude attemptsat ornament and magnificence, and her beingplaced there might be considered as a peculiarmark of respect not offered to the other prisoners.But the wife of Front-de-B<oe>uf, for whom it hadbeen originally furnished, was long dead, and decayand neglect had impaired the few ornamentswith which her taste had adorned it. The tapestryhung down from the walls in many places, and inothers was tarnished and faded under the effects ofthe sun, or tattered and decayed by age. Desolate,however, as it was, this was the apartment of thecastle which had been judged most fitting for theaccommodation of the Saxon heiress; and here shewas left to meditate upon her fate, until the actorsin this nefarious drama had arranged the severalparts which each of them was to perform. This hadbeen settled in a council held by Front-de-B<oe>uf,De Bracy, and the Templar, in which, after a longand warm debate concerning the several advantageswhich each insisted upon deriving from his peculiarshare in this audacious enterprise, they had atlength determined the fate of their unhappy prisoners.

It was about the hour of noon, therefore, whenDe Bracy, for whose advantage the expedition hadbeen first planned, appeared to prosecute his viewsupon the hand and possessions of the Lady Rowena.

The interval had not entirely been bestowed inholding council with his confederates, for De Bracyhad found leisure to decorate his person with allthe foppery of the times. His green cassock andvizard were now flung aside. His long luxurianthair was trained to flow in quaint tresses down hisrichly furred cloak. His beard was closely shaved,his doublet reached to the middle of his leg, andthe girdle which secured it, and at the same time

supported his ponderous sword, was embroideredand embossed with gold work. We have alreadynoticed the extravagant fashion of the shoes at thisperiod, and the points of Maurice de Bracy's mighthave challenged the prize of extravagance with thegayest, being turned up and twisted like the hornsof a ram. Such was the dress of a gallant of theperiod; and, in the present instance, that effect wasaided by the handsome person and good demeanourof the wearer, whose manners partook alike ofthe grace of a courtier, and the frankness of a soldier.

He saluted Rowena by doffing his velvet bonnet,garnished with a golden broach, representing StMichael trampling down the Prince of Evil. Withthis, he gently motioned the lady to a seat; and, asshe still retained her standing posture, the knightungloved his right hand, and motioned to conducther thither. But Rowena declined, by her gesture,the proffered compliment, and replied, ``If I be inthe presence of my jailor, Sir Knight---nor willcircumstances allow me to think otherwise---it bestbecomes his prisoner to remain standing till shelearns her doom.''

``Alas! fair Rowena,'' returned De Bracy, ``youare in presence of your captive, not your jailor;and it is from your fair eyes that De Bracy mustreceive that doom which you fondly expect fromhim.''

``I know you not, sir,'' said the lady, drawingherself up with all the pride of offended rank andbeauty; ``I know you not---and the insolent familiaritywith which you apply to me the jargonof a troubadour, forms no apology for the violenceof a robber.''

``To thyself, fair maid,'' answered De Bracy, inhis former tone---``to thine own charms be ascribedwhate'er I have done which passed the respectdue to her, whom I have chosen queen of my heart,and loadstar of my eyes.''

``I repeat to you, Sir Knight, that I know you

not, and that no man wearing chain and spursought thus to intrude himself upon the presence ofan unprotected lady.''

``That I am unknown to you,'' said De Bracy,``is indeed my misfortune; yet let me hope thatDe Bracy's name has not been always unspoken,when minstrels or heralds have praised deeds ofchivalry, whether in the lists or in the battle-field.''

``To heralds and to minstrels, then, leave thypraise, Sir Knight,'' replied Rowena, ``more suitingfor their mouths than for thine own; and tellme which of them shall record in song, or in bookof tourney, the memorable conquest of this night,a conquest obtained over an old man, followed bya few timid hinds; and its booty, an unfortunatemaiden, transported against her will to the castleof a robber?''

``You are unjust, Lady Rowena,'' said the knight,biting his lips in some confusion, and speaking ina tone more natural to him than that of affectedgallantry, which he had at first adopted; ``yourselffree from passion, you can allow no excuse forthe frenzy of another, although caused by your ownbeauty.''

``I pray you, Sir Knight,'' said Rowena, ``tocease a language so commonly used by strollingminstrels, that it becomes not the mouth of knightsor nobles. Certes, you constrain me to sit down,since you enter upon such commonplace terms, ofwhich each vile crowder hath a stock that mightlast from hence to Christmas.''

``Proud damsel,'' said De Bracy, incensed atfinding his gallant style procured him nothing butcontempt---``proud damsel, thou shalt be as proudlyencountered. Know then, that I have supportedmy pretensions to your hand in the way thatbest suited thy character. It is meeter for thy humourto be wooed with bow and bill, than in setterms, and in courtly language.''

``Courtesy of tongue,'' said Rowena, ``when itis used to veil churlishness of deed, is but a knight'sgirdle around the breast of a base clown. I wondernot that the restraint appears to gall you---more it were for your honour to have retained thedress and language of an outlaw, than to veil thedeeds of one under an affectation of gentle languageand demeanour.''

``You counsel well, lady,'' said the Norman;``and in the bold language which best justifies boldaction I tell thee, thou shalt never leave this castle,or thou shalt leave it as Maurice de Bracy's wife.I am not wont to be baffled in my enterprises, norneeds a Norman noble scrupulously to vindicate hisconduct to the Saxon maiden whom be distinguishesby the offer of his hand. Thou art proud,Rowena, and thou art the fitter to be my wife. Bywhat other means couldst thou be raised to highhonour and to princely place, saving by my alliance?How else wouldst thou escape from the meanprecincts of a country grange, where Saxons herdwith the swine which form their wealth, to take thyseat, honoured as thou shouldst be, and shalt be,amid all in England that is distinguished by beauty,or dignified by power?''

``Sir Knight,'' replied Rowena, ``the grangewhich you contemn hath been my shelter from infancy;and, trust me, when I leave it---should thatday ever arrive---it shall be with one who has notlearnt to despise the dwelling and manners in whichI have been brought up.''

``I guess your meaning, lady,'' said De Bracy,``though you may think it lies too obscure for myapprehension. But dream not, that Richard C<oe>urde Lion will ever resume his throne, far less thatWilfred of Ivanhoe, his minion, will ever lead theeto his footstool, to be there welcomed as the brideof a favourite. Another suitor might feel jealousywhile he touched this string; but my firm purposecannot be changed by a passion so childish and sohopeless. Know, lady, that this rival is in mypower, and that it rests but with me to betray the

secret of his being within the castle to Front-de-B<oe>uf,whose jealousy will be more fatal than mine.''

``Wilfred here?'' said Rowena, in disdain; ``thatis as true as that Front-de-B<oe>uf is his rival.''

De Bracy looked at her steadily for an instant.

``Wert thou really ignorant of this?'' said he;``didst thou not know that Wilfred of Ivanhoe travelledin the litter of the Jew?---a meet conveyancefor the crusader, whose doughty arm was to reconquerthe Holy Sepulchre!'' And he laughed scornfully.

``And if he is here,'' said Rowena, compellingherself to a tone of indifference, though tremblingwith an agony of apprehension which she couldnot suppress, ``in what is he the rival of Front-de-B<oe>uf?or what has he to fear beyond a short imprisonment,and an honourable ransom, accordingto the use of chivalry?''

``Rowena,'' said De Bracy, ``art thou, too, deceivedby the common error of thy sex, who thinkthere can be no rivalry but that respecting theirown charms? Knowest thou not there is a jealousyof ambition and of wealth, as well as of love; andthat this our host, Front-de-B<oe>uf, will push fromhis road him who opposes his claim to the fair baronyof Ivanhoe, as readily, eagerly, and unscrupulously,as if he were preferred to him by some blue-eyeddamsel? But smile on my suit, lady, and thewounded champion shall have nothing to fear fromFront-de-B<oe>uf, whom else thou mayst mourn for,as in the hands of one who has never shown compassion.''

``Save him, for the love of Heaven!'' said Rowena,her firmness giving way under terror for herlover's impending fate.

``I can---I will---it is my purpose,'' said DeBracy; `for, when Rowena consents to be thebride of De Bracy, who is it shall dare to put fortha violent hand upon her kinsman---the son of herguardian---the companion of her youth? But it is

thy love must buy his protection. I am not romanticfool enough to further the fortune, or avertthe fate, of one who is likely to be a successful obstaclebetween me and my wishes. Use thine influencewith me in his behalf, and he is safe,---refuseto employ it, Wilfred dies, and thou thyselfart not the nearer to freedom.''

``Thy language,'' answered Rowena, ``hath inits indifferent bluntness something which cannot bereconciled with the horrors it seems to express. Ibelieve not that thy purpose is so wicked, or thypower so great.''

``Flatter thyself, then, with that belief,'' said DeBracy, ``until time shall prove it false. Thy loverlies wounded in this castle---thy preferred lover. Heis a bar betwixt Front-de-B<oe>uf and that whichFront-de-B<oe>uf loves better than either ambitionor beauty. What will it cost beyond the blow of aponiard, or the thrust of a javelin, to silence hisopposition for ever? Nay, were Front-de-B<oe>ufafraid to justify a deed so open, let the leech butgive his patient a wrong draught---let the chamberlain,or the nurse who tends him, but pluck thepillow from his head, and Wilfred in his presentcondition, is sped without the effusion of blood.Cedric also---''

``And Cedric also,'' said Rowena, repeating hiswords; ``my noble---my generous guardian! I deservedthe evil I have encountered, for forgettinghis fate even in that of his son!''

``Cedric's fate also depends upon thy determination,''said De Bracy; ``and I leave thee toform it.''

Hitherto, Rowena had sustained her part in thistrying scene with undismayed courage, but it wasbecause she had not considered the danger as seriousand imminent. Her disposition was naturallythat which physiognomists consider as proper tofair complexions, mild, timid, and gentle; but ithad been tempered, and, as it were, hardened, by

the circumstances of her education. Accustomedto see the will of all, even of Cedric himself, (sufficientlyarbitrary with others,) give way before herwishes, she had acquired that sort of courage andself-confidence which arises from the habitual andconstant deference of the circle in which we move.She could scarce conceive the possibility of herwill being opposed, far less that of its being treatedwith total disregard.

Her haughtiness and habit of domination was,therefore, a fictitious character, induced over thatwhich was natural to her, and it deserted her whenher eyes were opened to the extent of her own danger,as well as that of her lover and her guardian;and when she found her will, the slightest expressionof which was wont to command respect andattention, now placed in opposition to that of aman of a strong, fierce, and determined mind, whopossessed the advantage over her, and was resolvedto use it, she quailed before him.

After casting her eyes around, as if to look forthe aid which was nowhere to be found, and aftera few broken interjections, she raised her hands toheaven, and burst into a passion of uncontrolledvexation and sorrow. It was impossible to see sobeautiful a creature in such extremity without feelingfor her, and De Bracy was not unmoved, thoughhe was yet more embarrassed than touched. Hehad, in truth, gone too far to recede; and yet, inRowena's present condition, she could not be actedon either by argument or threats. He paced theapartment to and fro, now vainly exhorting theterrified maiden to compose herself, now hesitatingconcerning his own line of conduct.

If, thought he, I should be moved by the tearsand sorrow of this disconsolate damsel, what shouldI reap but the loss of these fair hopes for which Ihave encountered so much risk, and the ridicule ofPrince John and his jovial comrades? ``And yet,''he said to himself, ``I feel myself ill framed forthe part which I am playing. I cannot look on sofair a face while it is disturbed with agony, or on

those eyes when they are drowned in tears. I wouldshe had retained her original haughtiness of disposition,or that I had a larger share of Front-de-B<oe>uf'sthrice-tempered hardness of heart!''

Agitated by these thoughts, he could only bidthe unfortunate Rowena be comforted, and assureher, that as yet she had no reason for the excess ofdespair to which she was now giving way. But inthis task of consolation De Bracy was interruptedby the horn, ``hoarse-winded blowing far and keen,''which had at the same time alarmed the other inmatesof the castle, and interrupted their severalplans of avarice and of license. Of them all, perhaps,De Bracy least regretted the interruption;for his conference with the Lady Rowena had arrivedat a point, where he found it equally difficultto prosecute or to resign his enterprise.

And here we cannot but think it necessary tooffer some better proof than the incidents of an idletale, to vindicate the melancholy representation ofmanners which has been just laid before the reader.It is grievous to think that those valiant barons, towhose stand against the crown the liberties of Englandwere indebted for their existence, should themselveshave been such dreadful oppressors, and capableof excesses contrary not only to the laws ofEngland, but to those of nature and humanity.But, alas! we have only to extract from the industriousHenry one of those numerous passages whichhe has collected from contemporary historians, toprove that fiction itself can hardly reach the darkreality of the horrors of the period.

The description given by the author of the SaxonChronicle of the cruelties exercised in the reign ofKing Stephen by the great barons and lords of castles,who were all Normans, affords a strong proofof the excesses of which they were capable whentheir passions were inflamed. ``They grievouslyoppressed the poor people by building castles; andwhen they were built, they filled them with wickedmen, or rather devils, who seized both men andwomen who they imagined had any money, threw

them into prison, and put them to more cruel torturesthan the martyrs ever endured. They suffocatedsome in mud, and suspended others by thefeet, or the head, or the thumbs, kindling fires belowthem. They squeezed the heads of some withknotted cords till they pierced their brains, whilethey threw others into dungeons swarming withserpents, snakes, and toads.'' But it would be cruelto put the reader to the pain of perusing the remainderof this description.*

* Henry's Hist. edit. 1805, vol. vii. p. .146.

As another instance of these bitter fruits of conquest,and perhaps the strongest that can be quoted,we may mention, that the Princess Matilda, thougha daughter of the King of Scotland, and afterwardsboth Queen of England, niece to Edgar Atheling,and mother to the Empress of Germany, the daughter,the wife, and the mother of monarchs, was obliged,during her early residence for education in England,to assume the veil of a nun, as the only meansof escaping the licentious pursuit of the Normannobles. This excuse she stated before a great councilof the clergy of England, as the sole reason for herhaving taken the religious habit. The assembledclergy admitted the validity of the plea, and the notorietyof the circumstances upon which it was founded;giving thus an indubitable and most remarkabletestimony to the existence of that disgraceful licenseby which that age was stained. It was a matter ofpublic knowledge, they said, that after the conquestof King William, his Norman followers, elated byso great a victory, acknowledged no law but theirown wicked pleasure, and not only despoiled theconquered Saxons of their lands and their goods,but invaded the honour of their wives and of theirdaughters with the most unbridled license; andhence it was then common for matrons and maidensof noble families to assume the veil, and take shelterin convents, not as called thither by the vocation ofGod, but solely to preserve their honour from theunbridled wickedness of man.

Such and so licentious were the times, as announced

by the public declaration of the assembledclergy, recorded by Eadmer; and we need add nothingmore to vindicate the probability of the sceneswhich we have detailed, and are about to detail,upon the more apocryphal authority of the Wardour MS.

CHAPTER XXIV

I'll woo her as the lion woos his bride. _Douglas._

While the scenes we have described were passingin other parts of the castle, the Jewess Rebeccaawaited her fate in a distant and sequestered turret.Hither she had been led by two of her disguisedravishers, and on being thrust into the littlecell, she found herself in the presence of an oldsibyl, who kept murmuring to herself a Saxonrhyme, as if to beat time to the revolving dancewhich her spindle was performing upon the floor.The hag raised her head as Rebecca entered, andscowled at the fair Jewess with the malignantenvy with which old age and ugliness, when unitedwith evil conditions, are apt to look upon youthand beauty.

``Thou must up and away, old house-cricket,''said one of the men; ``our noble master commandsit---Thou must e'en leave this chamber to a fairerguest.''

``Ay,'' grumbled the hag, ``even thus is servicerequited. I have known when my bare wordwould have cast the best man-at-arms among yeout of saddle and out of service; and now must Iup and away at the command of every groom suchas thou.''

``Good Dame Urfried,'' said the other man,``stand not to reason on it, but up and away.Lords' hests must be listened to with a quick ear.Thou hast had thy day, old dame, but thy sun has

long been set. Thou art now the very emblem ofan old war-horse turned out on the barren heath---thou hast had thy paces in thy time, but now abroken amble is the best of them---Come, amble offwith thee.''

``Ill omens dog ye both!'' said the old woman;``and a kennel be your burying-place! May theevil demon Zernebock tear me limb from limb, if Ileave my own cell ere I have spun out the hempon my distaff!''

``Answer it to our lord, then, old housefiend,''said the man, and retired; leaving Rebecca in companywith the old woman, upon whose presenceshe had been thus unwillingly forced.

``What devil's deed have they now in the wind?''said the old hag, murmuring to herself, yet fromtime to time casting a sidelong and malignantglance at Rebecca; ``but it is easy to guess---Bright eyes, black locks, and a skin like paper, erethe priest stains it with his black unguent---Ay, itis easy to guess why they send her to this loneturret, whence a shriek could no more be heardthan at the depth of five hundred fathoms beneaththe earth.---Thou wilt have owls for thy neighbours,fair one; and their screams will be heard as far,and as much regarded, as thine own. Outlandish,too,'' she said, marking the dress and turban ofRebecca---``What country art thou of?---a Saracen?or an Egyptian?---Why dost not answer?---thou canst weep, canst thou not speak?''

``Be not angry, good mother,'' said Rebecca.

``Thou needst say no more,'' replied Urfried``men know a fox by the train, and a Jewess byher tongue.''

``For the sake of mercy,'' said Rebecca, ``tellme what I am to expect as the conclusion of theviolence which hath dragged me hither! Is it mylife they seek, to atone for my religion? I will layit down cheerfully.''

``Thy life, minion?'' answered the sibyl; ``whatwould taking thy life pleasure them?---Trust me,thy life is in no peril. Such usage shalt thou haveas was once thought good enough for a noble Saxonmaiden. And shall a Jewess, like thee, repine becauseshe hath no better? Look at me---I was asyoung and twice as fair as thou, when Front-de-B<oe>uf,father of this Reginald, and his Normans,stormed this castle. My father and his seven sonsdefended their inheritance from story to story, fromchamber to chamber---There was not a room, nota step of the stair, that was not slippery with theirblood. They died---they died every man; and eretheir bodies were cold, and ere their blood wasdried, I had become the prey and the scorn of theconqueror!''

``Is there no help?---Are there no means ofescape?'' said Rebecca---``Richly, richly would Irequite thine aid.''

``Think not of it,'' said the hag; ``from hencethere is no escape but through the gates of death;and it is late, late,'' she added, shaking her greyhead, ``ere these open to us---Yet it is comfort tothink that we leave behind us on earth those whoshall be wretched as ourselves. Fare thee well,Jewess!---Jew or Gentile, thy fate would be thesame; for thou hast to do with them that haveneither scruple nor pity. Fare thee well, I say.My thread is spun out---thy task is yet to begin.''

``Stay! stay! for Heaven's sake!'' said Rebecca;``stay, though it be to curse and to revile me---thy presence is yet some protection.''

``The presence of the mother of God were noprotection,'' answered the old woman. ``Thereshe stands,'' pointing to a rude image of the VirginMary, ``see if she can avert the fate that awaitsthee.''

She left the room as she spoke, her featureswrithed into a sort of sneering laugh, which made

them seem even more hideous than their habitualfrown. She locked the door behind her, and Rebeccamight hear her curse every step for its steepness,as slowly and with difficulty she descendedthe turret-stair.

Rebecca was now to expect a fate even moredreadful than that of Rowena; for what probabilitywas there that either softness or ceremonywould be used towards one of her oppressed race,whatever shadow of these might be preserved towardsa Saxon heiress? Yet had the Jewess thisadvantage, that she was better prepared by habitsof thought, and by natural strength of mind, toencounter the dangers to which she was exposed.Of a strong and observing character, even from herearliest years, the pomp and wealth which her fatherdisplayed within his walls, or which she witnessed inthe houses of other wealthy Hebrews, had not beenable to blind her to the precarious circumstances underwhich they were enjoyed. Like Damocles athis celebrated banquet, Rebecca perpetually beheld,amid that gorgeous display, the sword which wassuspended over the heads of her people by a singlehair. These reflections had tamed and brought downto a pitch of sounder judgment a temper, which, underother circumstances, might have waxed haughty,supercilious, and obstinate.

From her father's example and injunctions, Rebeccahad learnt to bear herself courteously towardsall who approached her. She could not indeedimitate his excess of subservience, because she wasa stranger to the meanness of mind, and to the constantstate of timid apprehension, by which it wasdictated; but she bore herself with a proud humility,as if submitting to the evil circumstances inwhich she was placed as the daughter of a despisedrace, while she felt in her mind the consciousnessthat she was entitled to hold a higher rank fromher merit, than the arbitrary despotism of religiousprejudice permitted her to aspire to.

Thus prepared to expect adverse circumstances,she had acquired the firmness necessary for acting

under them. Her present situation required allher presence of mind, and she summoned it upaccordingly.

Her first care was to inspect the apartment; butit afforded few hopes either of escape or protection.It contained neither secret passage nor trap-door,and unless where the door by which she had enteredjoined the main building, seemed to be circumscribedby the round exterior wall of the turret.The door had no inside bolt or bar. The singlewindow opened upon an embattled space surmountingthe turret, which gave Rebecca, at first sight,some hopes of escaping; but she soon found it hadno communication with any other part of the battlements,being an isolated bartisan, or balcony, secured,as usual, by a parapet, with embrasures, atwhich a few archers might be stationed for defendingthe turret, and flanking with their shot the wallof the castle on that side.

There was therefore no hope but in passive fortitude,and in that strong reliance on Heaven naturalto great and generous characters. Rebecca,however erroneously taught to interpret the promisesof Scripture to the chosen people of Heaven,did not err in supposing the present to be theirhour of trial, or in trusting that the children ofZion would be one day called in with the fulnessof the Gentiles. In the meanwhile, all around hershowed that their present state was that of punishmentand probation, and that it was their especialduty to suffer without sinning. Thus prepared toconsider herself as the victim of misfortune, Rebeccahad early reflected upon her own state, andschooled her mind to meet the dangers which shehad probably to encounter.

The prisoner trembled, however, and changedcolour, when a step was heard on the stair, and thedoor of the turret-chamber slowly opened, and atall man, dressed as one of those banditti to whomthey owed their misfortune, slowly entered, andshut the door behind him; his cap, pulled downupon his brows, concealed the upper part of his

face, and he held his mantle in such a manner as tomuffle the rest. In this guise, as if prepared forthe execution of some deed, at the thought of whichhe was himself ashamed, he stood before the affrightedprisoner; yet, ruffian as his dress bespoke him,he seemed at a loss to express what purpose hadbrought him thither, so that Rebecca, making aneffort upon herself, had time to anticipate his explanation.She had already unclasped two costlybracelets and a collar, which she hastened to profferto the supposed outlaw, concluding naturallythat to gratify his avarice was to bespeak his favour.

``Take these,'' she said, ``good friend, and forGod's sake be merciful to me and my aged father!These ornaments are of value, yet are they triflingto what he would bestow to obtain our dismissalfrom this castle, free and uninjured.''

``Fair flower of Palestine,'' replied the outlaw,``these pearls are orient, but they yield in whitenessto your teeth; the diamonds are brilliant, butthey cannot match your eyes; and ever since I havetaken up this wild trade, I have made a vow to preferbeauty to wealth.''

``Do not do yourself such wrong,'' said Rebecca;``take ransom, and have mercy!---Gold willpurchase you pleasure,---to misuse us, could onlybring thee remorse. My father will willingly satiatethy utmost wishes; and if thou wilt act wisely,thou mayst purchase with our spoils thy restorationto civil society---mayst obtain pardon forpast errors, and be placed beyond the necessity ofcommitting more.''

``It is well spoken,'' replied the outlaw in French,finding it difficult probably to sustain, in Saxon, aconversation which Rebecca had opened in thatlanguage; ``but know, bright lily of the vale ofBaca! that thy father is already in the hands ofa powerful alchemist, who knows how to convertinto gold and silver even the rusty bars of a dungeongrate. The venerable Isaac is subjected to analembic, which will distil from him all he holds

dear, without any assistance from my requests orthy entreaty. The ransom must be paid by loveand beauty, and in no other coin will I accept it.''

``Thou art no outlaw,'' said Rebecca, in thesame language in which he addressed her; ``nooutlaw had refused such offers. No outlaw in thisland uses the dialect in which thou hast spoken.Thou art no outlaw, but a Norman---a Norman,noble perhaps in birth---O, be so in thy actions,and cast off this fearful mask of outrage and violence!''

``And thou, who canst guess so truly,'' said Briande Bois-Guilbert, dropping the mantle from hisface, ``art no true daughter of Israel, but in all,save youth and beauty, a very witch of Endor. Iam not an outlaw, then, fair rose of Sharon. AndI am one who will be more prompt to hang thyneck and arms with pearls and diamonds, which sowell become them, than to deprive thee of theseornaments.''

``What wouldst thou have of me,'' said Rebecca,``if not my wealth?---We can have nought incommon between us---you are a Christian---I ama Jewess.---Our union were contrary to the laws,alike of the church and the synagogue.''

``It were so, indeed,'' replied the Templar, laughing;``wed with a Jewess? _Despardieux!_---Notif she were the Queen of Sheba! And know, besides,sweet daughter of Zion, that were the mostChristian king to offer me his most Christiandaughter, with Languedoc for a dowery, I could notwed her. It is against my vow to love any maiden,otherwise than _par amours_, as I will love thee. Iam a Templar. Behold the cross of my Holy Order.''

``Darest thou appeal to it,'' said Rebecca, ``onan occasion like the present?''

``And if I do so,'' said the Templar, ``it concernsnot thee, who art no believer in the blessedsign of our salvation.''

``I believe as my fathers taught,'' said Rebecca;``and may God forgive my belief if erroneous! Butyou, Sir Knight, what is yours, when you appealwithout scruple to that which you deem most holy,even while you are about to transgress the mostsolemn of your vows as a knight, and as a man ofreligion?''

``It is gravely and well preached, O daughterof Sirach!'' answered the Templar; ``but, gentleEcclesiastics, thy narrow Jewish prejudices makethee blind to our high privilege. Marriage werean enduring crime on the part of a Templar; butwhat lesser folly I may practise, I shall speedily beabsolved from at the next Perceptory of our Order.Not the wisest of monarchs, not his father, whoseexamples you must needs allow are weighty, claimedwider privileges than we poor soldiers of theTemple of Zion have won by our zeal in its defence.The protectors of Solomon's Temple may claimlicense by the example of Solomon.''

``If thou readest the Scripture,'' said the Jewess,``and the lives of the saints, only to justify thineown license and profligacy, thy crime is like thatof him who extracts poison from the most healthfuland necessary herbs.''

The eyes of the Templar flashed fire at this reproof---``Hearken,'' he said, ``Rebecca; I havehitherto spoken mildly to thee, but now my languageshall be that of a conqueror. Thou art thecaptive of my bow and spear---subject to my willby the laws of all nations; nor will I abate an inchof my right, or abstain from taking by violencewhat thou refusest to entreaty or necessity.''

``Stand back,'' said Rebecca---``stand back, andhear me ere thou offerest to commit a sin so deadly!My strength thou mayst indeed overpower forGod made women weak, and trusted their defenceto man's generosity. But I will proclaim thy villainy,Templar, from one end of Europe to theother. I will owe to the superstition of thy brethrenwhat their compassion might refuse me,

Each Preceptory---each Chapter of thy Order, shalllearn, that, like a heretic, thou hast sinned with aJewess. Those who tremble not at thy crime, willhold thee accursed for having so far dishonouredthe cross thou wearest, as to follow a daughter ofmy people.''

``Thou art keen-witted, Jewess,'' replied theTemplar, well aware of the truth of what she spoke,and that the rules of his Order condemned in themost positive manner, and under high penalties,such intrigues as he now prosecuted, and that, insome instances, even degradation had followed uponit---``thou art sharp-witted,'' he said; ``but loudmust be thy voice of complaint, if it is heard beyondthe iron walls of this castle; within these,murmurs, laments, appeals to justice, and screamsfor help, die alike silent away. One thing only cansave thee, Rebecca. Submit to thy fate---embraceour religion, and thou shalt go forth in such state,that many a Norman lady shall yield as well inpomp as in beauty to the favourite of the best lanceamong the defenders of the Temple.''``Submit to my fate!'' said Rebecca---``and,sacred Heaven! to what fate?---embrace thy religion!and what religion can it be that harbourssuch a villain?---_thou_ the best lance of the Templars!---Craven knight!---forsworn priest! I spitat thee, and I defy thee.---The God of Abraham'spromise hath opened an escape to his daughter---even from this abyss of infamy!''

As she spoke, she threw open the latticed windowwhich led to the bartisan, and in an instantafter, stood on the very verge of the parapet, withnot the slightest screen between her and the tremendousdepth below. Unprepared for such a desperateeffort, for she had hitherto stood perfectlymotionless, Bois-Guilbert had neither time to interceptnor to stop her. As he offered to advance,she exclaimed, ``Remain where thou art, proudTemplar, or at thy choice advance!---one foot nearer,and I plunge myself from the precipice; mybody shall be crushed out of the very form of humanityupon the stones of that court-yard, ere it

become the victim of thy brutality!''

As she spoke this, she clasped her hands andextended them towards heaven, as if imploringmercy on her soul before she made the final plunge.The Templar hesitated, and a resolution which hadnever yielded to pity or distress, gave way to hisadmiration of her fortitude. ``Come down,'' hesaid, ``rash girl!---I swear by earth, and sea, andsky, I will offer thee no offence.''

``I will not trust thee, Templar,'' said Rebecca;thou hast taught me better how to estimate thevirtues of thine Order. The next Preceptory wouldgrant thee absolution for an oath, the keeping ofwhich concerned nought but the honour or the dishonourof a miserable Jewish maiden.''

``You do me injustice,'' exclaimed the Templarfervently; ``I swear to you by the name which Ibear---by the cross on my bosom---by the sword onmy side---by the ancient crest of my fathers do Iswear, I will do thee no injury whatsoever! If notfor thyself, yet for thy father's sake forbear! Iwill be his friend, and in this castle he will need apowerful one.''

``Alas!'' said Rebecca, ``I know it but too well---dare I trust thee?''

``May my arms be reversed, and my name dishonoured,''said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, ``if thoushalt have reason to complain of me! Many a law,many a commandment have I broken, but my wordnever.''

``I will then trust thee,'' said Rebecca, ``thusfar;'' and she descended from the verge of the battlement,but remained standing close by one of theembrasures, or _machicolles_, as they were then called.---``Here,'' she said, ``I take my stand. Remainwhere thou art, and if thou shalt attempt todiminish by one step the distance now between us,thou shalt see that the Jewish maiden will rathertrust her soul with God, than her honour to the

Templar!''

While Rebecca spoke thus, her high and firmresolve, which corresponded so well with the expressivebeauty of her countenance, gave to herlooks, air, and manner, a dignity that seemed morethan mortal. Her glance quailed not, her cheekblanched not, for the fear of a fate so instant andso horrible; on the contrary, the thought that shehad her fate at her command, and could escape atwill from infamy to death, gave a yet deeper colourof carnation to her complexion, and a yet morebrilliant fire to her eye. Bois-Guilbert, proud himselfand high-spirited, thought he had never beheldbeauty so animated and so commanding.

``Let there be peace between us, Rebecca,'' hesaid.

``Peace, if thou wilt,'' answered Rebecca---``Peace---but with this space between.''

``Thou needst no longer fear me,'' said Bois-Guilbert.

``I fear thee not,'' replied she; ``thanks to himthat reared this dizzy tower so high, that noughtcould fall from it and live---thanks to him, and tothe God of Israel!---I fear thee not.''

``Thou dost me injustice,'' said the Templar;``by earth, sea, and sky, thou dost me injustice! Iam not naturally that which you have seen me, hard,selfish, and relentless. It was woman that taughtme cruelty, and on woman therefore I have exercisedit; but not upon such as thou. Hear me,Rebecca---Never did knight take lance in his handwith a heart more devoted to the lady of his lovethan Brian de Bois-Guilbert. She, the daughter ofa petty baron, who boasted for all his domains buta ruinous tower, and an unproductive vineyard, andsome few leagues of the barren Landes of Bourdeaux,her name was known wherever deeds ofarms were done, known wider than that of many alady's that had a county for a dowery.---Yes,'' hecontinued, pacing up and down the little platform,

with an animation in which he seemed to lose allconsciousness of Rebecca's presence---``Yes, mydeeds, my danger, my blood, made the name of Adelaidede Montemare known from the court of Castileto that of Byzantium. And how was I requited?---When I returned with my dear-bought honours,purchased by toil and blood, I found her weddedto a Gascon squire, whose name was never heardbeyond the limits of his own paltry domain! Trulydid I love her, and bitterly did I revenge me of herbroken faith! But my vengeance has recoiled onmyself. Since that day I have separated myselffrom life and its ties---My manhood must know nodomestic home---must be soothed by no affectionatewife---My age must know no kindly hearth---My grave must be solitary, and no offspring mustoutlive me, to bear the ancient name of Bois-Guilbert.At the feet of my Superior I have laid downthe right of self-action---the privilege of independence.The Templar, a serf in all but the name,can possess neither lands nor goods, and lives,moves, and breathes, but at the will and pleasureof another.''

``Alas!'' said Rebecca, ``what advantages couldcompensate for such an absolute sacrifice?''

``The power of vengeance, Rebecca,'' replied theTemplar, ``and the prospects of ambition.''

``An evil recompense,'' said Rebecca, ``for thesurrender of the rights which are dearest to humanity.''

``Say not so, maiden,'' answered the Templar;``revenge is a feast for the gods! And if they havereserved it, as priests tell us, to themselves, it is becausethey hold it an enjoyment too precious for thepossession of mere mortals.---And ambition? it isa temptation which could disturb even the bliss ofheaven itself.''---He paused a moment, and thenadded, ``Rebecca! she who could prefer death todishonour, must have a proud and a powerful soul.Mine thou must be!---Nay, start not,'' he added,``it must be with thine own consent, and on thineown terms. Thou must consent to share with me

hopes more extended than can be viewed from thethrone of a monarch!---Hear me ere you answer andjudge ere you refuse.---The Templar loses, as thouhast said, his social rights, his power of free agency,but he becomes a member and a limb of a mightybody, before which thrones already tremble,---evenas the single drop of rain which mixes with the seabecomes an individual part of that resistless ocean,which undermines rocks and ingulfs royal armadas.Such a swelling flood is that powerful league.Of this mighty Order I am no mean member, butalready one of the Chief Commanders, and maywell aspire one day to hold the batoon of GrandMaster. The poor soldiers of the Temple will notalone place their foot upon the necks of kings---ahemp-sandall'd monk can do that. Our mailedstep shall ascend their throne---our gauntlet shallwrench the sceptre from their gripe. Not the reignof your vainly-expected Messiah offers such powerto your dispersed tribes as my ambition may aimat. I have sought but a kindred spirit to share it,and I have found such in thee.''

``Sayest thou this to one of my people?'' answeredRebecca. ``Bethink thee---''

``Answer me not,'' said the Templar, ``by urgingthe difference of our creeds; within our secretconclaves we hold these nursery tales in derision.Think not we long remained blind to the idioticalfolly of our founders, who forswore every delightof life for the pleasure of dying martyrs by hunger,by thirst, and by pestilence, and by the swords ofsavages, while they vainly strove to defend a barrendesert, valuable only in the eyes of superstition.Our Order soon adopted bolder and wider views,and found out a better indemnification for our sacrifices.Our immense possessions in every kingdomof Europe, our high military fame, whichbrings within our circle the flower of chivalry fromevery Christian clime---these are dedicated to endsof which our pious founders little dreamed, andwhich are equally concealed from such weak spiritsas embrace our Order on the ancient principles, andwhose superstition makes them our passive tools.

But I will not further withdraw the veil of ourmysteries. That bugle-sound announces somethingwhich may require my presence. Think on what Ihave said.---Farewell!---I do not say forgive methe violence I have threatened, for it was necessaryto the display of thy character. Gold can be onlyknown by the application of the touchstone. Iwill soon return, and hold further conference withthee.''

He re-entered the turret-chamber, and descendedthe stair, leaving Rebecca scarcely more terrifiedat the prospect of the death to which she had beenso lately exposed, than at the furious ambition ofthe bold bad man in whose power she found herselfso unhappily placed. When she entered theturret-chamber, her first duty was to return thanksto the God of Jacob for the protection which he hadafforded her, and to implore its continuance for herand for her father. Another name glided into herpetition---it was that of the wounded Christian,whom fate had placed in the hands of bloodthirstymen, his avowed enemies. Her heart indeed checkedher, as if, even in communing with the Deityin prayer, she mingled in her devotions the recollectionof one with whose fate hers could have noalliance---a Nazarene, and an enemy to her faith.But the petition was already breathed, nor couldall the narrow prejudices of her sect induce Rebeccato wish it recalled.

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CHAPTER XXV

A damn'd cramp piece of penmanship as ever I saw in my life! _She Stoops to Conquer_.

When the Templar reached the hall of the castle,he found De Bracy already there. ``Your love-suit,''said De Bracy, ``hath, I suppose, been disturbed,

like mine, by this obstreperous summons.But you have come later and more reluctantly,and therefore I presume your interview has provedmore agreeable than mine.''

``Has your suit, then, been unsuccessfully paidto the Saxon heiress?'' said the Templar.

``By the bones of Thomas a Becket,'' answeredDe Bracy, ``the Lady Rowena must have heardthat I cannot endure the sight of women's tears.''

``Away!'' said the Templar; ``thou a leader ofa Free Company, and regard a woman's tears! Afew drops sprinkled on the torch of love, make theflame blaze the brighter.''

``Gramercy for the few drops of thy sprinkling,''replied De Bracy; ``but this damsel hath weptenough to extinguish a beacon-light. Never wassuch wringing of hands and such overflowing ofeyes, since the days of St Niobe, of whom PriorAymer told us.* A water-fiend hath possessed the

* I wish the Prior had also informed them when Niobe was* sainted. Probably during that enlightened period when** ``Pan to Moses lent his pagan horn.''* L. T.

fair Saxon.''``A legion of fiends have occupied the bosom ofthe Jewess,'' replied the Templar; ``for, I thinkno single one, not even Apollyon himself, couldhave inspired such indomitable pride and resolution.---But where is Front-de-B<oe>uf? That hornis sounded more and more clamorously.''

``He is negotiating with the Jew, I suppose,''replied De Bracy, coolly; ``probably the howls ofIsaac have drowned the blast of the bugle. Thoumayst know, by experience, Sir Brian, that a Jewparting with his treasures on such terms as ourfriend Front-de-B<oe>uf is like to offer, will raise aclamour loud enough to be heard over twenty horns

and trumpets to boot. But we will make the vassalscall him.''

They were soon after joined by Front-de-B<oe>uf,who had been disturbed in his tyrannic cruelty inthe manner with which the reader is acquainted,and had only tarried to give some necessary directions.

``Let us see the cause of this cursed clamour,''said Front-de-B<oe>uf---``here is a letter, and, if Imistake not, it is in Saxon.''

He looked at it, turning it round and round asif he had had really some hopes of coming at themeaning by inverting the position of the paper, andthen handed it to De Bracy.

``It may be magic spells for aught I know,'' saidDe Bracy, who possessed his full proportion of theignorance which characterised the chivalry of theperiod. ``Our chaplain attempted to teach me towrite,'' he said, ``but all my letters were formedlike spear-heads and sword-blades, and so the oldshaveling gave up the task.''

``Give it me,'' said the Templar. ``We havethat of the priestly character, that we have someknowledge to enlighten our valour.''

``Let us profit by your most reverend knowledge,then,'' said De Bracy; ``what says the scroll?''

``It is a formal letter of defiance,'' answered theTemplar; ``but, by our Lady of Bethlehem, if itbe not a foolish jest, it is the most extraordinarycartel that ever was sent across the drawbridge ofa baronial castle.''

``Jest!'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf, ``I would gladlyknow who dares jest with me in such a matter!---Read it, Sir Brian.''The Templar accordingly read it as follows:---

``I, Wamba, the son of Witless, Jester to a nobleand free-born man, Cedric of Rotherwood, called

the Saxon,---And I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph,the swineherd------''

``Thou art mad,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf, interruptingthe reader.

``By St Luke, it is so set down,'' answered theTemplar. Then resuming his task, he went on,---``I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph, swineherd untothe said Cedric, with the assistance of our allies andconfederates, who make common cause with us inthis our feud, namely, the good knight, called forthe present _Le Noir Faineant_, and the stout yeoman,Robert Locksley, called Cleave-the-wand, Doyou, Reginald Front de-B<oe>uf, and your allies andaccomplices whomsoever, to wit, that whereas youhave, without cause given or feud declared, wrongfullyand by mastery seized upon the person of ourlord and master the said Cedric; also upon the personof a noble and freeborn damsel, the Lady Rowenaof Hargottstandstede; also upon the person ofa noble and freeborn man, Athelstane of Coningsburgh;also upon the persons of certain freebornmen, their _cnichts_; also upon certain serfs, theirborn bondsmen; also upon a certain Jew, namedIsaac of York, together with his daughter, a Jewess,and certain horses and mules: Which noble persons,with their _cnichts_ and slaves, and also withthe horses and mules, Jew and Jewess beforesaid,were all in peace with his majesty, and travellingas liege subjects upon the king's highway; thereforewe require and demand that the said noblepersons, namely, Cedric of Rotherwood, Rowena ofHargottstandstede, Athelstane of Coningsburgh,with their servants, _cnichts_, and followers, also thehorses and mules, Jew and Jewess aforesaid, togetherwith all goods and chattels to them pertaining,be, within an hour after the delivery hereof, deliveredto us, or to those whom we shall appointto receive the same, and that untouched and unharmedin body and goods. Failing of which, wedo pronounce to you, that we hold ye as robbersand traitors, and will wager our bodies against yein battle, siege, or otherwise, and do our utmost toyour annoyance and destruction. Wherefore may

God have you in his keeping.---Signed by us uponthe eve of St Withold's day, under the great trystingoak in the Hart-hill Walk, the above beingwritten by a holy man, Clerk to God, our Lady,and St Dunstan, in the Chapel of Copmanhurst.''

At the bottom of this document was scrawled,in the first place, a rude sketch of a cock's headand comb, with a legend expressing this hieroglyphicto be the sign-manual of Wamba, son of Witless.Under this respectable emblem stood a cross,stated to be the mark of Gurth, the son of Beowulph.Then was written, in rough bold characters, thewords, _Le Noir Faineant_. And, to conclude thewhole, an arrow, neatly enough drawn, was describedas the mark of the yeoman Locksley.

The knights heard this uncommon documentread from end to end, and then gazed upon eachother in silent amazement, as being utterly at aloss to know what it could portend. De Bracy wasthe first to break silence by an uncontrollable fitof laughter, wherein he was joined, though withmore moderation, by the Templar. Front-de-B<oe>uf,on the contrary, seemed impatient of their ill-timedjocularity.

``I give you plain warning,'' he said, ``fair sirs,that you had better consult how to bear yourselvesunder these circumstances, than give way to suchmisplaced merriment.''

``Front-de-B<oe>uf has not recovered his tempersince his late overthrow,'' said De Bracy to theTemplar; ``he is cowed at the very idea of a cartel,though it come but from a fool and a swineherd.''

``By St Michael,'' answered Front-de-B<oe>uf, ``Iwould thou couldst stand the whole brunt of thisadventure thyself, De Bracy. These fellows darednot have acted with such inconceivable impudence,had they not been supported by some strong bands.There are enough of outlaws in this forest to resentmy protecting the deer. I did but tie onefellow, who was taken redhanded and in the fact,

to the horns of a wild stag, which gored him todeath in five minutes, and I had as many arrowsshot at me as there were launched against yondertarget at Ashby.---Here, fellow,'' he added, to oneof his attendants, ``hast thou sent out to see bywhat force this precious challenge is to be supported?''

``There are at least two hundred men assembledin the woods,'' answered a squire who was inattendance.

``Here is a proper matter!'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf,``this comes of lending you the use of my castle,that cannot manage your undertaking quietly, butyou must bring this nest of hornets about my ears!''

``Of hornets?'' said De Bracy; ``of stinglessdrones rather; a band of lazy knaves, who take tothe wood, and destroy the venison rather than labourfor their maintenance.''

``Stingless!'' replied Front-de-B<oe>uf; ``fork-headedshafts of a cloth-yard in length, and theseshot within the breadth of a French crown, aresting enough.''

``For shame, Sir Knight!'' said the Templar.``Let us summon our people, and sally forth uponthem. One knight---ay, one man-at-arms, wereenough for twenty such peasants.''

``Enough, and too much,'' said De Bracy; ``Ishould only be ashamed to couch lance againstthem.''

``True,'' answered Front-de-B<oe>uf; ``were theyblack Turks or Moors, Sir Templar, or the cravenpeasants of France, most valiant De Bracy; butthese are English yeomen, over whom we shallhave no advantage, save what we may derive fromour arms and horses, which will avail us little inthe glades of the forest. Sally, saidst thou? wehave scarce men enough to defend the castle. Thebest of mine are at York; so is all your band, DeBracy; and we have scarcely twenty, besides the

handful that were engaged in this mad business.''

``Thou dost not fear,'' said the Templar, ``thatthey can assemble in force sufficient to attempt thecastle?''

``Not so, Sir Brian,'' answered Front-de-B<oe>uf.``These outlaws have indeed a daring captain; butwithout machines, scaling ladders, and experiencedleaders, my castle may defy them.''

``Send to thy neighbours,'' said the Templar,``let them assemble their people, and come to therescue of three knights, besieged by a jester and aswineherd in the baronial castle of Reginald Front-de-B<oe>uf!''

``You jest, Sir Knight,'' answered the baron;``but to whom should I send?---Malvoisin is bythis time at York with his retainers, and so aremy other allies; and so should I have been, but forthis infernal enterprise.''

``Then send to York, and recall our people,''said De Bracy. ``If they abide the shaking of mystandard, or the sight of my Free Companions, Iwill give them credit for the boldest outlaws everbent bow in green-wood.''

``And who shall bear such a message?'' saidFront-de-B<oe>uf; ``they will beset every path, andrip the errand out of his bosom.---I have it,'' headded, after pausing for a moment---``Sir Templar,thou canst write as well as read, and if we can butfind the writing materials of my chaplain, who dieda twelvemonth since in the midst of his Christmascarousals---''

``So please ye,'' said the squire, who was still inattendance, ``I think old Urfried has them somewherein keeping, for love of the confessor. Hewas the last man, I have heard her tell, who eversaid aught to her, which man ought in courtesy toaddress to maid or matron.''

``Go, search them out, Engelred,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf;

``and then, Sir Templar, thou shalt returnan answer to this bold challenge.''

``I would rather do it at the sword's point thanat that of the pen,'' said Bois-Guilbert; ``but beit as you will.''

He sat down accordingly, and indited, in theFrench language, an epistle of the following tenor:---

``Sir Reginald Front-de-B<oe>uf, with his nobleand knightly allies and confederates, receive nodefiances at the bands of slaves, bondsmen, or fugitives.If the person calling himself the BlackKnight have indeed a claim to the honours of chivalry,he ought to know that he stands degradedby his present association, and has no right to askreckoning at the hands of good men of noble blood.Touching the prisoners we have made, we do inChristian charity require you to send a man ofreligion, to receive their confession, and reconcilethem with God; since it is our fixed intention toexecute them this morning before noon, so thattheir heads being placed on the battlements, shallshow to all men how lightly we esteem those whohave bestirred themselves in their rescue. Wherefore,as above, we require you to send a priest toreconcile them to God, in doing which you shallrender them the last earthly service.''

This letter being folded, was delivered to thesquire, and by him to the messenger who waitedwithout, as the answer to that which be hadbrought.

The yeoman having thus accomplished his mission,returned to the head-quarters of the allies,which were for the present established under a venerableoak-tree, about three arrow-flights distantfrom the castle. Here Wamba and Gurth, withtheir allies the Black Knight and Locksley, andthe jovial hermit, awaited with impatience an answerto their summons. Around, and at a distancefrom them, were seen many a bold yeoman, whosesilvan dress and weatherbeaten countenances showed

the ordinary nature of their occupation. Morethan two hundred had already assembled, and otherswere fast coming in. Those whom they obeyed asleaders were only distinguished from the others bya feather in the cap, their dress, arms, and equipmentsbeing in all other respects the same.

Besides these bands, a less orderly and a worsearmed force, consisting of the Saxon inhabitants ofthe neighbouring township, as well as many bondsmenand servants from Cedric's extensive estate,had already arrived, for the purpose of assisting inhis rescue. Few of these were armed otherwisethan with such rustic weapons as necessity sometimesconverts to military purposes. Boar-spears,scythes, flails, and the like, were their chief arms;for the Normans, with the usual policy of conquerors,were jealous of permitting to the vanquishedSaxons the possession or the use of swords andspears. These circumstances rendered the assistanceof the Saxons far from being so formidable tothe besieged, as the strength of the men themselves,their superior numbers, and the animation inspiredby a just cause, might otherwise well have madethem. It was to the leaders of this motley armythat the letter of the Templar was now delivered.

Reference was at first made to the chaplain foran exposition of its contents.

``By the crook of St Dunstan,'' said that worthyecclesiastic, ``which hath brought more sheep withinthe sheepfold than the crook of e'er another saintin Paradise, I swear that I cannot expound untoyou this jargon, which, whether it be French orArabic, is beyond my guess.''

He then gave the letter to Gurth, who shookhis head gruffly, and passed it to Wamba. TheJester looked at each of the four corners of thepaper with such a grin of affected intelligence asa monkey is apt to assume upon similar occasions,then cut a caper, and gave the letter to Locksley.

``If the long letters were bows, and the short

letters broad arrows, I might know something ofthe matter,'' said the brave yeoman; ``but as thematter stands, the meaning is as safe, for me, as thestag that's at twelve miles distance.''

``I must be clerk, then,'' said the Black Knight;and taking the letter from Locksley, he first readit over to himself, and then explained the meaningin Saxon to his confederates.

``Execute the noble Cedric!'' exclaimed Wamba;``by the rood, thou must be mistaken, SirKnight.''

``Not I, my worthy friend,'' replied the knight,``I have explained the words as they are here setdown.''

``Then, by St Thomas of Canterbury,'' repliedGurth, ``we will have the castle, should we tear itdown with our hands!''

``We have nothing else to tear it with,'' repliedWamba; ``but mine are scarce fit to make mammocksof freestone and mortar.''

``'Tis but a contrivance to gain time,'' saidLocksley; ``they dare not do a deed for which Icould exact a fearful penalty.''

``I would,'' said the Black Knight, ``there weresome one among us who could obtain admissioninto the castle, and discover how the case standswith the besieged. Methinks, as they require aconfessor to be sent, this holy hermit might at onceexercise his pious vocation, and procure us the informationwe desire.''

``A plague on thee, and thy advice!'' said thepious hermit; ``I tell thee, Sir Slothful Knight,that when I doff my friar's frock, my priesthood,my sanctity, my very Latin, are put off along withit; and when in my green jerkin, I can better killtwenty deer than confess one Christian.''

``I fear,'' said the Black Knight, ``I fear greatly,there is no one here that is qualified to takeupon him, for the nonce, this same character offather confessor?''

All looked on each other, and were silent.

``I see,'' said Wamba, after a short pause, ``thatthe fool must be still the fool, and put his neck inthe venture which wise men shrink from. Youmust know, my dear cousins and countrymen, thatI more russet before I wore motley, and was bredto be a friar, until a brain-fever came upon me andleft me just wit enough to be a fool. I trust, withthe assistance of the good hermit's frock, togetherwith the priesthood, sanctity, and learning whichare stitched into the cowl of it, I shall be foundqualified to administer both worldly and ghostlycomfort to our worthy master Cedric, and his companionsin adversity.''

``Hath he sense enough, thinkst thou?'' said theBlack Knight, addressing Gurth.

``I know not,'' said Gurth; ``but if he hath not,it will be the first time he hath wanted wit to turnhis folly to account.''

``On with the frock, then, good fellow,'' quoththe Knight, ``and let thy master send us an accountof their situation within the castle. Theirnumbers must be few, and it is five to one they maybe accessible by a sudden and bold attack. Timewears---away with thee.''

``And, in the meantime,'' said Locksley, ``wewill beset the place so closely, that not so much asa fly shall carry news from thence. So that, mygood friend,'' he continued, addressing Wamba,``thou mayst assure these tyrants, that whateverviolence they exercise on the persons of their prisoners,shall be most severely repaid upon their own.''

``_Pax vobiscum_,'' said Wamba, who was nowmuffled in his religious disguise.

And so saying he imitated the solemn and stately deportmentof a friar, and departed to execute his mission.

CHAPTER XXVI

The hottest horse will oft be cool,The dullest will show fire;The friar will often play the fool,The fool will play the friar. _Old Song_.

When the Jester, arrayed in the cowl and frockof the hermit, and having his knotted cord twistedround his middle, stood before the portal of thecastle of Front-de-B<oe>uf, the warder demanded ofhim his name and errand.

``_Pax vobiscum_,'' answered the Jester, ``I am apoor brother of the Order of St Francis, who comehither to do my office to certain unhappy prisonersnow secured within this castle.''``Thou art a bold friar,'' said the warder, ``tocome hither, where, saving our own drunken confessor,a cock of thy feather hath not crowed thesetwenty years.''

``Yet I pray thee, do mine errand to the lord ofthe castle,'' answered the pretended friar; ``trustme it will find good acceptance with him, and thecock shall crow, that the whole castle shall hearhim.''

``Gramercy,'' said the warder; ``but if I cometo shame for leaving my post upon thine errand, Iwill try whether a friar's grey gown be proof againsta grey-goose shaft.''

With this threat he left his turret, and carriedto the hall of the castle his unwonted intelligence,that a holy friar stood before the gate and demandedinstant admission. With no small wonder

he received his master's commands to admit the holyman immediately; and, having previously mannedthe entrance to guard against surprise, he obeyed,without further scruple, the commands which hehad received. The harebrained self-conceit whichhad emboldened Wamba to undertake this dangerousoffice, was scarce sufficient to support him whenhe found himself in the presence of a man so dreadful,and so much dreaded, as Reginald Front-de-B<oe>uf,and he brought out his _pax vobiscum_, to whichhe, in a good measure, trusted for supporting hischaracter, with more anxiety and hesitation thanhad hitherto accompanied it. But Front-de-B<oe>ufwas accustomed to see men of all ranks tremble inhis presence, so that the timidity of the supposedfather did not give him any cause of suspicion.

``Who and whence art thou, priest?'' said he.

``_Pax vobiscum_,'' reiterated the Jester, ``I am apoor servant of St Francis, who, travelling throughthis wilderness, have fallen among thieves, (as Scripturehath it,) _quidam viator incidit in latrones_, whichthieves have sent me unto this castle in order to domy ghostly office on two persons condemned byyour honourable justice.''

``Ay, right,'' answered Front-de-B<oe>uf; ``andcanst thou tell me, holy father, the number of thosebanditti?''

``Gallant sir,'' answered the Jester, ``_nomen illislegio_, their name is legion.''

``Tell me in plain terms what numbers there are,or, priest, thy cloak and cord will ill protect thee.''

``Alas!'' said the supposed friar, ``_cor meumeructavit_, that is to say, I was like to burst withfear! but I conceive they may be---what of yeomen---what of commons, at least five hundred men.''

``What!'' said the Templar, who came into thehall that moment, ``muster the wasps so thick here?it is time to stifle such a mischievous brood.'' Then

taking Front-de-B<oe>uf aside ``Knowest thou thepriest?''

``He is a stranger from a distant convent,'' I saidFront-de-B<oe>uf; ``I know him not.''

``Then trust him not with thy purpose in words,''answered the Templar. ``Let him carry a writtenorder to De Bracy's company of Free Companions, torepair instantly to their master's aid. In the meantime,and that the shaveling may suspect nothing,permit him to go freely about his task of preparingthese Saxon hogs for the slaughter-house.''

``It shall be so,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf. And heforthwith appointed a domestic to conduct Wambato the apartment where Cedric and Athelstane wereconfined.

The impatience of Cedric had been rather enhancedthan diminished by his confinement. Hewalked from one end of the hall to the other, withthe attitude of one who advances to charge an enemy,or to storm the breach of a beleaguered place,sometimes ejaculating to himself, sometimes addressingAthelstane, who stoutly and stoicallyawaited the issue of the adventure, digesting, inthe meantime, with great composure, the liberalmeal which he had made at noon, and not greatlyinteresting himself about the duration of his captivity,which he concluded, would, like all earthlyevils, find an end in Heaven's good time.

``_Pax vobiscum_,'' said the Jester, entering theapartment; ``the blessing of St Dunstan, St Dennis,St Duthoc, and all other saints whatsoever, beupon ye and about ye.''

``Enter freely,'' answered Cedric to the supposedfriar; ``with what intent art thou come hither?''

``To bid you prepare yourselves for death,'' answeredthe Jester.

``It is impossible!'' replied Cedric, starting.

``Fearless and wicked as they are, they dare notattempt such open and gratuitous cruelty!''

``Alas!'' said the Jester, ``to restrain them bytheir sense of humanity, is the same as to stop arunaway horse with a bridle of silk thread. Bethinkthee, therefore, noble Cedric, and you also,gallant Athelstane, what crimes you have committedin the flesh; for this very day will ye be calledto answer at a higher tribunal.''

``Hearest thou this, Athelstane?'' said Cedric;``we must rouse up our hearts to this last action,since better it is we should die like men, than livelike slaves.''

``I am ready,'' answered Athelstane, ``to standthe worst of their malice, and shall walk to my deathwith as much composure as ever I did to my dinner.''

``Let us then unto our holy gear, father,'' saidCedric.

``Wait yet a moment, good uncle,'' said theJester, in his natural tone; ``better look long beforeyou leap in the dark.''

``By my faith,'' said Cedric, ``I should knowthat voice!''

``It is that of your trusty slave and jester,'' answeredWamba, throwing back his cowl. ``Hadyou taken a fool's advice formerly, you would nothave been here at all. Take a fool's advice now,and you will not be here long.''

``How mean'st thou, knave?'' answered the Saxon.

``Even thus,'' replied Wamba; ``take thou thisfrock and cord, which are all the orders I ever had,and march quietly out of the castle, leaving meyour cloak and girdle to take the long leap in thystead.''

``Leave thee in my stead!'' said Cedric, astonished

at the proposal; ``why, they would hangthee, my poor knave.''

``E'en let them do as they are permitted,'' saidWamba; ``I trust---no disparagement to your birth---that the son of Witless may hang in a chain withas much gravity as the chain hung upon his ancestorthe alderman.''

``Well, Wamba,'' answered Cedric, ``for onething will I grant thy request. And that is, if thouwilt make the exchange of garments with LordAthelstane instead of me.''

``No, by St Dunstan,'' answered Wamba; ``therewere little reason in that. Good right there is, thatthe son of Witless should suffer to save the son ofHereward; but little wisdom there were in hisdying for the benefit of one whose fathers werestrangers to his.''

``Villain,'' said Cedric, ``the fathers of Athelstanewere monarchs of England!''

``They might be whomsoever they pleased,'' repliedWamba; ``but my neck stands too straightupon my shoulders to have it twisted for their sake.Wherefore, good my master, either take my profferyourself, or suffer me to leave this dungeon asfree as I entered.''

``Let the old tree wither,'' continued Cedric, ``sothe stately hope of the forest be preserved. Savethe noble Athelstane, my trusty Wamba! it is theduty of each who has Saxon blood in his veins.Thou and I will abide together the utmost rage ofour injurious oppressors, while he, free and safe,shall arouse the awakened spirits of our countrymento avenge us.''

``Not so, father Cedric,'' said Athelstane, graspinghis hand,---for, when roused to think or act, hisdeeds and sentiments were not unbecoming his highrace---``Not so,'' he continued; ``I would ratherremain in this hall a week without food save the

prisoner's stinted loaf, or drink save the prisoner'smeasure of water, than embrace the opportunity toescape which the slave's untaught kindness has purveyedfor his master.''

``You are called wise men, sirs,'' said the Jester,``and I a crazed fool; but, uncle Cedric, and cousinAthelstane, the fool shall decide this controversyfor ye, and save ye the trouble of straining courtesiesany farther. I am like John-a-Duck's mare,that will let no man mount her but John-a-Duck.I came to save my master, and if he will not consent---basta---I can but go away home again. Kindservice cannot be chucked from hand to hand likea shuttlecock or stool-ball. I'll hang for no manbut my own born master.''

``Go, then, noble Cedric,'' said Athelstane, ``neglectnot this opportunity. Your presence withoutmay encourage friends to our rescue---your remaininghere would ruin us all.''

``And is there any prospect, then, of rescue fromwithout?'' said Cedric, looking to the Jester.

``Prospect, indeed!'' echoed Wamba; ``let metell you, when you fill my cloak, you are wrappedin a general's cassock. Five hundred men are therewithout, and I was this morning one of the chiefleaders. My fool's cap was a casque, and my baublea truncheon. Well, we shall see what good theywill make by exchanging a fool for a wise man.Truly, I fear they will lose in valour what theymay gain in discretion. And so farewell, master,and be kind to poor Gurth and his dog Fangs; andlet my cockscomb hang in the hall at Rotherwood,in memory that I flung away my life for my master,like a faithful------fool.''

The last word came out with a sort of double expression,betwixt jest and earnest. The tears stoodin Cedric's eyes.

``Thy memory shall be preserved,'' he said,``while fidelity and affection have honour upon

earth! But that I trust I shall find the means ofsaving Rowena, and thee, Athelstane, and thee, also,my poor Wamba, thou shouldst not overbear mein this matter.''

The exchange of dress was now accomplished,when a sudden doubt struck Cedric.

``I know no language,'' he said, ``but my own,and a few words of their mincing Norman. Howshall I bear myself like a reverend brother?''

``The spell lies in two words,'' replied Wamba---``_Pax vobiscum_ will answer all queries. If yougo or come, eat or drink, bless or ban, _Pax vobiscum_carries you through it all. It is as useful to a friaras a broomstick to a witch, or a wand to a conjurer.Speak it but thus, in a deep grave tone,---_Paxvobiscum!_---it is irresistible---Watch and ward,knight and squire, foot and horse, it acts as a charmupon them all. I think, if they bring me out to behanged to-morrow, as is much to be doubted theymay, I will try its weight upon the finisher of thesentence.''

``If such prove the case,'' said the master, ``myreligious orders are soon taken---_Pax vobiscum_. Itrust I shall remember the pass-word.---NobleAthelstane, farewell; and farewell, my poor boy,whose heart might make amends for a weaker head---I will save you, or return and die with you. Theroyal blood of our Saxon kings shall not be spiltwhile mine beats in my veins; nor shall one hairfall from the head of the kind knave who riskedhimself for his master, if Cedric's peril can preventit.---Farewell.''

``Farewell, noble Cedric,'' said Athelstane; ``rememberit is the true part of a friar to accept refreshment,if you are offered any.''

``Farewell, uncle,'' added Wamba; ``and remember_Pax vobiscum_.''

Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his expedition;

and it was not long ere he had occasionto try the force of that spell which his Jester hadrecommended as omnipotent. In a low-arched anddusky passage, by which he endeavoured to workhis way to the hall of the castle, he was interruptedby a female form.

``_Pax vobiscum!_'' said the pseudo friar, and wasendeavouring to hurry past, when a soft voice replied,``_Et vobis---quaso, domine reverendissime,pro misericordia vestra_.''

``I am somewhat deaf,'' replied Cedric, in goodSaxon, and at the same time muttered to himself,``A curse on the fool and his _Pax vobiscum!_ Ihave lost my javelin at the first cast.''

It was, however, no unusual thing for a priest ofthose days to be deaf of his Latin ear, and this theperson who now addressed Cedric knew full well.

``I pray you of dear love, reverend father,'' shereplied in his own language, ``that you will deignto visit with your ghostly comfort a wounded prisonerof this castle, and have such compassion uponhim and us as thy holy office teaches---Never shallgood deed so highly advantage thy convent.''

``Daughter,'' answered Cedric, much embarrassed,``my time in this castle will not permit me toexercise the duties of mine office---I must presentlyforth---there is life and death upon my speed.''

``Yet, father, let me entreat you by the vow youhave taken on you,'' replied the suppliant, ``not toleave the oppressed and endangered without counselor succour.''

``May the fiend fly away with me, and leave mein Ifrin with the souls of Odin and of Thor!'' answeredCedric impatiently, and would probablyhave proceeded in the same tone of total departurefrom his spiritual character, when the colloquy wasinterrupted by the harsh voice of Urfried, the oldcrone of the turret.

``How, minion,'' said she to the female speaker,``is this the manner in which you requite the kindnesswhich permitted thee to leave thy prison-cellyonder?---Puttest thou the reverend man to useungracious language to free himself from the importunitiesof a Jewess?''

``A Jewess!'' said Cedric, availing himself ofthe information to get clear of their interruption,---``Let me pass, woman! stop me not at your peril.I am fresh from my holy office, and would avoidpollution.''

``Come this way, father,'' said the old hag, ``thouart a stranger in this castle, and canst not leave itwithout a guide. Come hither, for I would speakwith thee.---And you, daughter of an accursed race,go to the sick man's chamber, and tend him untilmy return; and woe betide you if you again quitit without my permission!''

Rebecca retreated. Her importunities had prevailedupon Urfried to suffer her to quit the turret,and Urfried had employed her services whereshe herself would most gladly have paid them, bythe bedside of the wounded Ivanhoe. With anunderstanding awake to their dangerous situation,and prompt to avail herself of each means of safetywhich occurred, Rebecca had hoped something fromthe presence of a man of religion, who, she learnedfrom Urfried, had penetrated into this godless castle.She watched the return of the supposed ecclesiastic,with the purpose of addressing him, andinteresting him in favour of the prisoners; withwhat imperfect success the reader has been justacquainted.

CHAPTER XXVII

Fond wretch! and what canst thou relate,But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin?Thy deeds are proved---thou know'st thy fate;

But come, thy tale---begin---begin.- - - - - - -But I have griefs of other kind,Troubles and sorrows more severe;Give me to ease my tortured mind,Lend to my woes a patient ear;And let me, if I may not findA friend to help---find one to hear. _Crabbe's Hall of Justice._

When Urfried had with clamours and menacesdriven Rebecca back to the apartment from whichshe had sallied, she proceeded to conduct the unwillingCedric into a small apartment, the door ofwhich she heedfully secured. Then fetching froma cupboard a stoup of wine and two flagons, sheplaced them on the table, and said in a tone ratherasserting a fact than asking a question, ``Thou artSaxon, father---Deny it not,'' she continued, observingthat Cedric hastened not to reply; ``thesounds of my native language are sweet to mineears, though seldom heard save from the tonguesof the wretched and degraded serfs on whom theproud Normans impose the meanest drudgery ofthis dwelling. Thou art a Saxon, father---a Saxon,and, save as thou art a servant of God, a freeman.---Thine accents are sweet in mine ear.''

``Do not Saxon priests visit this castle, then?''replied Cedric; ``it were, methinks, their duty tocomfort the outcast and oppressed children of thesoil.''

``They come not---or if they come, they betterlove to revel at the boards of their conquerors,''answered Urfried, ``than to hear the groans of theircountrymen---so, at least, report speaks of them---of myself I can say little. This castle, for tenyears, has opened to no priest save the debauchedNorman chaplain who partook the nightly revels ofFront-de-B<oe>uf, and he has been long gone to renderan account of his stewardship.---But thou art aSaxon---a Saxon priest, and I have one question toask of thee.''

``I am a Saxon,'' answered Cedric, ``but unworthy,surely, of the name of priest. Let me begoneon my way---I swear I will return, or sendone of our fathers more worthy to hear your confession.''

``Stay yet a while,'' said Urfried; ``the accentsof the voice which thou hearest now will soon bechoked with the cold earth, and I would not descendto it like the beast I have lived. But winemust give me strength to tell the horrors of mytale.'' She poured out a cup, and drank it with afrightful avidity, which seemed desirous of drainingthe last drop in the goblet. ``It stupifies,'' shesaid, looking upwards as she finished her drought,``but it cannot cheer---Partake it, father, if youwould hear my tale without sinking down upon thepavement.'' Cedric would have avoided pledgingher in this ominous conviviality, but the sign whichshe made to him expressed impatience and despair.He complied with her request, and answered herchallenge in a large wine-cup; she then proceededwith her story, as if appeased by his complaisance.

``I was not born,'' she said, ``father, the wretchthat thou now seest me. I was free, was happy,was honoured, loved, and was beloved. I am nowa slave, miserable and degraded---the sport of mymasters' passions while I had yet beauty---the objectof their contempt, scorn, and hatred, since ithas passed away. Dost thou wonder, father, thatI should hate mankind, and, above all, the race thathas wrought this change in me? Can the wrinkleddecrepit hag before thee, whose wrath must ventitself in impotent curses, forget she was once thedaughter of the noble Thane of Torquilstone, beforewhose frown a thousand vassals trembled?''

``Thou the daughter of Torquil Wolfganger!''said Cedric, receding as he spoke; ``thou---thou---the daughter of that noble Saxon, my father's friendand companion in arms!''

``Thy father's friend!'' echoed Urfried; ``thenCedric called the Saxon stands before me, for thenoble Hereward of Rotherwood had but one son,

whose name is well known among his countrymen.But if thou art Cedric of Rotherwood, why thisreligious dress?---hast thou too despaired of savingthy country, and sought refuge from oppression inthe shade of the convent?''

``It matters not who I am,'' said Cedric; ``proceed,unhappy woman, with thy tale of horror andguilt!---Guilt there must be---there is guilt evenin thy living to tell it.''

``There is---there is,'' answered the wretchedwoman, ``deep, black, damning guilt,---guilt, thatlies like a load at my breast---guilt, that all thepenitential fires of hereafter cannot cleanse.---Yes,in these halls, stained with the noble and pureblood of my father and my brethren---in these veryhalls, to have lived the paramour of their murderer,the slave at once and the partaker of his pleasures,was to render every breath which I drew of vitalair, a crime and a curse.''

``Wretched woman!'' exclaimed Cedric. ``Andwhile the friends of thy father---while each trueSaxon heart, as it breathed a requiem for his soul,and those of his valiant sons, forgot not in theirprayers the murdered Ulrica---while all mournedand honoured the dead, thou hast lived to meritour hate and execration---lived to unite thyselfwith the vile tyrant who murdered thy nearest anddearest---who shed the blood of infancy, rather thana male of the noble house of Torquil Wolfgangershould survive---with him hast thou lived to unitethyself, and in the hands of lawless love!''

``In lawless hands, indeed, but not in those oflove!'' answered the hag; ``love will sooner visitthe regions of eternal doom, than those unhallowedvaults.---No, with that at least I cannot reproachmyself---hatred to Front-de-B<oe>uf and his race governedmy soul most deeply, even in the hour ofhis guilty endearments.''

``You hated him, and yet you lived,'' repliedCedric; ``wretch! was there no poniard---no knife

---no bodkin!---Well was it for thee, since thoudidst prize such an existence, that the secrets of aNorman castle are like those of the grave. For hadI but dreamed of the daughter of Torquil living infoul communion with the murderer of her father,the sword of a true Saxon had found thee out evenin the arms of thy paramour!''

``Wouldst thou indeed have done this justice tothe name of Torquil?'' said Ulrica, for we may nowlay aside her assumed name of Urfried; ``thou artthen the true Saxon report speaks thee! for evenwithin these accursed walls, where, as thou wellsayest, guilt shrouds itself in inscrutable mystery,even there has the name of Cedric been sounded---and I, wretched and degraded, have rejoiced tothink that there yet breathed an avenger of ourunhappy nation.---I also have had my hours of vengeance---I have fomented the quarrels of our foes,and heated drunken revelry into murderous broil---I have seen their blood flow---I have heard theirdying groans!---Look on me, Cedric---are there notstill left on this foul and faded face some traces ofthe features of Torquil?''

``Ask me not of them, Ulrica,'' replied Cedric,in a tone of grief mixed with abhorrence; ``thesetraces form such a resemblance as arises from thegraves of the dead, when a fiend has animated thelifeless corpse.''

``Be it so,'' answered Ulrica; ``yet wore thesefiendish features the mask of a spirit of light whenthey were able to set at variance the elder Front-de-B<oe>ufand his son Reginald! The darkness ofhell should hide what followed, but revenge mustlift the veil, and darkly intimate what it would raisethe dead to speak aloud. Long had the smoulderingfire of discord glowed between the tyrant fatherand his savage son---long had I nursed, in secret,the unnatural hatred---it blazed forth in an hour ofdrunken wassail, and at his own board fell my oppressorby the hand of his own son---such are thesecrets these vaults conceal!---Rend asunder, yeaccursed arches,'' she added, looking up towards

the roof, ``and bury in your fall all who are consciousof the hideous mystery!''

``And thou, creature of guilt and misery,'' saidCedric, ``what became thy lot on the death of thyravisher?''

``Guess it, but ask it not.---Here---here I dwelt,till age, premature age, has stamped its ghastlyfeatures on my countenance---scorned and insultedwhere I was once obeyed, and compelled to boundthe revenge which had once such ample scope, tothe efforts of petty malice of a discontented menial,or the vain or unheeded curses of an impotenthag---condemned to hear from my lonely turret thesounds of revelry in which I once partook, or theshrieks and groans of new victims of oppression.''

``Ulrica,'' said Cedric, ``with a heart which still,I fear, regrets the lost reward of thy crimes, asmuch as the deeds by which thou didst acquire thatmeed, how didst thou dare to address thee to onewho wears this robe? Consider, unhappy woman,what could the sainted Edward himself do for thee,were he here in bodily presence? The royal Confessorwas endowed by heaven with power to cleansethe ulcers of the body, but only God himself cancure the leprosy of the soul.''

``Yet, turn not from me, stern prophet of wrath,''she exclaimed, ``but tell me, if thou canst, in whatshall terminate these new and awful feelings thatburst on my solitude---Why do deeds, long sincedone, rise before me in new and irresistible horrors?What fate is prepared beyond the grave for her, towhom God has assigned on earth a lot of suchunspeakable wretchedness? Better had I turn toWoden, Hertha, and Zernebock---to Mista, andto Skogula, the gods of our yet unbaptized ancestors,than endure the dreadful anticipations whichhave of late haunted my waking and my sleepinghours!''

``I am no priest,'' said Cedric, turning with disgustfrom this miserable picture of guilt, wretchedness,

and despair; ``I am no priest, though I weara priest's garment.''

``Priest or layman,'' answered Ulrica, ``thou artthe first I have seen for twenty years, by whom Godwas feared or man regarded; and dost thou bid medespair?''

``I bid thee repent,'' said Cedric. ``Seek toprayer and penance, and mayest thou find acceptance!But I cannot, I will not, longer abide withthee.''

``Stay yet a moment!'' said Ulrica; ``leave menot now, son of my father's friend, lest the demonwho has governed my life should tempt me toavenge myself of thy hard-hearted scorn---Thinkestthou, if Front-de-B<oe>uf found Cedric the Saxon inhis castle, in such a disguise, that thy life would bea long one?---Already his eye has been upon theelike a falcon on his prey.''

``And be it so,'' said Cedric; ``and let him tearme with beak and talons, ere my tongue say oneword which my heart doth not warrant. I will diea Saxon---true in word, open in deed---I bid theeavaunt!---touch me not, stay me not!---The sightof Front-de-B<oe>uf himself is less odious to me thanthou, degraded and degenerate as thou art.''

``Be it so,'' said Ulrica, no longer interruptinghim; ``go thy way, and forget, in the insolence ofthy superority, that the wretch before thee is thedaughter of thy father's friend.---Go thy way---ifI am separated from mankind by my sufferings---separated from those whose aid I might most justlyexpect---not less will I be separated from them inmy revenge!---No man shall aid me, but the earsof all men shall tingle to hear of the deed which Ishall dare to do!---Farewell!---thy scorn has burstthe last tie which seemed yet to unite me to mykind---a thought that my woes might claim thecompassion of my people.''

``Ulrica,'' said Cedric, softened by this appeal,

``hast thou borne up and endured to live throughso much guilt and so much misery, and wilt thounow yield to despair when thine eyes are opened tothy crimes, and when repentance were thy fitteroccupation?''

``Cedric,'' answered Ulrica, ``thou little knowestthe human heart. To act as I have acted, tothink as I have thought, requires the maddeninglove of pleasure, mingled with the keen appetite ofrevenge, the proud consciousness of power; droughtstoo intoxicating for the human heart to bear, andyet retain the power to prevent. Their force haslong passed away---Age has no pleasures, wrinkleshave no influence, revenge itself dies away in impotentcurses. Then comes remorse, with all itsvipers, mixed with vain regrets for the past, anddespair for the future!---Then, when all otherstrong impulses have ceased, we become like thefiends in hell, who may feel remorse, but never repentance.---But thy words have awakened a newsoul within me---Well hast thou said, all is possiblefor those who dare to die!---Thou hast shownme the means of revenge, and be assured I willembrace them. It has hitherto shared this wastedbosom with other and with rival passions---henceforwardit shall possess me wholly, and thou thyselfshalt say, that, whatever was the life of Ulrica,her death well became the daughter of the nobleTorquil. There is a force without beleagueringthis accursed castle---hasten to lead them to the attack,and when thou shalt see a red flag wave fromthe turret on the eastern angle of the donjon, pressthe Normans hard---they will then have enough todo within, and you may win the wall in spite bothof bow and mangonel.---Begone, I pray thee---followthine own fate, and leave me to mine.''

Cedric would have enquired farther into the purposewhich she thus darkly announced, but the sternvoice of Front-de-B<oe>uf was heard, exclaiming,``Where tarries this loitering priest? By the scallop-shellof Compostella, I will make a martyr ofhim, if he loiters here to hatch treason among mydomestics!''

``What a true prophet,'' said Ulrica, ``is an evilconscience! But heed him not---out and to thypeople---Cry your Saxon onslaught, and let themsing their war-song of Rollo, if they will; vengeanceshall bear a burden to it.''

As she thus spoke, she vanished through a privatedoor, and Reginald Front-de-B<oe>uf enteredthe apartment. Cedric, with some difficulty, compelledhimself to make obeisance to the haughtyBaron, who returned his courtesy with a slight inclinationof the head.

``Thy penitents, father, have made a long shrift---it is the better for them, since it is the last theyshall ever make. Hast thou prepared them fordeath?''

``I found them,'' said Cedric, in such French ashe could command, ``expecting the worst, from themoment they knew into whose power they hadfallen.''

``How now, Sir Friar,'' replied Front-de-B<oe>uf,``thy speech, methinks, smacks of a Saxon tongue?''

``I was bred in the convent of St Withold ofBurton,'' answered Cedric.

``Ay?'' said the Baron; ``it had been better forthee to have been a Norman, and better for mypurpose too; but need has no choice of messengers.That St Withold's of Burton is a howlet's nestworth the harrying. The day will soon come thatthe frock shall protect the Saxon as little as themail-coat.''

``God's will be done,'' said Cedric, in a voicetremulous with passion, which Front-de-B<oe>uf imputedto fear.

``I see,'' said he, ``thou dreamest already thatour men-at-arms are in thy refectory and thy ale-vaults.But do me one cast of thy holy office, and,

come what list of others, thou shalt sleep as safe inthy cell as a snail within his shell of proof.''

``Speak your commands,'' said Cedric, with suppressedemotion.

``Follow me through this passage, then, that Imay dismiss thee by the postern.''

And as he strode on his way before the supposedfriar, Front-de-B<oe>uf thus schooled him in the partwhich he desired he should act.

``Thou seest, Sir Friar, yon herd of Saxon swine,who have dared to environ this castle of Torquilstone---Tell them whatever thou hast a mind of theweakness of this fortalice, or aught else that can detainthem before it for twenty-four hours. Meantimebear thou this scroll---But soft---canst read,Sir Priest?''

``Not a jot I,'' answered Cedric, ``save on mybreviary; and then I know the characters, becauseI have the holy service by heart, praised be OurLady and St Withold!''

``The fitter messenger for my purpose.---Carrythou this scroll to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin;say it cometh from me, and is written by theTemplar Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and that I prayhim to send it to York with all the speed man andhorse can make. Meanwhile, tell him to doubtnothing, he shall find us whole and sound behindour battlement---Shame on it, that we should becompelled to hide thus by a pack of runagates, whoare wont to fly even at the flash of our pennons andthe tramp of our horses! I say to thee, priest, contrivesome cast of thine art to keep the knaveswhere they are, until our friends bring up theirlances. My vengeance is awake, and she is a falconthat slumbers not till she has been gorged.''

``By my patron saint,'' said Cedric, with deeperenergy than became his character, ``and by everysaint who has lived and died in England, your commands

shall be obeyed! Not a Saxon shall stir frombefore these walls, if I have art and influence to detainthem there.''

``Ha!'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf, ``thou changest thytone, Sir Priest, and speakest brief and bold, as ifthy heart were in the slaughter of the Saxon herd;and yet thou art thyself of kindred to the swine?''

Cedric was no ready practiser of the art of dissimulation,and would at this moment have beenmuch the better of a hint from Wamba's morefertile brain. But necessity, according to the ancientproverb, sharpens invention, and he mutteredsomething under his cowl concerning the men inquestion being excommunicated outlaws both tochurch and to kingdom.

``_Despardieux_,'' answered Front-de-B<oe>uf, ``thouhast spoken the very truth---I forgot that the knavescan strip a fat abbot, as well as if they had beenborn south of yonder salt channel. Was it not heof St Ives whom they tied to an oak-tree, and compelledto sing a mass while they were rifling hismails and his wallets?---No, by our Lady---thatjest was played by Gualtier of Middleton, one ofour own companions-at-arms. But they wereSaxons who robbed the chapel at St Bees of cup,candlestick and chalice, were they not?''

``They were godless men,'' answered Cedric.

``Ay, and they drank out all the good wine andale that lay in store for many a secret carousal,when ye pretend ye are but busied with vigils andprimes!---Priest, thou art bound to revenge suchsacrilege.''

``I am indeed bound to vengeance,'' murmuredCedric; ``Saint Withold knows my heart.''

Front-de-B<oe>uf, in the meanwhile, led the wayto a postern, where, passing the moat on a singleplank, they reached a small barbican, or exteriordefence, which communicated with the open field

by a well-fortified sallyport.

``Begone, then; and if thou wilt do mine errand,and if thou return hither when it is done, thoushalt see Saxon flesh cheap as ever was hog's in theshambles of Sheffield. And, hark thee, thou seemestto be a jolly confessor---come hither after theonslaught, and thou shalt have as much Malvoisieas would drench thy whole convent.''

``Assuredly we shall meet again,'' answered Cedric.

``Something in hand the whilst,'' continued theNorman; and, as they parted at the postern door,he thrust into Cedric's reluctant hand a gold byzant,adding, ``Remember, I will fly off both cowland skin, if thou failest in thy purpose.''

``And full leave will I give thee to do both,''answered Cedric, leaving the postern, and stridingforth over the free field with a joyful step, ``if,when we meet next, I deserve not better at thinehand.''---Turning then back towards the castle, hethrew the piece of gold towards the donor, exclaimingat the same time, ``False Norman, thy moneyperish with thee!''

Front-de-B<oe>uf heard the words imperfectly, butthe action was suspicious---``Archers,'' he called tothe warders on the outward battlements, ``send mean arrow through yon monk's frock!---yet stay,'' hesaid, as his retainers were bending their bows, ``itavails not--we must thus far trust him since wehave no better shift. I think he dares not betrayme---at the worst I can but treat with these Saxondogs whom I have safe in kennel.---Ho! Gilesjailor, let them bring Cedric of Rotherwood beforeme, and the other churl, his companion---him Imean of Coningsburgh---Athelstane there, or whatcall they him? Their very names are an encumbranceto a Norman knight's mouth, and have, asit were, a flavour of bacon---Give me a stoup ofwine, as jolly Prince John said, that I may washaway the relish---place it in the armoury, and thitherlead the prisoners.''

His commands were obeyed; and, upon enteringthat Gothic apartment, hung with many spoilswon by his own valour and that of his father, hefound a flagon of wine on the massive oaken table,and the two Saxon captives under the guard offour of his dependants. Front-de-B<oe>uf took a longdrought of wine, and then addressed his prisoners;---for the manner in which Wamba drew the capover his face, the change of dress, the gloomy andbroken light, and the Baron's imperfect acquaintancewith the features of Cedric, (who avoided hisNorman neighbours, and seldom stirred beyondhis own domains,) prevented him from discoveringthat the most important of his captives had madehis escape.

``Gallants of England,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf,``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?---Haveye forgotten how ye requited the unmerited hospitalityof the royal John? By God and St Dennis,an ye pay not the richer ransom, I will hangye up by the feet from the iron bars of these windows,till the kites and hooded crows have madeskeletons of you!---Speak out, ye Saxon dogs---what bid ye for your worthless lives?---How sayyou, you of Rotherwood?

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

``Saint Genevieve!'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf, ``whathave we got here?''

And with the back of his hand he struck Cedric'scap 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!'' exclaimedthe furious Norman, ``what have you broughtme here?''

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

``I shall settle it for them both,'' replied Front-de-B<oe>uf;``they shall hang on the same gallows,unless his master and this boar of Coningsburgh willpay well for their lives. Their wealth is the leastthey can surrender; they must also carry off withthem the swarms that are besetting the castle, subscribea surrender of their pretended immunities,and live under us as serfs and vassals; too happyif, in the new world that is about to begin, we leavethem the breath of their nostrils.---Go,'' said he totwo of his attendants, ``fetch me the right Cedrichither, and I pardon your error for once; the ratherthat you but mistook a fool for a Saxon franklin.''

``Ay, but,'' said Wamba, ``your chivalrous excellencywill find there are more fools than franklinsamong us.''

``What means the knave?'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf,looking towards his followers, who, lingering andloath, faltered forth their belief, that if this werenot Cedric who was there in presence, they knewnot what was become of him.

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

``Fiends of hell!'' echoed Front-de-B<oe>uf, ``itwas then the boar of Rotherwood whom I usheredto the postern, and dismissed with my own hands!---And thou,'' he said to Wamba, ``whose follycould overreach the wisdom of idiots yet more grossthan thyself---I will give thee holy orders---I will

shave thy crown for thee!---Here, let them tear thescalp from his head, and then pitch him headlongfrom the battlements---Thy trade is to jest, canstthou jest now?''

``You deal with me better than your word, nobleknight,'' whimpered forth poor Wamba, whosehabits of buffoonery were not to be overcome evenby the immediate prospect of death; ``if you giveme the red cap you propose, out of a simple monkyou will make a cardinal.''

``The poor wretch,'' said De Bracy, ``is resolvedto die in his vocation.---Front-de-B<oe>uf, you shallnot slay him. Give him to me to make sport for myFree Companions.---How sayst thou, knave? Wiltthou take heart of grace, and go to the wars withme?''

``Ay, with my master's leave,'' said Wamba;``for, look you, I must not slip collar'' (and hetouched 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 thencegoes 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-B<oe>uf,``to stand there listening to a fool's jargon,when destruction is gaping for us! Seest thou notwe are overreached, and that our proposed modeof communicating with our friends without hasbeen disconcerted by this same motley gentlemanthou art so fond to brother? What views have weto expect but instant storm?''

``To the battlements then,'' said De Bracy;``when didst thou ever see me the graver for thethoughts of battle? Call the Templar yonder, andlet him fight but half so well for his life as he hasdone for his Order---Make thou to the walls thyselfwith thy huge body---Let me do my poor endeavourin my own way, and I tell thee the Saxonoutlaws may as well attempt to scale the clouds, asthe castle of Torquilstone; or, if you will treatwith the banditti, why not employ the mediation ofthis worthy franklin, who seems in such deep contemplationof the wine-flagon?---Here, Saxon,''he continued, addressing Athelstane, and handingthe cup to him, ``rinse thy throat with that nobleliquor, and rouse up thy soul to say what thou wiltdo for thy liberty.''

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

``And wilt moreover assure us the retreat of thatscum of mankind who are swarming around the castle,contrary to God's peace and the king's?'' saidFront-de-B<oe>uf.

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

``We are agreed then,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf---``thou and they are to be set at freedom, and peaceis to be on both sides, for payment of a thousandmarks. It is a trifling ransom, Saxon, and thouwilt owe gratitude to the moderation which acceptsof it in exchange of your persons. But mark, thisextends not to the Jew Isaac.''

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

``Neither,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf, ``belong to thisSaxon's company.''

``I were unworthy to be called Christian, if theydid,'' replied Athelstane: ``deal with the unbelieversas ye list.''

``Neither does the ransom include the LadyRowena,'' said De Bracy. ``It shall never be saidI was scared out of a fair prize without striking ablow for it.''

``Neither,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf, ``does our treatyrefer to this wretched Jester, whom I retain,that I may make him an example to every knavewho turns jest into earnest.''

``The Lady Rowena,'' answered Athelstane,with the most steady countenance, ``is my affiancedbride. I will be drawn by wild horses before I consentto part with her. The slave Wamba has thisday saved the life of my father Cedric---I will losemine ere a hair of his head be injured.''

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

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

``Thou hast it, De Bracy,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf,well pleased with the rebuff which his companionhad received; ``the Saxon hath hit thee fairly.''

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

To this Athelstane, who had already made alonger speech than was his custom to do on anytopic, however interesting, returned no answer.The conversation was interrupted by the arrival ofa menial, who announced that a monk demandedadmittance at the postern gate.

``In the name of Saint Bennet, the prince ofthese bull-beggars,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf, ``have wea real monk this time, or another impostor? Searchhim, slaves---for an ye suffer a second impostor tobe palmed upon you, I will have your eyes tornout, 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, andwill vouch him to be brother Ambrose, a monk inattendance upon the Prior of Jorvaulx.''

``Admit him,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf; ``most likelyhe brings us news from his jovial master. Surelythe devil keeps holiday, and the priests are relievedfrom duty, that they are strolling thus wildlythrough 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 mycouch, as becomes my rank, and as is due to onewho is in treaty for ransom. Moreover, I holdhim that deems himself the best of you, bound toanswer to me with his body for this aggression onmy freedom. This defiance hath already been sentto thee by thy sewer; thou underliest it, and artbound to answer me---There lies my glove.''

``I answer not the challenge of my prisoner,''

said Front-de-B<oe>uf; ``nor shalt thou, Maurice deBracy.---Giles,'' he continued, ``hang the franklin'sglove upon the tine of yonder branched antlers:there shall it remain until he is a free man. Shouldhe then presume to demand it, or to affirm he wasunlawfully made my prisoner, by the belt of SaintChristopher, he will speak to one who hath neverrefused to meet a foe on foot or on horseback, aloneor with his vassals at his back!''

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

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

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

``Safe thou art,'' replied De Bracy; ``and forChristianity, here is the stout Baron ReginaldFront-de-B<oe>uf, whose utter abomination is a Jew;and the good Knight Templar, Brian de Bois-Guilbert,whose trade is to slay Saracens---If these arenot good marks of Christianity, I know no otherwhich they bear about them.''``Ye are friends and allies of our reverend fatherin God, Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx,'' said the monk,without noticing the tone of De Bracy's reply; ``yeowe 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-B<oe>uf;``or rather what dost thou say, Sir Priest?We have little time to hear texts from the holyfathers.''

``_Sancta Maria!_'' ejaculated Father Ambrose,``how prompt to ire are these unhallowed laymen!---But be it known to you, brave knights, that certainmurderous caitiffs, casting behind them fear

of God, and reverence of his church, and not regardingthe bull of the holy see, _Si quis, suadendeDiabolo_------''

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

``Surely,'' said Ambrose, ``he is in the handsof the men of Belial, infesters of these woods, andcontemners of the holy text, `Touch not mineanointed, and do my prophets naught of evil.' ''

``Here is a new argument for our swords, sirs,''said Front-de-B<oe>uf, turning to his companions;``and so, instead of reaching us any assistance, thePrior of Jorvaulx requests aid at our hands? a manis well helped of these lazy churchmen when hehath most to do!---But speak out, priest, and sayat once, what doth thy master expect from us?''

``So please you,'' said Ambrose, ``violent handshaving been imposed on my reverend superior,contrary to the holy ordinance which I did alreadyquote, and the men of Belial having rifled his mailsand budgets, and stripped him of two hundredmarks of pure refined gold, they do yet demand ofhim a large sum beside, ere they will suffer him todepart from their uncircumcised hands. Whereforethe reverend father in God prays you, as his dearfriends, to rescue him, either by paying down theransom at which they hold him, or by force of arms,at your best discretion.''

``The foul fiend quell the Prior!'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf;``his morning's drought has been a deepone. When did thy master hear of a Norman baronunbuckling 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 foulonslaughts 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, ``andlet us mark what these knaves do without;'' andso saying, he opened a latticed window which ledto a sort of bartisan or projecting balcony, and immediatelycalled from thence to those in the apartment---``Saint Dennis, but the old monk hathbrought true tidings!---They bring forward manteletsand 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-B<oe>uf also looked out uponthe field, and immediately snatched his bugle; and,after winding a long and loud blast, commandedhis men to their posts on the walls.

``De Bracy, look to the eastern side, where thewalls are lowest---Noble Bois-Guilbert, thy tradehath well taught thee how to attack and defend,look thou to the western side---I myself will takepost at the barbican. Yet, do not confine yourexertions to any one spot, noble friends!---we mustthis day be everywhere, and multiply ourselves,were it possible, so as to carry by our presencesuccour and relief wherever the attack is hottest.Our numbers are few, but activity and courage maysupply that defect, since we have only to do withrascal clowns.''

``But, noble knights,'' exclaimed Father Ambrose,amidst the bustle and confusion occasionedby the preparations for defence, ``will none of yehear the message of the reverend father in GodAymer, Prior of Jorvaulx?---I beseech thee to hearme, noble Sir Reginald!''

``Go patter thy petitions to heaven,'' said thefierce Norman, ``for we on earth have no time tolisten to them.---Ho! there, Anselm I see that seethingpitch and oil are ready to pour on the heads ofthese audacious traitors---Look that the cross-bowmenlack 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 withwhom they have to do this day!''

``But, noble sir,'' continued the monk, perseveringin his endeavours to draw attention, ``considermy vow of obedience, and let me discharge myselfof my Superior's errand.''

``Away with this prating dotard,'' said Front-de B<oe>uf,``lock him up in the chapel, to tell hisbeads till the broil be over. It will be a new thingto the saints in Torquilstone to hear aves and paters;they have not been so honoured, I trow, sincethey were cut out of stone.''

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

``I expect little aid from their hand,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf,``unless we were to hurl them from thebattlements on the heads of the villains. There isa huge lumbering Saint Christopher yonder, sufficientto bear a whole company to the earth.''

The Templar had in the meantime been lookingout on the proceedings of the besiegers, with rathermore attention than the brutal Front-de-B<oe>uf orhis giddy companion.

``By the faith of mine order,'' he said, ``thesemen approach with more touch of discipline than

could have been judged, however they come by it.See ye how dexterously they avail themselves ofevery cover which a tree or bush affords, and shunexposing themselves to the shot of our cross-bows?I spy neither banner nor pennon among them, andyet will I gage my golden chain, that they are ledon by some noble knight or gentleman, skilful inthe practice of wars.''

``I espy him,'' said De Bracy; ``I see the wavingof a knight's crest, and the gleam of his armour.See yon tall man in the black mail, who isbusied marshalling the farther troop of the rascailleyeomen---by Saint Dennis, I hold him to be thesame whom we called _Le Noir Faineant_, who overthrewthee, Front-de-B<oe>uf, in the lists at Ashby.''``So much the better,'' said Front-de-B<oe>uf,``that he comes here to give me my revenge. Somehilding fellow he must be, who dared not stay toassert his claim to the tourney prize which chancehad assigned him. I should in vain have soughtfor him where knights and nobles seek their foes,and right glad am I he hath here shown himselfamong yon villain yeomanry.''

The demonstrations of the enemy's immediateapproach cut off all farther discourse. Each knightrepaired to his post, and at the head of the few followerswhom they were able to muster, and whowere in numbers inadequate to defend the wholeextent of the walls, they awaited with calm determinationthe 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 spaceof a few pages, to inform the reader of certain passagesmaterial to his understanding the rest of thisimportant narrative. His own intelligence mayindeed have easily anticipated that, when Ivanhoesunk down, and seemed abandoned by all the world,it was the importunity of Rebecca which prevailedon her father to have the gallant young warriortransported from the lists to the house which forthe time the Jews inhabited in the suburbs ofAshby.

It would not have been difficult to have persuadedIsaac to this step in any other circumstances,for his disposition was kind and grateful. But hehad also the prejudices and scrupulous timidityof his persecuted people, and those were to beconquered.

``Holy Abraham!'' he exclaimed, ``he is a goodyouth, and my heart bleeds to see the gore trickledown his rich embroidered hacqueton, and his corsletof goodly price---but to carry him to our house!---damsel, hast thou well considered?---he is aChristian, and by our law we may not deal withthe stranger and Gentile, save for the advantageof our commerce.''

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

``I would I knew what the Rabbi Jacob BenTudela 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,'' saidRebecca; ``I will mount one of the palfreys.''

``That were to expose thee to the gaze of thosedogs of Ishmael and of Edom,'' whispered Isaac,with a suspicious glance towards the crowd of

knights and squires. But Rebecca was already busiedin carrying her charitable purpose into effect,and listed not what he said, until Isaac, seizing thesleeve of her mantle, again exclaimed, in a hurriedvoice---``Beard of Aaron!---what if the youth perish!---if he die in our custody, shall we not beheld guilty of his blood, and be torn to pieces bythe 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 ifso, we are indeed answerable for his blood to Godand to man.''

``Nay,'' said Isaac, releasing his hold, ``it grievethme as much to see the drops of his blood, asif they were so many golden byzants from mineown purse; and I well know, that the lessons ofMiriam, daughter of the Rabbi Manasses of Byzantiumwhose soul is in Paradise, have made theeskilful in the art of healing, and that thou knowestthe craft of herbs, and the force of elixirs. Therefore,do as thy mind giveth thee---thou art a gooddamsel, a blessing, and a crown, and a song of rejoicingunto me and unto my house, and unto thepeople of my fathers.''

The apprehensions of Isaac, however, were notill founded; and the generous and grateful benevolenceof his daughter exposed her, on her returnto Ashby, to the unhallowed gaze of Brian de Bois-Guilbert.The Templar twice passed and repassedthem on the road, fixing his bold and ardent look onthe beautiful Jewess; and we have already seen theconsequences of the admiration which her charmsexcited when accident threw her into the power ofthat unprincipled voluptuary.

Rebecca lost no time in causing the patient tobe transported to their temporary dwelling, andproceeded with her own hands to examine and tobind up his wounds. The youngest reader of romancesand romantic ballads, must recollect howoften the females, during the dark ages, as they

are called, were initiated into the mysteries of surgery,and how frequently the gallant knight submittedthe wounds of his person to her cure, whoseeyes had yet more deeply penetrated his heart.

But the Jews, both male and female, possessedand practised the medical science in all its branches,and the monarchs and powerful barons of the timefrequently committed themselves to the charge ofsome experienced sage among this despised people,when wounded or in sickness. The aid of the Jewishphysicians was not the less eagerly sought after,though a general belief prevailed among theChristians, that the Jewish Rabbins were deeplyacquainted with the occult sciences, and particularlywith the cabalistical art, which had its nameand origin in the studies of the sages of Israel.Neither did the Rabbins disown such acquaintancewith supernatural arts, which added nothing (forwhat could add aught?) to the hatred with whichtheir nation was regarded, while it diminished thecontempt with which that malevolence was mingled.A Jewish magician might be the subject of equalabhorrence with a Jewish usurer, but he could notbe equally despised. It is besides probable, consideringthe wonderful cures they are said to haveperformed, that the Jews possessed some secrets ofthe healing art peculiar to themselves, and which,with the exclusive spirit arising out of their condition,they took great care to conceal from the Christiansamongst whom they dwelt.

The beautiful Rebecca had been heedfully broughtup in all the knowledge proper to her nation, whichher apt and powerful mind had retained, arranged,and enlarged, in the course of a progress beyondher years, her sex, and even the age in which shelived. Her knowledge of medicine and of the healingart had been acquired under an aged Jewess,the daughter of one of their most celebrated doctors,who loved Rebecca as her own child, and wasbelieved to have communicated to her secrets, whichhad been left to herself by her sage father at thesame time, and under the same circumstances. Thefate of Miriam had indeed been to fall a sacrifice

to the fanaticism of the times; but her secrets hadsurvived in her apt pupil.

Rebecca, thus endowed with knowledge as withbeauty, was universally revered and admired by herown tribe, who almost regarded her as one of thosegifted women mentioned in the sacred history. Herfather himself, out of reverence for her talents,which involuntarily mingled itself with his unboundedaffection, permitted the maiden a greaterliberty than was usually indulged to those of hersex by the habits of her people, and was, as wehave 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 tothe profuse loss of blood which had taken place duringhis exertions in the lists. Rebecca examinedthe wound, and having applied to it such vulneraryremedies as her art prescribed, informed her fatherthat if fever could be averted, of which the greatbleeding rendered her little apprehensive, and ifthe healing balsam of Miriam retained its virtue,there was nothing to fear for his guest's life, andthat he might with safety travel to York with themon the ensuing day. Isaac looked a little blank atthis annunciation. His charity would willingly havestopped short at Ashby, or at most would have leftthe wounded Christian to be tended in the housewhere he was residing at present, with an assuranceto the Hebrew to whom it belonged, that all expensesshould be duly discharged. To this, however,Rebecca opposed many reasons, of which weshall only mention two that had peculiar weightwith Isaac. The one was, that she would on noaccount put the phial of precious balsam into thehands of another physician even of her own tribe,lest that valuable mystery should be discovered;the other, that this wounded knight, Wilfred ofIvanhoe, was an intimate favourite of RichardC<oe>ur-de-Lion, and that, in case the monarch shouldreturn, Isaac, who had supplied his brother Johnwith 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,'' saidIsaac, giving way to these weighty arguments---``itwere an offending of Heaven to betray the secretsof the blessed Miriam; for the good which Heavengiveth, is not rashly to be squandered uponothers, whether it be talents of gold and shekels ofsilver, or whether it be the secret mysteries of a wisephysician---assuredly they should be preserved tothose to whom Providence hath vouchsafed them.And him whom the Nazarenes of England call theLion's Heart, assuredly it were better for me tofall into the hands of a strong lion of Idumea thaninto his, if he shall have got assurance of my dealingwith his brother. Wherefore I will lend earto thy counsel, and this youth shall journey withus unto York, and our house shall be as a home tohim until his wounds shall be healed. And if he ofthe Lion Heart shall return to the land, as is nownoised abroad, then shall this Wilfred of Ivanhoebe unto me as a wall of defence, when the king'sdispleasure shall burn high against thy father. Andif he doth not return, this Wilfred may nathelessrepay us our charges when he shall gain treasureby the strength of his spear and of his sword, evenas he did yesterday and this day also. For theyouth is a good youth, and keepeth the day whichhe appointeth, and restoreth that which he borroweth,and succoureth the Israelite, even the child ofmy father's house, when he is encompassed bystrong thieves and sons of Belial.''

It was not until evening was nearly closed thatIvanhoe was restored to consciousness of his situation.He awoke from a broken slumber, under theconfused impressions which are naturally attendanton the recovery from a state of insensibility. Hewas unable for some time to recall exactly to memorythe circumstances which had preceded his fallin the lists, or to make out any connected chain ofthe events in which he had been engaged upon theyesterday. A sense of wounds and injury, joinedto great weakness and exhaustion, was mingledwith the recollection of blows dealt and received,

of steeds rushing upon each other, overthrowingand overthrown---of shouts and clashing of arms,and all the heady tumult of a confused fight. Aneffort to draw aside the curtain of his conch was insome degree successful, although rendered difficultby the pain of his wound.

To his great surprise he found himself in a roommagnificently furnished, but having cushions insteadof chairs to rest upon, and in other respectspartaking so much of Oriental costume, that hebegan to doubt whether he had not, during hissleep, been transported back again to the land ofPalestine. The impression was increased, when,the tapestry being drawn aside, a female form,dressed in a rich habit, which partook more of theEastern taste than that of Europe, glided throughthe door which it concealed, and was followed bya swarthy domestic.

As the wounded knight was about to addressthis fair apparition, she imposed silence by placingher slender finger upon her ruby lips, while theattendant, approaching him, proceeded to uncoverIvanhoe's side, and the lovely Jewess satisfied herselfthat the bandage was in its place, and thewound doing well. She performed her task witha graceful and dignified simplicity and modesty,which might, even in more civilized days, haveserved to redeem it from whatever might seem repugnantto female delicacy. The idea of so youngand beautiful a person engaged in attendance on asick-bed, or in dressing the wound of one of a differentsex, was melted away and lost in that of abeneficent being contributing her effectual aid torelieve pain, and to avert the stroke of death. Rebecca'sfew and brief directions were given in theHebrew language to the old domestic; and he, whohad been frequently her assistant in similar cases,obeyed them without reply.

The accents of an unknown tongue, howeverharsh they might have sounded when uttered byanother, had, coming from the beautiful Rebecca,the romantic and pleasing effect which fancy ascribes

to the charms pronounced by some beneficentfairy, unintelligible, indeed, to the ear, but, fromthe sweetness of utterance, and benignity of aspect,which accompanied them, touching and affecting tothe heart. Without making an attempt at furtherquestion, Ivanhoe suffered them in silence to takethe 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 curiositycould no longer be suppressed.---``Gentlemaiden,'' be began in the Arabian tongue, withwhich his Eastern travels had rendered him familiar,and which he thought most likely to be understoodby the turban'd and caftan'd damsel who stood beforehim---``I pray you, gentle maiden, of yourcourtesy------''

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

``Noble damsel,''---again the Knight of Ivanhoebegan; and again Rebecca hastened to interrupthim.

``Bestow not on me, Sir Knight,'' she said, ``theepithet of noble. It is well you should speedilyknow that your handmaiden is a poor Jewess, thedaughter of that Isaac of York, to whom you wereso lately a good and kind lord. It well becomeshim, and those of his household, to render to yousuch careful tendance as your present state necessarilydemands.''

I know not whether the fair Rowena would havebeen altogether satisfied with the species of emotionwith which her devoted knight had hithertogazed on the beautiful features, and fair form, andlustrous eyes, of the lovely Rebecca; eyes whosebrilliancy was shaded, and, as it were, mellowed, bythe fringe of her long silken eyelashes, and which

a minstrel would have compared to the eveningstar darting its rays through a bower of jessamine.But Ivanhoe was too good a Catholic to retain thesame class of feelings towards a Jewess. ThisRebecca had foreseen, and for this very purpose shehad hastened to mention her father's name and lineage;yet---for the fair and wise daughter of Isaacwas not without a touch of female weakness---shecould not but sigh internally when the glance ofrespectful admiration, not altogether unmixed withtenderness, with which Ivanhoe had hitherto regardedhis unknown benefactress, was exchangedat once for a manner cold, composed, and collected,and fraught with no deeper feeling than that whichexpressed a grateful sense of courtesy received froman unexpected quarter, and from one of an inferiorrace. It was not that Ivanhoe's former carriage expressedmore than that general devotional homagewhich youth always pays to beauty; yet it wasmortifying that one word should operate as a spellto remove poor Rebecca, who could not be supposedaltogether ignorant of her title to such homage,into a degraded class, to whom it could not be honourablyrendered.

But the gentleness and candour of Rebecca'snature imputed no fault to Ivanhoe for sharing inthe universal prejudices of his age and religion. Onthe contrary the fair Jewess, though sensible herpatient now regarded her as one of a race of reprobation,with whom it was disgraceful to hold anybeyond the most necessary intercourse, ceased notto pay the same patient and devoted attention tohis safety and convalescence. She informed him ofthe 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 healthshould be restored. Ivanhoe expressed great repugnanceto this plan, which he grounded on unwillingnessto give farther trouble to his benefactors.

``Was there not,'' he said, ``in Ashby, or nearit, some Saxon franklin, or even some wealthy peasant,who would endure the burden of a woundedcountryman's residence with him until he should

be again able to bear his armour?---Was there noconvent of Saxon endowment, where he could bereceived?---Or could he not be transported as far asBurton, where he was sure to find hospitality withWaltheoff, the Abbot of St Withold's, to whomhe was related?''

``Any, the worst of these harbourages,'' saidRebecca, with a melancholy smile, ``would unquestionablybe more fitting for your residence than theabode of a despised Jew; yet, Sir Knight, unlessyou would dismiss your physician, you cannotchange your lodging. Our nation, as you wellknow, can cure wounds, though we deal not in inflictingthem; and in our own family, in particular,are secrets which have been handed down since thedays of Solomon, and of which you have alreadyexperienced the advantages. No Nazarene---Icrave your forgiveness, Sir Knight---no Christianleech, within the four seas of Britain, could enableyou to bear your corslet within a month.''

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

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

``By Our Blessed Lady,'' said Wilfred, ``if itbe not a sin to name her here, it is no time for meor any true knight to be bedridden; and if thouaccomplish thy promise, maiden, I will pay theewith my casque full of crowns, come by them as Imay.''

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

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

``Nay,'' answered Rebecca, ``I will but pray ofthee to believe henceforward that a Jew may dogood service to a Christian, without desiring otherguerdon than the blessing of the Great Father whomade both Jew and Gentile.''

``It were sin to doubt it, maiden,'' replied Ivanhoe;``and I repose myself on thy skill withoutfurther scruple or question, well trusting you willenable me to bear my corslet on the eighth day.And now, my kind leech, let me enquire of the newsabroad. What of the noble Saxon Cedric and hishousehold?---what of the lovely Lady---'' Hestopt, as if unwilling to speak Rowena's name inthe house of a Jew---``Of her, I mean, who wasnamed Queen of the tournament?''

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

The blood which Ivanhoe had lost did not preventa flush from crossing his cheek, feeling thathe had incautiously betrayed a deep interest inRowena by the awkward attempt he had made toconceal it.''

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

``Let me use my authority as a leech,'' answeredRebecca, ``and enjoin you to keep silence, andavoid agitating reflections, whilst I apprize you ofwhat you desire to know. Prince John hath brokenoff the tournament, and set forward in all haste towardsYork, with the nobles, knights, and churchmenof his party, after collecting such sums as theycould wring, by fair means or foul, from those whoare esteemed the wealthy of the land. It is said bedesigns 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 willfight 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 Rebeccatouching his shoulder with her hand, ``youmust now observe my directions, and remain quiet.''

``True, maiden,'' said Ivanhoe, ``as quiet asthese disquieted times will permit---And of Cedricand his household?''

``His steward came but brief while since,'' saidthe Jewess, ``panting with haste, to ask my fatherfor certain monies, the price of wool the growth ofCedric's flocks, and from him I learned that Cedricand Athelstane of Coningsburgh had left PrinceJohn's lodging in high displeasure, and were aboutto set forth on their return homeward.''

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

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

``Ha!'' exclaimed the knight, ``knowest thouhis name?---But thou dost,'' he immediately added,``and well thou mayst, for it was from thyhand, and, as I am now convinced, from thine owngenerosity of spirit, that he received but yesterdaya hundred zecchins.''

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

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

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

``Be it so, kind maiden,'' said Ivanhoe; ``I weremost ungrateful to dispute thy commands. Butone word of the fate of poor Gurth, and I have donewith questioning thee.''

``I grieve to tell thee, Sir Knight,'' answeredthe Jewess, `` that he is in custody by the order ofCedric.''---And then observing the distress whichher communication gave to Wilfred, she instantlyadded, ``But the steward Oswald said, that if nothingoccurred to renew his master's displeasureagainst him, he was sure that Cedric would pardonGurth, a faithful serf, and one who stood highin favour, and who had but committed this errorout of the love which he bore to Cedric's son. Andhe said, moreover, that he and his comrades, andespecially Wamba the Jester, were resolved towarn Gurth to make his escape by the way, in caseCedric'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 destinedto bring ruin on whomsoever hath shown kindnessto me. My king, by whom I was honoured anddistinguished, thou seest that the brother mostindebted to him is raising his arms to grasp hiscrown;---my regard hath brought restraint andtrouble on the fairest of her sex;---and now myfather in his mood may slay this poor bondsmanbut for his love and loyal service to me!---Thouseest, maiden, what an ill-fated wretch thou dostlabour to assist; be wise, and let me go, ere themisfortunes which track my footsteps like slot-hounds,shall involve thee also in their pursuit.''

``Nay,'' said Rebecca, ``thy weakness and thygrief, Sir Knight, make thee miscalculate the purposesof Heaven. Thou hast been restored to thycountry when it most needed the assistance of astrong hand and a true heart, and thou hast humbled

the pride of thine enemies and those of thyking, when their horn was most highly exalted .and for the evil which thou hast sustained, seestthou not that Heaven has raised thee a helper anda physician, even among the most despised of theland?---Therefore, be of good courage, and trustthat thou art preserved for some marvel which thinearm shall work before this people. Adieu---andhaving taken the medicine which I shall send theeby the hand of Reuben, compose thyself again torest, that thou mayest be the more able to endurethe journey on the succeeding day.''

Ivanhoe was convinced by the reasoning, andobeyed the directions, of Rebecca. The droughtwhich Reuben administered was of a sedative andnarcotic quality, and secured the patient sound andundisturbed slumbers. In the morning his kindphysician found him entirely free from feverishsymptoms, and fit to undergo the fatigue of ajourney.

He was deposited in the horse-litter which hadbrought him from the lists, and every precautiontaken for his travelling with ease. In one circumstanceonly even the entreaties of Rebecca wereunable to secure sufficient attention to the accommodationof the wounded knight. Isaac, like theenriched traveller of Juvenal's tenth satire, hadever the fear of robbery before his eyes, consciousthat he would be alike accounted fair game by themarauding Norman noble, and by the Saxon outlaw.He therefore journeyed at a great rate, andmade short halts, and shorter repasts, so that hepassed by Cedric and Athelstane who had severalhours the start of him, but who had been delayedby their protracted feasting at the convent of SaintWithold's. Yet such was the virtue of Miriam'sbalsam, or such the strength of Ivanhoe's constitution,that he did not sustain from the hurried journeythat inconvenience which his kind physicianhad apprehended.

In another point of view, however, the Jew'shaste proved somewhat more than good speed. The

rapidity with which he insisted on travelling, bredseveral disputes between him and the party whomhe had hired to attend him as a guard. These menwere Saxons, and not free by any means from thenational love of ease and good living which theNormans stigmatized as laziness and gluttony. ReversingShylock's position, they had accepted theemployment in hopes of feeding upon the wealthyJew, and were very much displeased when theyfound themselves disappointed, by the rapidity withwhich he insisted on their proceeding. They remonstratedalso upon the risk of damage to theirhorses by these forced marches. Finally, there arosebetwixt Isaac and his satellites a deadly feud, concerningthe quantity of wine and ale to be allowedfor consumption at each meal. And thus it happened,that when the alarm of danger approached,and that which Isaac feared was likely to come uponhim, he was deserted by the discontented mercenarieson whose protection he had relied, withoutusing the means necessary to secure their attachment.

In this deplorable condition the Jew, with hisdaughter and her wounded patient, were found byCedric, as has already been noticed, and soon afterwardsfell into the power of De Bracy and his confederates.Little notice was at first taken of thehorse-litter, and it might have remained behind butfor the curiosity of De Bracy, who looked into itunder the impression that it might contain the objectof his enterprise, for Rowena had not unveiledherself. But De Bracy's astonishment was considerable,when he discovered that the litter containeda wounded man, who, conceiving himself to havefallen into the power of Saxon outlaws, with whomhis name might be a protection for himself and hisfriends, frankly avowed himself to be Wilfred ofIvanhoe.

The ideas of chivalrous honour, which, amidst hiswildness and levity, never utterly abandoned DeBracy, prohibited him from doing the knight anyinjury in his defenceless condition, and equally interdictedhis betraying him to Front-de-B<oe>uf, whowould have had no scruples to put to death, under

any circumstances, the rival claimant of the fief ofIvanhoe. On the other hand, to liberate a suitorpreferred by the Lady Rowena, as the events of thetournament, and indeed Wilfred's previous banishmentfrom his father's house, had made matter ofnotoriety, was a pitch far above the flight of DeBracy's generosity. A middle course betwixt goodand evil was all which he found himself capable ofadopting, and he commanded two of his own squiresto keep close by the litter, and to suffer no one toapproach it. If questioned, they were directed bytheir master to say, that the empty litter of theLady Rowena was employed to transport one oftheir comrades who had been wounded in the scuffle.On arriving at Torquilstone, while the Knight Templarand the lord of that castle were each intentupon their own schemes, the one on the Jew's treasure,and the other on his daughter, De Bracy'ssquires conveyed Ivanhoe, still under the name ofa wounded comrade, to a distant apartment. Thisexplanation was accordingly returned by these mento Front-de-B<oe>uf, when he questioned them whythey did not make for the battlements upon thealarm.

``A wounded companion!'' he replied in greatwrath and astonishment. ``No wonder that churlsand yeomen wax so presumptuous as even to layleaguer before castles, and that clowns and swineherdssend defiances to nobles, since men-at-armshave turned sick men's nurses, and Free Companionsare grown keepers of dying folk's curtains,when the castle is about to be assailed.---To thebattlements, ye loitering villains!'' he exclaimed,raising his stentorian voice till the arches aroundrung again, ``to the battlements, or I will splinteryour bones with this truncheon!''

The men sulkily replied, ``that they desirednothing better than to go to the battlements, providingFront-de-B<oe>uf would bear them out withtheir master, who had commanded them to tendthe dying man.''

``The dying man, knaves!'' rejoined the Baron;

``I promise thee we shall all be dying men an westand not to it the more stoutly. But I will relievethe guard upon this caitiff companion of yours.---Here, Urfried---hag---fiend of a Saxon witch---hearest me not?---tend me this bedridden fellowsince he must needs be tended, whilst these knavesuse 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 Saxonbrain.''

The men, who, like most of their description,were fond of enterprise and detested inaction, wentjoyfully to the scene of danger as they were commanded,and thus the charge of Ivanhoe was transferredto Urfried, or Ulrica. But she, whose brainwas burning with remembrance of injuries and withhopes of vengeance, was readily induced to devolveupon 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-heartedkindness and affection. We are thrownoff our guard by the general agitation of our feelings,and betray the intensity of those, which, atmore tranquil periods, our prudence at least conceals,if it cannot altogether suppress them. Infinding herself once more by the side of Ivanhoe,Rebecca was astonished at the keen sensation ofpleasure which she experienced, even at a timewhen 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 heraccents implying a kinder interest than she wouldherself have been pleased to have voluntarily expressed.Her voice faltered and her hand trembled,and it was only the cold question of Ivanhoe, ``Isit you, gentle maiden?'' which recalled her to herself,and reminded her the sensations which she feltwere not and could not be mutual. A sigh escaped,but it was scarce audible; and the questions whichshe asked the knight concerning his state of healthwere put in the tone of calm friendship. Ivanhoeanswered 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 helpfulskill.''

``He calls me _dear_ Rebecca,'' said the maidento herself, ``but it is in the cold and careless tonewhich ill suits the word. His war-horse---his huntinghound, are dearer to him than the despisedJewess!''

``My mind, gentle maiden,'' continued Ivanhoe,``is more disturbed by anxiety, than my body withpain. From the speeches of those men who weremy warders just now, I learn that I am a prisoner,and, if I judge aright of the loud hoarse voice whicheven now dispatched them hence on some militaryduty, I am in the castle of Front-de-B<oe>uf---If so,how will this end, or how can I protect Rowenaand my father?''

``He names not the Jew or Jewess,'' said Rebeccainternally; ``yet what is our portion in him,and how justly am I punished by Heaven for lettingmy thoughts dwell upon him!'' She hastenedafter this brief self-accusation to give Ivanhoe whatinformation she could; but it amounted only tothis, that the Templar Bois-Guilbert, and the BaronFront-de-B<oe>uf, were commanders within thecastle; that it was beleaguered from without, butby whom she knew not. She added, that there wasa Christian priest within the castle who might bepossessed of more information.

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

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

They had not much leisure to regret the failureof this source of intelligence, or to contrive by whatmeans it might be supplied; for the noise withinthe castle, occasioned by the defensive preparationswhich had been considerable for some time, nowincreased into tenfold bustle and clamour. Theheavy, yet hasty step of the men-at-arms, traversedthe battlements or resounded on the narrow andwinding passages and stairs which led to the variousbartisans and points of defence. The voices of theknights were heard, animating their followers, ordirecting means of defence, while their commandswere often drowned in the clashing of armour, orthe clamorous shouts of those whom they addressed.Tremendous as these sounds were, and yet moreterrible from the awful event which they presaged,there was a sublimity mixed with them, whichRebecca's high-toned mind could feel even in thatmoment of terror. Her eye kindled, although theblood fled from her cheeks; and there was a strongmixture 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 theshield---the noise of the captains and the shouting!''

But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublimepassage, glowing with impatience at his inactivity,and with his ardent desire to mingle in theaffray of which these sounds were the introduction.

``If I could but drag myself,'' he said, ``to yonderwindow, that I might see how this brave game islike to go---If I had but bow to shoot a shaft, orbattle-axe to strike were it but a single blow for ourdeliverance!---It is in vain---it is in vain---I amalike nerveless and weaponless!''

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

``Thou knowest nought of it,'' said Wilfred,impatiently; ``this dead pause only shows that themen are at their posts on the walls, and expectingan instant attack; what we have heard was butthe instant muttering of the storm---it will burstanon in all its fury.---Could I but reach yonderwindow!''

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

``You must not---you shall not!'' exclaimedIvanhoe; ``each lattice, each aperture, will be soona mark for the archers; some random shaft---''

``It shall be welcome!'' murmured Rebecca, aswith 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 thyselfto wounds and death, and render me for evermiserable for having given the occasion; at least,cover thyself with yonder ancient buckler, and showas little of your person at the lattice as may be.''

Following with wonderful promptitude the directionsof Ivanhoe, and availing herself of the protectionof the large ancient shield, which she placedagainst the lower part of the window, Rebecca,with tolerable security to herself, could witness part

of what was passing without the castle, and reportto Ivanhoe the preparations which the assailantswere making for the storm. Indeed the situationwhich she thus obtained was peculiarly favourablefor this purpose, because, being placed on an angleof the main building, Rebecca could not only seewhat passed beyond the precincts of the castle, butalso commanded a view of the outwork likely tobe the first object of the meditated assault. Itwas an exterior fortification of no great height orstrength, intended to protect the postern-gate,through which Cedric had been recently dismissedby Front-de-B<oe>uf. The castle moat divided thisspecies of barbican from the rest of the fortress, sothat, in case of its being taken, it was easy to cutoff the communication with the main building, bywithdrawing the temporary bridge. In the outworkwas a sallyport corresponding to the posternof the castle, and the whole was surrounded by astrong palisade. Rebecca could observe, from thenumber of men placed for the defence of this post,that the besieged entertained apprehensions for itssafety; and from the mustering of the assailants ina direction nearly opposite to the outwork, it seemedno less plain that it had been selected as a vulnerablepoint of attack.

These appearances she hastily communicated toIvanhoe, and added, ``The skirts of the wood seemlined with archers, although only a few are advancedfrom 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, ``toadvance to storm such a castle without pennon orbanner displayed!---Seest thou who they be thatact as leaders?''

``A knight, clad in sable armour, is the mostconspicuous,'' said the Jewess; ``he alone is armedfrom head to heel, and seems to assume the direction

of all around him.''

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

``Something resembling a bar of iron, and a padlockpainted 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<ae> 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, butwell I ween it might now be mine own. Canst thounot see the motto?''

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

``Seem there no other leaders?'' exclaimed theanxious enquirer.

``None of mark and distinction that I can beholdfrom this station,'' said Rebecca; ``but, doubtless,the other side of the castle is also assailed. Theyappear even now preparing to advance---God ofZion, protect us!---What a dreadful sight!---Thosewho advance first bear huge shields and defencesmade of plank; the others follow, bending theirbows as they come on.---They raise their bows!---God of Moses, forgive the creatures thou hastmade!''

Her description was here suddenly interruptedby the signal for assault, which was given by theblast of a shrill bugle, and at once answered by a

flourish of the Norman trumpets from the battlements,which, mingled with the deep and hollowclang of the nakers, (a species of kettle-drum,) retortedin notes of defiance the challenge of the enemy.The shouts of both parties augmented thefearful din, the assailants crying, ``Saint Georgefor merry England!'' and the Normans answeringthem with loud cries of ``_En avant De Bracy!---Beau-seant! Beau-seant!---Front-de-B<oe>uf <a`> larescousse!'' according to the war-cries of their differentcommanders.

It was not, however, by clamour that the contestwas to be decided, and the desperate efforts of theassailants were met by an equally vigorous defenceon the part of the besieged. The archers, trainedby their woodland pastimes to the most effectiveuse of the long-bow, shot, to use the appropriatephrase of the time, so ``wholly together,'' that nopoint at which a defender could show the least partof his person, escaped their cloth-yard shafts. Bythis heavy discharge, which continued as thick andsharp as hail, while, notwithstanding, every arrowhad its individual aim, and flew by scores togetheragainst each embrasure and opening in the parapets,as well as at every window where a defender eitheroccasionally had post, or might be suspected to bestationed,---by this sustained discharge, two or threeof the garrison were slain, and several others wounded.But, confident in their armour of proof, and inthe cover which their situation afforded, the followersof Front-de-B<oe>uf, and his allies, showed an obstinacyin defence proportioned to the fury of theattack and replied with the discharge of their largecross-bows, as well as with their long-bows, slings,and other missile weapons, to the close and continuedshower of arrows; and, as the assailants werenecessarily but indifferently protected, did considerablymore damage than they received at their hand.The whizzing of shafts and of missiles, on bothsides, was only interrupted by the shouts whicharose when either side inflicted or sustained somenotable loss.

``And I must lie here like a bedridden monk,''

exclaimed Ivanhoe, ``while the game that gives mefreedom or death is played out by the hand ofothers!---Look from the window once again, kindmaiden, but beware that you are not marked bythe archers beneath---Look out once more, and tellme if they yet advance to the storm.''

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

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

``Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thickas to dazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmenwho shoot them.''

``That cannot endure,'' said Ivanhoe; ``if theypress not right on to carry the castle by pure forceof arms, the archery may avail but little againststone walls and bulwarks. Look for the Knightof the Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how hebears himself; for as the leader is, so will his followersbe.''

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

``Foul craven!'' exclaimed Ivanhoe; ``does heblench 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 menclose 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 plumefloats abroad over the throng, like a raven over thefield of the slain.---They have made a breach in thebarriers---they rush in---they are thrust back!---Front-de-B<oe>uf heads the defenders; I see his giganticform above the press. They throng again tothe breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand,and man to man. God of Jacob! it is the meetingof two fierce tides---the conflict of two oceans movedby adverse winds!''

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

``Look forth again, Rebecca,'' said Ivanhoe,mistaking the cause of her retiring; ``the archerymust in some degree have ceased, since they arenow fighting hand to hand.---Look again, there isnow less danger.''

Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediatelyexclaimed, ``Holy prophets of the law!Front-de-B<oe>uf and the Black Knight fight hand tohand on the breach, amid the roar of their followers,who watch the progress of the strife---Heavenstrike with the cause of the oppressed and of thecaptive!'' She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed,``He is down!---he is down!''

``Who is down?'' cried Ivanhoe; ``for our dearLady'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 Lordof Hosts be blessed!---he is on foot again, andfights as if there were twenty men's strength in hissingle arm---His sword is broken---he snatches anaxe from a yeoman---he presses Front-de-B<oe>ufwith blow on blow---The giant stoops and totterslike an oak under the steel of the woodman---hefalls---he falls!''

``Front-de-B<oe>uf?'' exclaimed Ivanhoe.

``Front-de-B<oe>uf!'' answered the Jewess; ``hismen rush to the rescue, headed by the haughtyTemplar---their united force compels the championto pause---They drag Front-de-B<oe>uf within thewalls.''

``The assailants have won the barriers, have theynot?'' said Ivanhoe.

``They have---they have!'' exclaimed Rebecca---``and they press the besieged hard upon the outerwall; some plant ladders, some swarm like bees,and endeavour to ascend upon the shoulders of eachother---down go stones, beams, and trunks of treesupon their heads, and as fast as they bear thewounded to the rear, fresh men supply their placesin the assault---Great God! hast thou given menthine own image, that it should be thus cruelly defacedby the hands of their brethren!''

``Think not of that,'' said Ivanhoe; ``this is notime for such thoughts---Who yield?---who pushtheir way?''

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

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

``No!'' exclaimed Rebecca, ``they bear themselvesright yeomanly---the Black Knight approachesthe postern with his huge axe---the thunderingblows which he deals, you may hear themabove all the din and shouts of the battle---Stonesand beams are hailed down on the bold champion---he regards them no more than if they were thistle-downor feathers!''

``By Saint John of Acre,'' said Ivanhoe, raisinghimself joyfully on his couch, ``methought therewas but one man in England that might do such adeed!''

``The postern gate shakes,'' continued Rebecca;``it crashes---it is splintered by his blows---theyrush in---the outwork is won---Oh, God!---theyhurl the defenders from the battlements---theythrow them into the moat---O men, if ye be indeedmen, spare them that can resist no longer!''

``The bridge---the bridge which communicateswith the castle---have they won that pass?'' exclaimedIvanhoe.

``No,'' replied Rebecca, ``The Templar has destroyedthe plank on which they crossed---few ofthe defenders escaped with him into the castle---the shrieks and cries which you hear tell the fateof the others---Alas!---I see it is still more difficultto look upon victory than upon battle.''

``What do they now, maiden?'' said Ivanhoe;``look forth yet again---this is no time to faint atbloodshed.''

``It is over for the time,'' answered Rebecca; ``ourfriends strengthen themselves within the outworkwhich they have mastered, and it affords them sogood a shelter from the foemen's shot, that the garrisononly bestow a few bolts on it from interval tointerval, as if rather to disquiet than effectually toinjure them.''

``Our friends,'' said Wilfred, ``will surely notabandon an enterprise so gloriously begun and sohappily attained.---O no! I will put my faith in thegood knight whose axe hath rent heart-of-oak andbars 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 thounought else, Rebecca, by which the Black Knightmay be distinguished?''

``Nothing,'' said the Jewess; ``all about him isblack as the wing of the night raven. Nothing canI spy that can mark him further---but having onceseen him put forth his strength in battle, methinksI could know him again among a thousand warriors.He rushes to the fray as if he were summoned toa banquet. There is more than mere strength,there seems as if the whole soul and spirit of thechampion were given to every blow which he dealsupon his enemies. God assoilzie him of the sin ofbloodshed!---it is fearful, yet magnificent, to beholdbow the arm and heart of one man can triumphover hundreds.''

``Rebecca,'' said Ivanhoe, ``thou hast painted ahero; surely they rest but to refresh their force, orto provide the means of crossing the moat---Undersuch 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 difficultieswhich render it arduous render it also glorious.I swear by the honour of my house---I vow by thename of my bright lady-love, I would endure tenyears' captivity to fight one day by that goodknight's side in such a quarrel as this!''

``Alas,'' said Rebecca, leaving her station at thewindow, and approaching the couch of the woundedknight, ``this impatient yearning after action---this struggling with and repining at your presentweakness, will not fail to injure your returninghealth---How couldst thou hope to inflict woundson others, ere that be healed which thou thyselfhast received?''

``Rebecca,'' he replied, ``thou knowest not howimpossible it is for one trained to actions of chivalryto 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 _m<e^>l<e'>e_ is the breath of our nostrils!We live not---we wish not to live---longerthan while we are victorious and renowned---Such,maiden, are the laws of chivalry to which we aresworn, 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 demonof vain glory, and a passing through the fireto Moloch?---What remains to you as the prize ofall the blood you have spilled---of all the travailand pain you have endured---of all the tears whichyour deeds have caused, when death hath brokenthe strong man's spear, and overtaken the speed ofhis war-horse?''

``What remains?'' cried Ivanhoe; ``Glory,maiden, glory! which gilds our sepulchre and embalmsour name.''

``Glory?'' continued Rebecca; ``alas, is therusted mail which hangs as a hatchment over thechampion's dim and mouldering tomb---is the defacedsculpture of the inscription which the ignorantmonk can hardly read to the enquiring pilgrim---are these sufficient rewards for the sacrifice ofevery kindly affection, for a life spent miserablythat ye may make others miserable? Or is theresuch virtue in the rude rhymes of a wandering bard,that domestic love, kindly affection, peace and happiness,are so wildly bartered, to become the heroof those ballads which vagabond minstrels sing todrunken churls over their evening ale?''

``By the soul of Hereward?'' replied the knightimpatiently, ``thou speakest, maiden, of thou knowestnot what. Thou wouldst quench the pure lightof chivalry, which alone distinguishes the noblefrom the base, the gentle knight from the churl andthe savage; which rates our life far, far beneaththe pitch of our honour; raises us victorious overpain, 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 whichswell the bosom of a noble maiden when her loverhath done some deed of emprize which sanctionshis flame. Chivalry!---why, maiden, she is the nurseof pure and high affection---the stay of the oppressed,the redresser of grievances, the curb of thepower of the tyrant---Nobility were but an empty

name without her, and liberty finds the best protectionin her lance and her sword.''

``I am, indeed,'' said Rebecca, ``sprung from arace whose courage was distinguished in the defenceof their own land, but who warred not, even whileyet a nation, save at the command of the Deity, orin defending their country from oppression. Thesound of the trumpet wakes Judah no longer, andher despised children are now but the unresistingvictims of hostile and military oppression. Wellhast thou spoken, Sir Knight,---until the God ofJacob shall raise up for his chosen people a secondGideon, or a new Maccabeus, it ill beseemeth theJewish damsel to speak of battle or of war.''

The high-minded maiden concluded the argumentin a tone of sorrow, which deeply expressedher sense of the degradation of her people, embitteredperhaps by the idea that Ivanhoe consideredher as one not entitled to interfere in a case ofhonour, and incapable of entertaining or expressingsentiments of honour and generosity.

``How little he knows this bosom,'' she said, ``toimagine that cowardice or meanness of soul mustneeds be its guests, because I have censured thefantastic chivalry of the Nazarenes! Would toheaven that the shedding of mine own blood, dropby 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 whetherthe daughter of God's chosen people dared notto die as bravely as the vainest Nazarene maiden,that boasts her descent from some petty chieftainof the rude and frozen north!''

She then looked towards the couch of the woundedknight.

``He sleeps,'' she said; ``nature exhausted bysufferance and the waste of spirits, his weariedframe embraces the first moment of temporary relaxationto sink into slumber. Alas! is it a crime

that I should look upon him, when it may be forthe last time?---When yet but a short space, andthose fair features will be no longer animated bythe bold and buoyant spirit which forsakes them noteven 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 troddenon 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 withhis daughter, when his grey hairs are not rememberedbecause of the golden locks of youth!---What know I but that these evils are the messengersof Jehovah's wrath to the unnatural child, whothinks of a stranger's captivity before a parent's?who forgets the desolation of Judah, and looks uponthe comeliness of a Gentile and a stranger?---But I will tear this folly from my heart, thoughevery fibre bleed as I rend it away!''

She wrapped herself closely in her veil, and satdown at a distance from the couch of the woundedknight, with her back turned towards it, fortifying,or endeavouring to fortify her mind, not only againstthe impending evils from without, but also againstthose treacherous feelings which assailed her fromwithin.

Addition to Note attached to page **.

In corroboration of what is above stated in Note at page **, itmay be observed, that the arms, which were assumed by Godfreyof Boulogne himself, after the conquest of Jerusalem, wasa cross counter patent cantoned with four little crosses or, upona field azure, displaying thus metal upon metal. The heraldshave tried to explain this undeniable fact in different modes---but Ferne gallantly contends, that a prince of Godfrey's qualitiesshould not be bound by the ordinary rules. The ScottishNisbet, and the same Ferne, insist that the chiefs of the Crusademust have assigned to Godfrey this extraordinary and unwontedcoat-of-arms, in order to induce those who should behold themto make enquiries; and hence give them the name of _arma inquirenda_.But with reverence to these grave authorities, itseems unlikely that the assembled princes of Europe should

have adjudged to Godfrey a coat armorial so much contrary tothe general rule, if such rule had then existed; at any rate, itproves 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 thefirst success of the besiegers, while the one partywas preparing to pursue their advantage, and theother to strengthen their means of defence, theTemplar and De Bracy held brief council togetherin the hall of the castle.

``Where is Front-de-B<oe>uf?'' said the latter,who had superintended the defence of the fortresson the other side; ``men say he hath been slain.''

``He lives,'' said the Templar, coolly, ``lives asyet; but had he worn the bull's head of which hebears the name, and ten plates of iron to fence itwithal, he must have gone down before yonder fatalaxe. Yet a few hours, and Front-de-B<oe>uf is withhis fathers---a powerful limb lopped off PrinceJohn's enterprise.''

``And a brave addition to the kingdom of Satan,''said De Bracy; ``this comes of reviling saints andangels, and ordering images of holy things and holymen to be flung down on the heads of these rascailleyeomen.''

``Go to---thou art a fool,'' said the Templar;``thy superstition is upon a level with Front-de-B<oe>uf'swant of faith; neither of you can render areason for your belief or unbelief.''

``Benedicite, Sir Templar,'' replied De Bracy,``pray you to keep better rule with your tonguewhen I am the theme of it. By the Mother ofHeaven, I am a better Christian man than thou andthy fellowship; for the _bruit_ goeth shrewdly out,that the most holy Order of the Temple of Zionnurseth not a few heretics within its bosom, andthat 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. ``Theyswanned close up to the walls, headed, as I think,by the knave who won the prize at the archery, forI knew his horn and baldric. And this is oldFitzurse's boasted policy, encouraging these malapertknaves to rebel against us! Had I not beenarmed in proof, the villain had marked me downseven times with as little remorse as if I had beena buck in season. He told every rivet on my armourwith a cloth-yard shaft, that rapped againstmy ribs with as little compunction as if my boneshad been of iron---But that I wore a shirt of Spanishmail under my plate-coat, I had been fairlysped.''

``But you maintained your post?'' said the Templar.``We lost the outwork on our part.''

``That is a shrewd loss,'' said De Bracy; ``theknaves will find cover there to assault the castlemore closely, and may, if not well watched, gainsome unguarded corner of a tower, or some forgottenwindow, and so break in upon us. Our numbersare too few for the defence of every point, andthe men complain that they can nowhere showthemselves, but they are the mark for as many arrowsas a parish-butt on a holyday even. Front-de-B<oe>uf

is dying too, so we shall receive no moreaid from his bull's head and brutal strength. Howthink you, Sir Brian, were we not better make avirtue of necessity, and compound with the roguesby delivering up our prisoners?''

``How?'' exclaimed the Templar; ``deliver upour prisoners, and stand an object alike of ridiculeand execration, as the doughty warriors who daredby a night-attack to possess themselves of the personsof a party of defenceless travellers, yet couldnot make good a strong castle against a vagabondtroop of outlaws, led by swineherds, jesters, andthe very refuse of mankind?---Shame on thy counsel,Maurice de Bracy!---The ruins of this castleshall bury both my body and my shame, ere I consentto such base and dishonourable composition.''

``Let us to the walls, then,'' said De Bracy, carelessly;``that man never breathed, be he Turk orTemplar, who held life at lighter rate than I do.But I trust there is no dishonour in wishing I hadhere some two scores of my gallant troop of FreeCompanions?---Oh, my brave lances! if ye knewbut how hard your captain were this day bested,how soon should I see my banner at the head ofyour clump of spears! And how short while wouldthese rabble villains stand to endure your encounter!''

``Wish for whom thou wilt,'' said the Templar,``but let us make what defence we can with thesoldiers who remain---They are chiefly Front-de-B<oe>uf'sfollowers, hated by the English for a thousandacts of insolence and oppression.''

``The better,'' said De Bracy; ``the ruggedslaves will defend themselves to the last drop oftheir blood, ere they encounter the revenge of thepeasants without. Let us up and be doing, then,Brian de Bois-Guilbert; and, live or die, thou shaltsee Maurice de Bracy bear himself this day as agentleman of blood and lineage.''``To the walls!'' answered the Templar; andthey both ascended the battlements to do all thatskill could dictate, and manhood accomplish, in defence

of the place. They readily agreed that thepoint of greatest danger was that opposite to theoutwork of which the assailants had possessedthemselves. The castle, indeed, was divided fromthat barbican by the moat, and it was impossiblethat the besiegers could assail the postern-door,with which the outwork corresponded, without surmountingthat obstacle; but it was the opinion bothof the Templar and De Bracy, that the besiegers,if governed by the same policy their leader had alreadydisplayed, would endeavour, by a formidableassault, to draw the chief part of the defenders'observation to this point, and take measures to availthemselves of every negligence which might takeplace in the defence elsewhere. To guard againstsuch an evil, their numbers only permitted theknights to place sentinels from space to space alongthe walls in communication with each other, whomight give the alarm whenever danger was threatened.Meanwhile, they agreed that De Bracy shouldcommand the defence at the postern, and the Templarshould keep with him a score of men or thereaboutsas a body of reserve, ready to hasten to anyother point which might be suddenly threatened.The loss of the barbican had also this unfortunateeffect, that, notwithstanding the superior height ofthe castle walls, the besieged could not see fromthem, with the same precision as before, the operationsof the enemy; for some straggling underwoodapproached so near the sallyport of the outwork,that the assailants might introduce into itwhatever force they thought proper, not only undercover, but even without the knowledge of thedefenders. Utterly uncertain, therefore, upon whatpoint the storm was to burst, De Bracy and hiscompanion were under the necessity of providingagainst every possible contingency, and their followers,however brave, experienced the anxiousdejection of mind incident to men enclosed by enemies,who possessed the power of choosing theirtime and mode of attack.

Meanwhile, the lord of the beleaguered and endangeredcastle lay upon a bed of bodily pain andmental agony. He had not the usual resource of

bigots in that superstitious period, most of whomwere wont to atone for the crimes they were guiltyof by liberality to the church, stupefying by thismeans their terrors by the idea of atonement andforgiveness; and although the refuge which successthus purchased, was no more like to the peaceof mind which follows on sincere repentance, thanthe turbid stupefaction procured by opium resembleshealthy and natural slumbers, it was still astate of mind preferable to the agonies of awakenedremorse. But among the vices of Front-de-B<oe>uf,a hard and griping man, avarice was predominant;and he preferred setting church andchurchmen at defiance, to purchasing from thempardon and absolution at the price of treasure andof manors. Nor did the Templar, an infidel of anotherstamp, justly characterise his associate, whenhe said Front-de-B<oe>uf could assign no cause forhis unbelief and contempt for the established faith;for the Baron would have alleged that the Churchsold her wares too dear, that the spiritual freedomwhich she put up to sale was only to be bought likethat of the chief captain of Jerusalem, ``with a greatsum,'' and Front-de-B<oe>uf preferred denying thevirtue of the medicine, to paying the expense of thephysician.

But the moment had now arrived when earth andall his treasures were gliding from before his eyes,and when the savage Baron's heart, though hard asa nether millstone, became appalled as he gazedforward into the waste darkness of futurity. Thefever of his body aided the impatience and agonyof his mind, and his death-bed exhibited a mixtureof the newly awakened feelings of horror, combatingwith the fixed and inveterate obstinacy of his disposition;---a fearful state of mind, only to be equalledin those tremendous regions, where there arecomplaints without hope, remorse without repentance,a dreadful sense of present agony, and a presentimentthat it cannot cease or be diminished!

``Where be these dog-priests now,'' growled theBaron, ``who set such price on their ghostly mummery?---where be all those unshod Carmelites, for

whom old Front-de-B<oe>uf founded the convent ofSt Anne, robbing his heir of many a fair rood ofmeadow, and many a fat field and close---where bethe greedy hounds now?---Swilling, I warrant me,at the ale, or playing their juggling tricks at thebedside of some miserly churl.---Me, the heir oftheir founder---me, whom their foundation bindsthem to pray for---me---ungrateful villains as theyare!---they suffer to die like the houseless dog onyonder common, unshriven and tinhouseled!---Tellthe Templar to come hither---he is a priest, andmay do something---But no!---as well confess myselfto the devil as to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whorecks neither of heaven nor of hell.---I have heardold 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-B<oe>uf,'' said a brokenand shrill voice close by his bedside, ``to say thereis that which he dares not!''

The evil conscience and the shaken nerves ofFront-de-B<oe>uf heard, in this strange interruptionto his soliloquy, the voice of one of those demons,who, as the superstition of the times believed, besetthe beds of dying men to distract their thoughts,and turn them from the meditations which concernedtheir eternal welfare. He shuddered anddrew himself together; but, instantly summoningup his wonted resolution, he exclaimed, ``Who isthere?---what art thou, that darest to echo mywords 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-B<oe>uf,''replied the voice.

``Let me behold thee then in thy bodily shape,if thou best indeed a fiend,'' replied the dyingknight; ``think not that I will blench from thee.---By the eternal dungeon, could I but grapplewith these horrors that hover round me, as I havedone with mortal dangers, heaven or hell shouldnever say that I shrunk from the conflict!''

``Think on thy sins, Reginald Front-de-B<oe>uf,''said the almost unearthly voice, ``on rebellion, onrapine, on murder!---Who stirred up the licentiousJohn to war against his grey-headed father---againsthis generous brother?''

``Be thou fiend, priest, or devil,'' replied Front-de-B<oe>uf,``thou liest in thy throat!---Not I stirredJohn to rebellion---not I alone---there werefifty knights and barons, the flower of the midlandcounties---better men never laid lance in rest---Andmust I answer for the fault done by fifty?---Falsefiend, I defy thee! Depart, and haunt my couchno 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 thevoice; ``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-B<oe>uf, with a ghastly and constrainedlaugh. ``The infidel Jew---it was meritwith heaven to deal with him as I did, else whereforeare men canonized who dip their hands in theblood of Saracens?---The Saxon porkers, whom Ihave slain, they were the foes of my country, andof 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; ``thinkof thy father!---think of his death!---think of hisbanquet-room flooded with his gore, and that pouredforth by the hand of a son!''

``Ha!'' answered the Baron, after a long pause,``an thou knowest that, thou art indeed the authorof 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 partakerof my guilt.---Go, leave me, fiend! and seekthe 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 oneparted in time and in the course of nature---Go toher, she was my temptress, the foul provoker, themore foul rewarder, of the deed---let her, as well asI, taste of the tortures which anticipate hell!''

``She already tastes them,'' said Ulrica, steppingbefore the couch of Front-de-B<oe>uf; ``she hathlong drunken of this cup, and its bitterness is nowsweetened to see that thou dost partake it.---Grindnot thy teeth, Front-de-B<oe>uf---roll not thine eyes---clench not thine hand, nor shake it at me with thatgesture of menace!---The hand which, like that ofthy renowned ancestor who gained thy name, couldhave broken with one stroke the skull of a mountain-bull,is now unnerved and powerless as mineown!''

``Vile murderous hag!'' replied Front-de-B<oe>uf;``detestable screech-owl! it is then thou who artcome to exult over the ruins thou hast assisted tolay low?''

``Ay, Reginald Front-de-B<oe>uf,'' answered she,``it is Ulrica!---it is the daughter of the murderedTorquil Wolfganger!---it is the sister of hisslaughtered sons!---it is she who demands of thee,and of thy father's house, father and kindred, nameand fame---all that she has lost by the name ofFront-de-B<oe>uf!---Think of my wrongs, Front-de-B<oe>uf,and answer me if I speak not truth. Thouhast been my evil angel, and I will be thine---I willdog thee till the very instant of dissolution!''

``Detestable fury!'' exclaimed Front-de-B<oe>uf,``that moment shalt thou never witness---Ho!Giles, Clement, and Eustace! Saint Maur, andStephen! seize this damned witch, and hurl herfrom the battlements headlong---she has betrayedus 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 thyvassals around thee, doom them that loiter to thescourge and the dungeon---But know, mighty chief,''she continued, suddenly changing her tone, ``thoushalt have neither answer, nor aid, nor obedienceat their hands.---Listen to these horrid sounds,''for the din of the recommenced assault and defencenow rung fearfully loud from the battlements ofthe castle; ``in that war-cry is the downfall of thyhouse---The blood-cemented fabric of Front-de-B<oe>uf'spower totters to the foundation, and beforethe foes he most despised!---The Saxon, Reginald!---the scorned Saxon assails thy walls!---Why liestthou here, like a worn-out hind, when the Saxonstorms thy place of strength?''

``Gods and fiends!'' exclaimed the woundedknight; ``O, for one moment's strength, to dragmyself to the _m<e^>l<e'>e_, and perish as becomes myname!''

``Think not of it, valiant warrior!'' replied she;``thou shalt die no soldier's death, but perish likethe fox in his den, when the peasants have set fireto the cover around it.''

``Hateful hag! thou liest!'' exclaimed Front-de-B<oe>uf;``my followers bear them bravely---mywalls are strong and high---my comrades in armsfear not a whole host of Saxons, were they headedby Hengist and Horsa!---The war-cry of the Templarand of the Free Companions rises high overthe conflict! And by mine honour, when we kindlethe blazing beacon, for joy of our defence, it shallconsume thee, body and bones; and I shall live tohear thou art gone from earthly fires to those ofthat hell, which never sent forth an incarnate fiendmore utterly diabolical!''

``Hold thy belief,'' replied Ulrica, ``till theproof reach thee---But, no!'' she said, interruptingherself, ``thou shalt know, even now, the doom,which all thy power, strength, and courage, is unableto avoid, though it is prepared for thee by thisfeeble band. Markest thou the smouldering and

suffocating vapour which already eddies in sablefolds through the chamber?---Didst thou think itwas but the darkening of thy bursting eyes---thedifficulty of thy cumbered breathing?---No! Front-de-B<oe>uf,there is another cause---Rememberestthou the magazine of fuel that is stored beneaththese apartments?''

``Woman!'' he exclaimed with fury, ``thou hastnot set fire to it?---By heaven, thou hast, and thecastle is in flames!''

``They are fast rising at least,'' said Ulrica, withfrightful composure; ``and a signal shall soon waveto warn the besiegers to press hard upon thosewho would extinguish them.---Farewell, Front-de-B<oe>uf!---May Mista, Skogula, and Zernebock,gods of the ancient Saxons---fiends, as the priestsnow call them---supply the place of comforters atyour 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 withthyself, the companion of thy punishment as thecompanion of thy guilt.---And now, parricide, farewellfor ever!---May each stone of this vaulted rooffind a tongue to echo that title into thine ear!''

So saying, she left the apartment; and Front-de-B<oe>ufcould hear the crash of the ponderous key,as she locked and double-locked the door behindher, thus cutting off the most slender chance ofescape. In the extremity of agony he shouted uponhis 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-B<oe>uf who calls!---It is your master, ye traitor squires!---Your ally---your brother in arms, ye perjured and faithlessknights!---all the curses due to traitors upon yourrecreant heads, do you abandon me to perish thusmiserably!---They hear me not---they cannot hearme---my voice is lost in the din of battle.---Thesmoke rolls thicker and thicker---the fire has caughtupon the floor below---O, for one drought of theair 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 thefighters, now muttered curses on himself, on mankind,and on Heaven itself.---``The red fire flashesthrough the thick smoke!'' he exclaimed; ``thedemon marches against me under the banner of hisown element---Foul spirit, avoid!---I go not withthee without my comrades---all, all are thine, thatgarrison these walls---Thinkest thou Front-de-B<oe>ufwill be singled out to go alone?---No---theinfidel Templar---the licentious De Bracy---Ulrica,the foul murdering strumpet---the men whoaided my enterprises---the dog Saxons and accursedJews, who are my prisoners---all, all shall attendme---a goodly fellowship as ever took thedownward road---Ha, ha, ha!'' and he laughed inhis frenzy till the vaulted roof rang again. ``Wholaughed there?'' exclaimed Front-de-B<oe>uf, in alteredmood, for the noise of the conflict did notprevent the echoes of his own mad laughter fromreturning upon his ear---``who laughed there?---Ulrica, was it thou?---Speak, witch, and I forgivethee---for, only thou or the fiend of hell himselfcould have laughed at such a moment. Avaunt---avaunt!------''

But it were impious to trace any farther thepicture 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 hereThe mettle of your pasture---let us swearThat you are worth your breeding. _King Henry V._

Cedric, although not greatly confident in Ulrica'smessage, omitted not to communicate herpromise to the Black Knight and Locksley. Theywere well pleased to find they had a friend within

the place, who might, in the moment of need, beable to facilitate their entrance, and readily agreedwith the Saxon that a storm, under whatever disadvantages,ought to be attempted, as the only meansof liberating the prisoners now in the hands of thecruel Front-de-B<oe>uf.

``The royal blood of Alfred is endangered,'' saidCedric.

``The honour of a noble lady is in peril,'' saidthe Black Knight.

``And, by the Saint Christopher at my baldric,''said the good yeoman, ``were there no other causethan the safety of that poor faithful knave, Wamba,I would jeopard a joint ere a hair of his head werehurt.''

``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 hiscraft, and can give as much relish and flavour to acup of wine as ever a flitch of bacon can---I say,brethren, such a fool shall never want a wise clerkto pray for or fight for him at a strait, while I cansay a mass or flourish a partisan.''And with that he made his heavy halberd to playaround his head as a shepherd boy flourishes hislight 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 thatnoble Cedric should assume the direction of thisassault?''

``Not a jot I,'' returned Cedric; ``I have neverbeen wont to study either how to take or how tohold out those abodes of tyrannic power, which theNormans have erected in this groaning land. I willfight among the foremost; but my honest neighbourswell know I am not a trained soldier in thediscipline of wars, or the attack of strongholds.''

``Since it stands thus with noble Cedric,'' saidLocksley, ``I am most willing to take on me thedirection of the archery; and ye shall hang me upon my own Trysting-tree, an the defenders be permittedto show themselves over the walls withoutbeing stuck with as many shafts as there are clovesin a gammon of bacon at Christmas.''

``Well said, stout yeoman,'' answered the BlackKnight; ``and if I be thought worthy to have acharge in these matters, and can find among thesebrave men as many as are willing to follow a trueEnglish knight, for so I may surely call myself, Iam ready, with such skill as my experience hastaught 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 thereader has already heard the issue.

When the barbican was carried, the Sable Knightsent notice of the happy event to Locksley, requestinghim at the same time, to keep such a strictobservation on the castle as might prevent the defendersfrom combining their force for a suddensally, and recovering the outwork which they hadlost. This the knight was chiefly desirous of avoiding,conscious that the men whom he led, beinghasty and untrained volunteers, imperfectly armedand unaccustomed to discipline, must, upon any suddenattack, fight at great disadvantage with theveteran soldiers of the Norman knights, who werewell provided with arms both defensive and offensive;and who, to match the zeal and high spiritof the besiegers, had all the confidence which arisesfrom perfect discipline and the habitual use of weapons.

The knight employed the interval in causing tobe constructed a sort of floating bridge, or long raft,by means of which he hoped to cross the moat indespite of the resistance of the enemy. This wasa work of some time, which the leaders the less regretted,as it gave Ulrica leisure to execute her planof diversion in their favour, whatever that might be.

When the raft was completed, the Black Knightaddressed the besiegers:---``It avails not waitinghere longer, my friends; the sun is descending tothe west---and I have that upon my hands whichwill not permit me to tarry with you another day.Besides, it will be a marvel if the horsemen comenot upon us from York, unless we speedily accomplishour purpose. Wherefore, one of ye go toLocksley, and bid him commence a discharge ofarrows on the opposite side of the castle, and moveforward as if about to assault it; and you, trueEnglish hearts, stand by me, and be ready to thrustthe raft endlong over the moat whenever the posternon our side is thrown open. Follow me boldlyacross, and aid me to burst yon sallyport in themain wall of the castle. As many of you as likenot this service, or are but ill armed to meet it, doyou man the top of the outwork, draw your bow-stringsto your ears, and mind you quell with yourshot whatever shall appear to man the rampart---Noble Cedric, wilt thou take the direction of thosewhich remain?''

``Not so, by the soul of Hereward!'' said theSaxon; ``lead I cannot; but may posterity curseme in my grave, if I follow not with the foremostwherever thou shalt point the way---The quarrel ismine, and well it becomes me to be in the van ofthe battle.''

``Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon,'' said theknight, ``thou hast neither hauberk, nor corslet, noraught but that light helmet, target, and sword.''

``The better!'' answered Cedric; ``I shall bethe lighter to climb these walls. And,---forgive theboast, Sir Knight,---thou shalt this day see thenaked breast of a Saxon as boldly presented to thebattle 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 thebarbican to the moat, and which corresponded with

a sallyport in the main wall of the castle, was nowsuddenly opened; the temporary bridge was thenthrust forward, and soon flashed in the waters, extendingits length between the castle and outwork,and forming a slippery and precarious passage fortwo men abreast to cross the moat. Well aware ofthe importance of taking the foe by surprise, theBlack Knight, closely followed by Cedric, threwhimself upon the bridge, and reached the oppositeside. Here he began to thunder with his axe uponthe gate of the castle, protected in part from theshot and stones cast by the defenders by the ruinsof the former drawbridge, which the Templar haddemolished in his retreat from the barbican, leavingthe counterpoise still attached to the upper partof the portal. The followers of the knight had nosuch shelter; two were instantly shot with cross-bowbolts, and two more fell into the moat; theothers retreated back into the barbican.

The situation of Cedric and of the Black Knightwas now truly dangerous, and would have been stillmore so, but for the constancy of the archers in thebarbican, who ceased not to shower their arrowsupon the battlements, distracting the attention ofthose by whom they were manned, and thus affordinga respite to their two chiefs from the storm ofmissiles which must otherwise have overwhelmedthem. But their situation was eminently perilous,and was becoming more so with every moment.

``Shame on ye all!'' cried De Bracy to the soldiersaround him; ``do ye call yourselves cross-bowmen,and let these two dogs keep their stationunder the walls of the castle?---Heave over thecoping stones from the battlements, an better maynot be---Get pick-axe and levers, and down withthat huge pinnacle!'' pointing to a heavy piece ofstone carved-work that projected from the parapet.

At this moment the besiegers caught sight of thered flag upon the angle of the tower which Ulricahad described to Cedric. The stout yeoman Locksleywas the first who was aware of it, as he washasting to the outwork, impatient to see the progress

of the assault.

``Saint George!'' he cried, ``Merry Saint Georgefor England!---To the charge, bold yeomen!---whyleave ye the good knight and noble Cedric to stormthe pass alone?---make in, mad priest, show thoucanst fight for thy rosary,---make in, brave yeomen!---the castle is ours, we have friends within---Seeyonder flag, it is the appointed signal---Torquilstoneis ours!---Think of honour, think of spoil---Oneeffort, and the place is ours!''

With that he bent his good bow, and sent a shaftright through the breast of one of the men-at-arms,who, under De Bracy's direction, was loosening afragment from one of the battlements to precipitateon the heads of Cedric and the Black Knight. Asecond soldier caught from the hands of the dyingman the iron crow, with which he heaved at andhad loosened the stone pinnacle, when, receiving anarrow through his head-piece, he dropped from thebattlements into the moat a dead man. The men-at-armswere daunted, for no armour seemed proofagainst the shot of this tremendous archer.

``Do you give ground, base knaves!'' said DeBracy; ``_Mount joye Saint Dennis!_---Give me thelever!''

And, snatching it up, he again assailed theloosened pinnacle, which was of weight enough, ifthrown down, not only to have destroyed the remnantof the drawbridge, which sheltered the twoforemost assailants, but also to have sunk the rudefloat of planks over which they had crossed. Allsaw the danger, and the boldest, even the stoutFriar himself, avoided setting foot on the raft.Thrice did Locksley bend his shaft against DeBracy, and thrice did his arrow bound back fromthe knight's armour of proof.

``Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat!'' said Locksley,``had English smith forged it, these arrowshad 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 ruinfall.''

His warning voice was unheard, for the dinwhich the knight himself occasioned by his strokesupon the postern would have drowned twenty war-trumpets.The faithful Gurth indeed sprung forwardon the planked bridge, to warn Cedric of hisimpending fate, or to share it with him. But hiswarning would have come too late; the massivepinnacle already tottered, and De Bracy, who stillheaved at his task, would have accomplished it, hadnot the voice of the Templar sounded close in hisears:---

``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 basisof his character, Brian de Bois-Guilbert communicatedthis hideous intelligence, which was not socalmly received by his astonished comrade.

``Saints of Paradise!'' said De Bracy; ``what isto be done? I vow to Saint Nicholas of Limogesa candlestick of pure gold---''

``Spare thy vow,'' said the Templar, ``and markme. Lead thy men down, as if to a sally; throwthe postern-gate open---There are but two men whooccupy the float, fling them into the moat, and pushacross for the barbican. I will charge from the maingate, and attack the barbican on the outside; andif we can regain that post, be assured we shall defendourselves until we are relieved, or at least tillthey grant us fair quarter.''

``It is well thought upon,'' said De Bracy; ``Iwill play my part---Templar, thou wilt not failme?''

``Hand and glove, I will not!'' said Bois-Guilbert.``But haste thee, in the name of God!''

De Bracy hastily drew his men together, andrushed down to the postern-gate, which he causedinstantly to be thrown open. But scarce was thisdone ere the portentous strength of the BlackKnight forced his way inward in despite of DeBracy and his followers. Two of the foremost instantlyfell, and the rest gave way notwithstandingall their leader's efforts to stop them.

``Dogs!'' said De Bracy, ``will ye let _two_ menwin 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 despairgive you courage, or let me forward! I will copewith this champion myself''

And well and chivalrous did De Bracy that daymaintain the fame he had acquired in the civil warsof that dreadful period. The vaulted passage towhich the postern gave entrance, and in which thesetwo redoubted champions were now fighting handto hand, rung with the furious blows which theydealt each other, De Bracy with his sword, theBlack Knight with his ponderous axe. At lengththe Norman received a blow, which, though itsforce was partly parried by his shield, for otherwisenever more would De Bracy have again movedlimb, 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 thebars of his helmet the fatal poniard with which theknights dispatched their enemies, (and which wascalled the dagger of mercy,)---``yield thee, Mauricede Bracy, rescue or no rescue, or thou art but adead man.''

``I will not yield,'' replied De Bracy faintly, ``toan unknown conqueror. Tell me thy name, orwork thy pleasure on me---it shall never be saidthat Maurice de Bracy was prisoner to a namelesschurl.''

The Black Knight whispered something into theear of the vanquished.

``I yield me to be true prisoner, rescue or norescue,'' answered the Norman, exchanging his toneof stern and determined obstinacy for one of deepthough sullen submission.

``Go to the barbican,'' said the victor, in a toneof authority, ``and there wait my further orders.''

``Yet first, let me say,'' said De Bracy, ``whatit imports thee to know. Wilfred of Ivanhoe iswounded and a prisoner, and will perish in theburning castle without present help.''

``Wilfred of Ivanhoe!'' exclaimed the BlackKnight---``prisoner, and perish!---The life of everyman in the castle shall answer it if a hair of hishead be singed---Show me his chamber!''

``Ascend yonder winding stair,'' said De Bracy;``it leads to his apartment---Wilt thou not acceptmy 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 conversationwhich ensued, Cedric, at the head of a body of men,among whom the Friar was conspicuous, had pushedacross the bridge as soon as they saw the posternopen, and drove back the dispirited and despairingfollowers of De Bracy, of whom some askedquarter, some offered vain resistance, and thegreater part fled towards the court-yard. De Bracyhimself arose from the ground, and cast a sorrowfulglance 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 hishelmet in token of submission, and, going to thebarbican, gave up his sword to Locksley, whom hemet by the way.

As the fire augmented, symptoms of it becamesoon apparent in the chamber, where Ivanhoe waswatched and tended by the Jewess Rebecca. Hehad been awakened from his brief slumber by thenoise of the battle; and his attendant, who had,at his anxious desire, again placed herself at thewindow to watch and report to him the fate of theattack, was for some time prevented from observingeither, by the increase of the smouldering andstifling vapour. At length the volumes of smokewhich rolled into the apartment---the cries for water,which were heard even above the din of thebattle made them sensible of the progress of thisnew danger.

``The castle burns,'' said Rebecca; ``it burns!---What can we do to save ourselves?''

``Fly, Rebecca, and save thine own life,'' saidIvanhoe, ``for no human aid can avail me.''

``I will not fly,'' answered Rebecca; ``we willbe 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 flewopen, and the Templar presented himself,---a ghastlyfigure, for his gilded armour was broken andbloody, and the plume was partly shorn away,partly burnt from his casque. ``I have foundthee,'' said he to Rebecca; ``thou shalt prove Iwill keep my word to share weal and woe withthee---There is but one path to safety, I have cutmy 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 followthee. If thou wert born of woman---if thou hastbut a touch of human charity in thee---if thy heartbe not hard as thy breastplate---save my aged father---save this wounded knight!''

``A knight,'' answered the Templar, with hischaracteristic calmness, ``a knight, Rebecca, mustencounter his fate, whether it meet him in the shapeof sword or flame---and who recks how or wherea Jew meets with his?''

``Savage warrior,'' said Rebecca, ``rather will Iperish in the flames than accept safety from thee!''

``Thou shalt not choose, Rebecca---once didstthou 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 herout of the room in his arms in spite of her cries,and without regarding the menaces and defiancewhich Ivanhoe thundered against him. ``Houndof the Temple---stain to thine Order---set free thedamsel! Traitor of Bois-Guilbert, it is Ivanhoecommands thee!---Villain, I will have thy heart'sblood!''

``I had not found thee, Wilfred,'' said the BlackKnight, who at that instant entered the apartment,``but for thy shouts.''

``If thou best true knight,'' said Wilfred, ``thinknot of me---pursue yon ravisher---save the LadyRowena---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 havingthere delivered his burden to the care of two yeomen,he again entered the castle to assist in therescue of the other prisoners.

One turret was now in bright flames, whichflashed out furiously from window and shot-hole.But in other parts, the great thickness of the wallsand the vaulted roofs of the apartments, resistedthe progress of the flames, and there the rage ofman still triumphed, as the scarce more dreadfulelement held mastery elsewhere; for the besiegerspursued the defenders of the castle from chamberto chamber, and satiated in their blood the vengeancewhich had long animated them against thesoldiers of the tyrant Front-de-B<oe>uf. Most ofthe garrison resisted to the uttermost---few of themasked quarter---none received it. The air was filledwith groans and clashing of arms---the floorswere slippery with the blood of despairing and expiringwretches.

Through this scene of confusion, Cedric rushedin quest of Rowena, while the faithful Gurth, followinghim closely through the _me<e^>l<e'>e_, neglectedhis own safety while he strove to avert the blowsthat were aimed at his master. The noble Saxonwas so fortunate as to reach his ward's apartmentjust as she had abandoned all hope of safety, and,with a crucifix clasped in agony to her bosom, satin expectation of instant death. He committedher to the charge of Gurth, to be conducted insafety to the barbican, the road to which was nowcleared of the enemy, and not yet interrupted bythe flames. This accomplished, the loyal Cedrichastened in quest of his friend Athelstane, determined,at every risk to himself, to save that lastscion of Saxon royalty. But ere Cedric penetratedas far as the old hall in which he had himself beena prisoner, the inventive genius of Wamba hadprocured liberation for himself and his companionin 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 Georgeand the dragon!---Bonny Saint George for merryEngland!---The castle is won!'' And these soundshe rendered yet more fearful, by banging againsteach other two or three pieces of rusty armourwhich lay scattered around the hall.

A guard, which had been stationed in the outer,or anteroom, and whose spirits were already in astate of alarm, took fright at Wamba's clamour,and, leaving the door open behind them, ran to tellthe Templar that foemen had entered the old hall.Meantime the prisoners found no difficulty in makingtheir escape into the anteroom, and fromthence into the court of the castle, which was nowthe last scene of contest. Here sat the fierce Templar,mounted on horseback, surrounded by severalof the garrison both on horse and foot, who hadunited their strength to that of this renowned leader,in order to secure the last chance of safety andretreat which remained to them. The drawbridgehad been lowered by his orders, but the passagewas beset; for the archers, who had hitherto onlyannoyed the castle on that side by their missiles,no sooner saw the flames breaking out, and thebridge lowered, than they thronged to the entrance,as well to prevent the escape of the garrison, as tosecure their own share of booty ere the castle shouldbe burnt down. On the other hand, a party of thebesiegers who had entered by the postern were nowissuing out into the court-yard, and attacking withfury the remnant of the defenders who were thusassaulted on both sides at once.

Animated, however, by despair, and supportedby the example of their indomitable leader, the remainingsoldiers of the castle fought with the utmostvalour; and, being well-armed, succeeded morethan once in driving back the assailants, thoughmuch inferior in numbers. Rebecca, placed onhorseback before one of the Templar's Saracenslaves, was in the midst of the little party; andBois-Guilbert, notwithstanding the confusion ofthe bloody fray, showed every attention to her

safety. Repeatedly he was by her side, and, neglectinghis own defence, held before her the fenceof his triangular steel-plated shield; and anon startingfrom his position by her, he cried his war-cry,dashed forward, struck to earth the most forwardof the assailants, and was on the same instant oncemore at her bridle rein.

Athelstane, who, as the reader knows, was slothful,but not cowardly, beheld the female form whomthe Templar protected thus sedulously, and doubtednot that it was Rowena whom the knight wascarrying off, in despite of all resistance which couldbe offered.

``By the soul of Saint Edward,'' he said, ``I willrescue her from yonder over-proud knight, and heshall die by my hand!''

``Think what you do!'' cried Wamba; ``hastyhand catches frog for fish---by my bauble, yonderis none of my Lady Rowena---see but her longdark locks!---Nay, an ye will not know black fromwhite, ye may be leader, but I will be no follower---no bones of mine shall be broken unless I knowfor whom.---And you without armour too!---Bethinkyou, silk bonnet never kept out steel blade.---Nay, then, if wilful will to water, wilful mustdrench.---_Deus vobiscum_, most doughty Athelstane!''---he concluded, loosening the hold which he hadhitherto kept upon the Saxon's tunic.

To snatch a mace from the pavement, on whichit lay beside one whose dying grasp had just relinquishedit---to rush on the Templar's band, andto strike in quick succession to the right and left,levelling a warrior at each blow, was, for Athelstane'sgreat strength, now animated with unusualfury, but the work of a single moment; he wassoon within two yards of Bois-Guilbert, whom hedefied in his loudest tone.

``Turn, false-hearted Templar! let go herwhom thou art unworthy to touch---turn, limb ofa hand of murdering and hypocritical robbers!''

``Dog!'' said the Templar, grinding his teeth,``I will teach thee to blaspheme the holy Order ofthe Temple of Zion;'' and with these words, half-wheelinghis steed, he made a demi-courbette towardsthe Saxon, and rising in the stirrups, so as totake full advantage of the descent of the horse, hedischarged a fearful blow upon the head of Athelstane.

Well said Wamba, that silken bonnet keeps outno steel blade. So trenchant was the Templar'sweapon, that it shore asunder, as it had been a willowtwig, 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 theearth.

``_Ha! Beau-seant!_'' exclaimed Bois-Guilbert,``thus be it to the maligners of the Temple-knights!''Taking advantage of the dismay whichwas spread by the fall of Athelstane, and callingaloud, ``Those who would save themselves, followme!'' he pushed across the drawbridge, dispersingthe archers who would have intercepted them. Hewas followed by his Saracens, and some five or sixmen-at-arms, who had mounted their horses. TheTemplar's retreat was rendered perilous by thenumbers of arrows shot off at him and his party;but this did not prevent him from galloping roundto the barbican, of which, according to his previousplan, he supposed it possible De Bracy might havebeen in possession.

``De Bracy! De Bracy!'' he shouted, ``art thouthere?''

``I am here,'' replied De Bracy, ``but I am aprisoner.''

``Can I rescue thee?'' cried Bois-Guilbert.

``No,'' replied De Bracy; ``I have rendered me,rescue or no rescue. I will be true prisoner. Savethyself---there are hawks abroad---put the seas betwixtyou and England---I dare not say more.''

``Well,'' answered the Templar, ``an thou wilttarry there, remember I have redeemed word andglove. Be the hawks where they will, methinksthe walls of the Preceptory of Templestowe will becover sufficient, and thither will I, like heron toher 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, butrather in despair of quarter than that they entertainedany hope of escape. The fire was spreadingrapidly through all parts of the castle, when Ulrica,who had first kindled it, appeared on a turret, inthe guise of one of the ancient furies, yelling fortha war-song, such as was of yore raised on the fieldof battle by the scalds of the yet heathen Saxons.Her long dishevelled grey hair flew back from heruncovered head; the inebriating delight of gratifiedvengeance contended in her eyes with the fireof insanity; and she brandished the distaff whichshe held in her hand, as if she had been one of theFatal Sisters, who spin and abridge the thread ofhuman life. Tradition has preserved some wildstrophes of the barbarous hymn which she chantedwildly 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 castleThe 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 expireI also must perish! *

* Note F. Ulrica's Death Song

The towering flames had now surmounted everyobstruction, and rose to the evening skies one hugeand burning beacon, seen far and wide through theadjacent country. Tower after tower crashed down,with blazing roof and rafter; and the combatantswere driven from the court-yard. The vanquished,of whom very few remained, scattered and escapedinto the neighbouring wood. The victors, assemblingin large bands, gazed with wonder, not unmixedwith fear, upon the flames, in which their ownranks and arms glanced dusky red. The maniacfigure of the Saxon Ulrica was for a long time visibleon the lofty stand she had chosen, tossing herarms abroad with wild exultation, as if she reinedempress of the conflagration which she had raised.At length, with a terrific crash, the whole turretgave way, and she perished in the flames which hadconsumed her tyrant. An awful pause of horrorsilenced 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 Locksleywas then heard, ``Shout, yeomen!---the den oftyrants is no more! Let each bring his spoil to ourchosen place of rendezvous at the Trysting-tree inthe Harthill-walk; for there at break of day willwe make just partition among our own bands, togetherwith our worthy allies in this great deed ofvengeance.''

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 withall their pearls of dew. The hind led her fawnfrom the covert of high fern to the more open walksof the greenwood, and no huntsman was there towatch or intercept the stately hart, as he paced atthe head of the antler'd herd.

The outlaws were all assembled around theTrysting-tree in the Harthill-walk, where they hadspent the night in refreshing themselves after thefatigues of the siege, some with wine, some withslumber, many with hearing and recounting theevents of the day, and computing the heaps of plunderwhich their success had placed at the disposalof their Chief.

The spoils were indeed very large; for, notwithstandingthat much was consumed, a great deal ofplate, rich armour, and splendid clothing, had beensecured by the exertions of the dauntless outlaws,who could be appalled by no danger when suchrewards were in view. Yet so strict were the lawsof their society, that no one ventured to appropriateany part of the booty, which was brought intoone common mass, to be at the disposal of theirleader.

The place of rendezvous was an aged oak; nothowever the same to which Locksley had conductedGurth and Wamba in the earlier part of thestory, but one which was the centre of a silvanamphitheatre, within half a mile of the demolishedcastle of Torquilstone. Here Locksley assumed hisseat---a throne of turf erected under the twistedbranches of the huge oak, and the silvan followerswere gathered around him. He assigned to theBlack Knight a seat at his right hand, and to Cedrica place upon his left.

``Pardon my freedom, noble sirs,'' he said, ``butin these glades I am monarch---they are my kingdom;and these my wild subjects would reck butlittle 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 beginsa busy morning.''---No one had seen the Clerk ofCopmanhurst. ``Over gods forbode!'' said theoutlaw chief, ``I trust the jolly priest hath butabidden by the wine-pot a thought too late. Whosaw him since the castle was ta'en?''

``I,'' quoth the Miller, ``marked him busy aboutthe door of a cellar, swearing by each saint in thecalendar he would taste the smack of Front-de-B<oe>uf'sGascoigne wine.''

``Now, the saints, as many as there be of them,''said the Captain, ``forefend, lest he has drunk toodeep of the wine-butts, and perished by the fall ofthe castle!---Away, Miller!---take with you enowof 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 Ilose my curtal Friar.''

The numbers who hastened to execute this duty,considering that an interesting division of spoil wasabout to take place, showed how much the troophad 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 otherallies of Front-de-B<oe>uf, will be in motion againstus, and it were well for our safety that we retreatfrom the vicinity.---Noble Cedric,'' he said, turningto the Saxon, ``that spoil is divided into two portions;do thou make choice of that which best suitsthee, to recompense thy people who were partakerswith us in this adventure.''

``Good yeoman,'' said Cedric, ``my heart isoppressed with sadness. The noble Athelstane ofConingsburgh is no more---the last sprout of thesainted Confessor! Hopes have perished with himwhich can never return!---A sparkle hath beenquenched by his blood, which no human breath canagain rekindle! My people, save the few who arenow 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. Ishould, therefore, ere now, have left this place; andI waited---not to share the booty, for, so help meGod and Saint Withold! as neither I nor any ofmine will touch the value of a liard,---I waited butto 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 buthalf the work at most---take of the spoil what mayreward your own neighbours and followers.''

``I am rich enough to reward them from mineown wealth,'' answered Cedric.

``And some,'' said Wamba, ``have been wiseenough to reward themselves; they do not marchoff empty-handed altogether. We do not all wearmotley.''

``They are welcome,'' said Locksley; ``our lawsbind none but ourselves.''

``But, thou, my poor knave,'' said Cedric, turningabout and embracing his Jester, ``how shall Ireward thee, who feared not to give thy body tochains and death instead of mine!---All forsookme, when the poor fool was faithful!''

A tear stood in the eye of the rough Thane ashe spoke---a mark of feeling which even the deathof Athelstane had not extracted; but there wassomething in the half-instinctive attachment of hisclown, that waked his nature more keenly than evengrief itself.

``Nay,'' said the Jester, extricating himself frommaster's caress, ``if you pay my service withthe water of your eye, the Jester must weep forcompany, and then what becomes of his vocation?---But, uncle, if you would indeed pleasure me, Ipray you to pardon my playfellow Gurth, who stolea week from your service to bestow it on your son.''

``Pardon him!'' exclaimed Cedric; ``I will bothpardon and reward him.---Kneel down, Gurth.''---The swineherd was in an instant at his master'sfeet---``=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 landI give to thee in my steads of Walbrugham, fromme 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 boundedaloft to almost his own height from the ground.``A smith and a file,'' he cried, ``to do away thecollar from the neck of a freeman!---Noble master!doubled is my strength by your gift, and doublywill I fight for you!---There is a free spirit in mybreast---I am a man changed to myself and allaround.---Ha, Fangs!'' he continued,---for thatfaithful cur, seeing his master thus transported, beganto jump upon him, to express his sympathy,---``knowest thou thy master still?''

``Ay,'' said Wamba, ``Fangs and I still knowthee, Gurth, though we must needs abide by thecollar; it is only thou art likely to forget both usand thyself.''

``I shall forget myself indeed ere I forget thee,true comrade,'' said Gurth; ``and were freedomfit for thee, Wamba, the master would not let theewant it.''

``Nay,'' said Wamba, ``never think I envy thee,brother Gurth; the serf sits by the hall-fire whenthe freeman must forth to the field of battle---Andwhat 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 theLady Rowena appeared, surrounded by several riders,and a much stronger party of footmen, whojoyfully shook their pikes and clashed their brown-billsfor joy of her freedom. She herself, richly attired,and mounted on a dark chestnut palfrey, hadrecovered all the dignity of her manner, and onlyan unwonted degree of paleness showed the sufferingsshe had undergone. Her lovely brow, thoughsorrowful, bore on it a cast of reviving hope forthe future, as well as of grateful thankfulness forthe past deliverance---She knew that Ivanhoe wassafe, and she knew that Athelstane was dead. Theformer assurance filled her with the most sinceredelight; and if she did not absolutely rejoice at thelatter, she might be pardoned for feeling the fulladvantage of being freed from further persecutionon the only subject in which she had ever been contradictedby her guardian Cedric.

As Rowena bent her steed towards Locksley'sseat, that bold yeoman, with all his followers, roseto receive her, as if by a general instinct of courtesy.The blood rose to her cheeks, as, courteouslywaving her hand, and bending so low that herbeautiful and loose tresses were for an instant mixedwith the flowing mane of her palfrey, she expressedin few but apt words her obligations andher gratitude to Locksley and her other deliverers.---``God bless you, brave men,'' she concluded,``God and Our Lady bless you and requite youfor gallantly perilling yourselves in the cause of theoppressed!---If any of you should hunger, rememberRowena has food---if you should thirst, she hasmany a butt of wine and brown ale---and if theNormans drive ye from these walks, Rowena hasforests of her own, where her gallant deliverersmay range at full freedom, and never ranger askwhose arrow hath struck down the deer.''

``Thanks, gentle lady,'' said Locksley; ``thanksfrom my company and myself. But, to have savedyou requites itself. We who walk the greenwood

do many a wild deed, and the Lady Rowena's deliverancemay be received as an atonement.''

Again bowing from her palfrey, Rowena turnedto depart; but pausing a moment, while Cedric,who was to attend her, was also taking his leave,she found herself unexpectedly close by the prisonerDe Bracy. He stood under a tree in deepmeditation, his arms crossed upon his breast, andRowena was in hopes she might pass him unobserved.He looked up, however, and, when awareof her presence, a deep flush of shame suffused hishandsome countenance. He stood a moment mostirresolute; then, stepping forward, took her palfreyby 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 enterprisessuch as yours, the real dishonour lies not infailure, but in success.''

``Conquest, lady, should soften the heart,'' answeredDe Bracy; ``let me but know that theLady Rowena forgives the violence occasioned byan ill-fated passion, and she shall soon learn thatDe Bracy knows how to serve her in nobler ways.''

``I forgive you, Sir Knight,'' said Rowena, ``asa Christian.''

``That means,'' said Wamba, ``that she does notforgive him at all.''

``But I can never forgive the misery and desolationyour madness has occasioned,'' continuedRowena.

``Unloose your hold on the lady's rein,'' saidCedric, coming up. ``By the bright sun above us,but it were shame, I would pin thee to the earthwith my javelin---but be well assured, thou shaltsmart, Maurice de Bracy, for thy share in this fouldeed.''

``He threatens safely who threatens a prisoner,''said De Bracy; ``but when had a Saxon any touchof courtesy?''

Then retiring two steps backward, he permittedthe lady to move on.

Cedric, ere they departed, expressed his peculiargratitude to the Black Champion, and earnestlyentreated him to accompany him to Rotherwood.

``I know,'' he said, ``that ye errant knights desireto carry your fortunes on the point of yourlance, and reck not of land or goods; but war is achangeful mistress, and a home is sometimes desirableeven to the champion whose trade is wandering.Thou hast earned one in the halls of Rotherwood,noble knight. Cedric has wealth enough torepair the injuries of fortune, and all he has is hisdeliverer's---Come, therefore, to Rotherwood, notas a guest, but as a son or brother.''

``Cedric has already made me rich,'' said theKnight,---``he has taught me the value of Saxonvirtue. To Rotherwood will I come, brave Saxon,and that speedily; but, as now, pressing mattersof moment detain me from your halls. Peradventurewhen I come hither, I will ask such a boon aswill put even thy generosity to the test.''

``It is granted ere spoken out,'' said Cedric,striking his ready hand into the gauntleted palmof the Black Knight,---``it is granted already, wereit to affect half my fortune.''

``Gage not thy promise so lightly,'' said theKnight of the Fetterlock; ``yet well I hope togain the boon I shall ask. Meanwhile, adieu.''

``I have but to say,'' added the Saxon, ``that,during the funeral rites of the noble Athelstane, Ishall be an inhabitant of the halls of his castle ofConingsburgh---They will be open to all who chooseto partake of the funeral banqueting; and, I speak

in name of the noble Edith, mother of the fallenprince, they will never be shut against him wholaboured so bravely, though unsuccessfully, to saveAthelstane from Norman chains and Norman steel.''

``Ay, ay,'' said Wamba, who had resumed hisattendance on his master, ``rare feeding there willbe---pity that the noble Athelstane cannot banquetat 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 atthis untimely jest being checked by the recollectionof Wamba's recent services. Rowena waveda graceful adieu to him of the Fetterlock---theSaxon bade God speed him, and on they movedthrough a wide glade of the forest.

They had scarce departed, ere a sudden processionmoved from under the greenwood branches,swept slowly round the silvan amphitheatre, andtook the same direction with Rowena and her followers.The priests of a neighbouring convent, inexpectation of the ample donation, or _soul-scat_,which Cedric had propined, attended upon the carin which the body of Athelstane was laid, and sanghymns as it was sadly and slowly borne on theshoulders 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 thenews of his death, and followed the bier with allthe external marks, at least, of dejection and sorrow.Again the outlaws arose, and paid the samerude and spontaneous homage to death, which theyhad so lately rendered to beauty---the slow chantand mournful step of the priests brought back totheir remembrance such of their comrades as hadfallen in the yesterday's array. But such recollectionsdwell not long with those who lead a life ofdanger and enterprise, and ere the sound of thedeath-hymn had died on the wind, the outlawswere again busied in the distribution of their spoil.

``Valiant knight,'' said Locksley to the BlackChampion, ``without whose good heart and mightyarm our enterprise must altogether have failed, willit please you to take from that mass of spoil whatevermay best serve to pleasure you, and to remindyou of this my Trysting-tree?''

``I accept the offer,'' said the Knight, ``as franklyas it is given; and I ask permission to disposeof Sir Maurice de Bracy at my own pleasure.''

``He is thine already,'' said Locksley, ``and wellfor him! else the tyrant had graced the highestbough of this oak, with as many of his Free-Companionsas we could gather, hanging thick as acornsaround 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 takemean revenge for what is past. But beware of thefuture, lest a worse thing befall thee.---Maurice deBracy, I say =beware=!''

De Bracy bowed low and in silence, and wasabout to withdraw, when the yeomen burst at onceinto a shout of execration and derision. The proudknight instantly stopped, turned back, folded hisarms, drew up his form to its full height, and exclaimed,``Peace, ye yelping curs! who open upona cry which ye followed not when the stag was atbay---De Bracy scorns your censure as he woulddisdain your applause. To your brakes and caves,ye outlawed thieves! and be silent when aughtknightly or noble is but spoken within a league ofyour fox-earths.''

This ill-timed defiance might have procured forDe Bracy a volley of arrows, but for the hasty andimperative interference of the outlaw Chief. Meanwhilethe knight caught a horse by the rein, forseveral which had been taken in the stables ofFront-de-B<oe>uf stood accoutred around, and were avaluable part of the booty. He threw himself uponthe saddle, and galloped off through the wood.

When the bustle occasioned by this incident wassomewhat composed, the chief Outlaw took fromhis neck the rich horn and baldric which he had recentlygained at the strife of archery near Ashby.

``Noble knight.'' he said to him of the Fetterlock,``if you disdain not to grace by your acceptancea bugle which an English yeoman has onceworn, this I will pray you to keep as a memorial ofyour gallant bearing---and if ye have aught to do,and, as happeneth oft to a gallant knight, ye chanceto be hard bested in any forest between Trent andTees, 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 helpersand rescue.''

He then gave breath to the bugle, and windedonce and again the call which be described, until theknight had caught the notes.

``Gramercy for the gift, bold yeoman,'' said theKnight; ``and better help than thine and thy rangerswould I never seek, were it at my utmost need.''And then in his turn he winded the call till all thegreenwood rang.

``Well blown and clearly,'' said the yeoman;``beshrew me an thou knowest not as much ofwoodcraft as of war!---thou hast been a striker ofdeer in thy day, I warrant.---Comrades, mark thesethree mots---it is the call of the Knight of the Fetterlock;and he who hears it, and hastens not toserve him at his need, I will have him scourged outof 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 howreadily it will be paid.''

Locksley now proceeded to the distribution ofthe spoil, which he performed with the most laudableimpartiality. A tenth part of the whole wasset apart for the church, and for pious uses; a portionwas next allotted to a sort of public treasury;a part was assigned to the widows and children ofthose who had fallen, or to be expended in massesfor the souls of such as had left no surviving family.The rest was divided amongst the outlaws, accordingto their rank and merit, and the judgment ofthe Chief, on all such doubtful questions as occurred,was delivered with great shrewdness, and receivedwith absolute submission. The Black Knightwas not a little surprised to find that men, in astate so lawless, were nevertheless among themselvesso regularly and equitably governed, and allthat he observed added to his opinion of the justiceand judgment of their leader.

When each had taken his own proportion of thebooty, and while the treasurer, accompanied by fourtall yeomen, was transporting that belonging to thestate to some place of concealment or of security,the portion devoted to the church still remainedunappropriated.

``I would,'' said the leader, ``we could hear tidingsof our joyous chaplain---he was never wontto be absent when meat was to be blessed, or spoilto be parted; and it is his duty to take care of thesethe tithes of our successful enterprise. It may bethe office has helped to cover some of his canonicalirregularities. Also, I have a holy brother of hisa prisoner at no great distance, and I would fainhave the Friar to help me to deal with him in duesort---I greatly misdoubt the safety of the bluffpriest.''

``I were right sorry for that,'' said the Knightof the Fetterlock, ``for I stand indebted to him forthe joyous hospitality of a merry night in his cell.Let us to the ruins of the castle; it may be we shallthere learn some tidings of him.''

While they thus spoke, a loud shout among theyeomen announced the arrival of him for whom theyfeared, as they learned from the stentorian voice ofthe Friar himself, long before they saw his burlyperson.

``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.''---Andmaking his way through the ring, amidst the laughterof all around, he appeared in majestic triumph,his huge partisan in one hand, and in the other ahalter, one end of which was fastened to the neckof the unfortunate Isaac of York, who, bent downby sorrow and terror, was dragged on by the victoriouspriest, who shouted aloud, ``Where isAllan-a-Dale, to chronicle me in a ballad, or if itwere but a lay?---By Saint Hermangild, the jinglingcrowder is ever out of the way where there isan apt theme for exalting valour!''

``Curtal Priest,'' said the Captain, ``thou hastbeen at a wet mass this morning, as early as it is.In the name of Saint Nicholas, whom hast thou gothere?''

``A captive to my sword and to my lance, nobleCaptain,'' replied the Clerk of Copmanhurst; ``tomy bow and to my halberd, I should rather say;and yet I have redeemed him by my divinity froma worse captivity. Speak, Jew---have I not ransomedthee from Sathanas?---have I not taughtthee thy _credo_, thy _pater_, and thine _Ave Maria_?---Did I not spend the whole night in drinking tothee, and in expounding of mysteries?''

``For the love of God!'' ejaculated the poor Jew,``will no one take me out of the keeping of thismad---I mean this holy man?''

``How's this, Jew?'' said the Friar, with a menacingaspect; ``dost thou recant, Jew?---Bethinkthee, 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---thouart 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 foundthis prisoner of thine.''``By Saint Dunstan,'' said the Friar, ``I foundhim where I sought for better ware! I did step intothe cellarage to see what might be rescued there;for though a cup of burnt wine, with spice, be anevening's drought for an emperor, it were waste,methought, to let so much good liquor be mulledat once; and I had caught up one runlet of sack,and was coming to call more aid among these lazyknaves, who are ever to seek when a good deed isto be done, when I was avised of a strong door---Aha! thought I, here is the choicest juice of all inthis secret crypt; and the knave butler, being disturbedin his vocation, hath left the key in the door---In therefore I went, and found just nought besidesa commodity of rusted chains and this dog ofa Jew, who presently rendered himself my prisoner,rescue or no rescue. I did but refresh myself afterthe fatigue of the action, with the unbeliever, withone humming cup of sack, and was proceeding tolead forth my captive, when, crash after crash, aswith wild thunder-dint and levin-fire, down toppledthe masonry of an outer tower, (marry beshrewtheir hands that built it not the firmer!) and blockedup the passage. The roar of one falling towerfollowed another---I gave up thought of life; anddeeming it a dishonour to one of my profession topass out of this world in company with a Jew, Iheaved up my halberd to beat his brains out; butI took pity on his grey hairs, and judged it betterto lay down the partisan, and take up my spiritualweapon for his conversion. And truly, by the blessingof Saint Dunstan, the seed has been sown ingood soil; only that, with speaking to him of mysteriesthrough the whole night, and being in amanner fasting, (for the few droughts of sack whichI sharpened my wits with were not worth marking,)my head is wellnigh dizzied, I trow.---But I wasclean exhausted.---Gilbert and Wibbald know in

what state they found me---quite and clean exhausted.''

``We can bear witness,'' said Gilbert; ``forwhen we had cleared away the ruin, and by SaintDunstan's help lighted upon the dungeon stair, wefound the runlet of sack half empty, the Jew halfdead, and the Friar more than half---exhausted, ashe calls it.''

``Ye be knaves! ye lie!'' retorted the offendedFriar; ``it was you and your gormandizing companionsthat drank up the sack, and called it yourmorning draught---I am a pagan, an I kept it notfor the Captain's own throat. But what recks it?The Jew is converted, and understands all I havetold him, very nearly, if not altogether, as well asmyself.''``Jew,'' said the Captain, ``is this true? hastthou renounced thine unbelief?''

``May I so find mercy in your eyes,'' said theJew, ``as I know not one word which the reverendprelate spake to me all this fearful night. Alas! Iwas so distraught with agony, and fear, and grief,that had our holy father Abraham come to preachto 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 oneword of our conference---thou didst promise to giveall thy substance to our holy Order.''

``So help me the Promise, fair sirs,'' said Isaac,even more alarmed than before, ``as no such soundsever crossed my lips! Alas! I am an aged beggar'dman---I fear me a childless---have ruth onme, and let me go!''

``Nay,'' said the Friar, ``if thou dost retractvows made in favour of holy Church, thou must dopenance.''

Accordingly, he raised his halberd, and wouldhave 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 resentmentto himself.

``By Saint Thomas of Kent,'' said he, ``an Ibuckle to my gear, I will teach thee, sir lazy lover,to mell with thine own matters, maugre thine ironcase 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 totake a pleasure in provoking his quondam host,``hast thou forgotten how, that for my sake (for Isay nothing of the temptation of the flagon andthe pasty) thou didst break thy vow of fast andvigil?''

``Truly, friend,'' said the Friar, clenching hishuge 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 C<oe>ur-de-Lion.

repay thee with usury as deep as ever thy prisonerthere exacted in his traffic.''

``I will prove that presently,'' said the Friar.

``Hola!'' cried the Captain, ``what art thouafter, mad Friar? brawling beneath our Trysting-tree?''

``No brawling,'' said the Knight, ``it is but afriendly interchange of courtesy.---Friar, strike anthou darest---I will stand thy blow, if thou wiltstand mine.''

``Thou hast the advantage with that iron poton thy head,'' said the churchman; ``but have atthee---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 theKnight a buffet that might have felled an ox. Buthis adversary stood firm as a rock. A loud shoutwas uttered by all the yeomen around; for the Clerk'scuff was proverbial amongst them, and there werefew who, in jest or earnest, had not had the occasionto know its vigour.

``Now, Priest,'' said, the Knight, pulling off hisgauntlet, ``if I had vantage on my head, I will havenone on my hand---stand fast as a true man.''

``_Genam meam dedi vapulatori_---I have given mycheek to the smiter,'' said the Priest; ``an thoucanst stir me from the spot, fellow, I will freely bestowon thee the Jew's ransom.''

So spoke the burly Priest, assuming, on his part,high defiance. But who may resist his fate? Thebuffet of the Knight was given with such strengthand good-will, that the Friar rolled head over heelsupon the plain, to the great amazement of all thespectators. But he arose neither angry nor crestfallen.

``Brother,'' said he to the Knight, ``thou shouldsthave used thy strength with more discretion. I hadmumbled but a lame mass an thou hadst brokenmy jaw, for the piper plays ill that wants the netherchops. Nevertheless, there is my hand, in friendlywitness, that I will exchange no more cuffs withthee, having been a loser by the barter. End nowall unkindness. Let us put the Jew to ransom,since the leopard will not change his spots, and aJew he will continue to be.''

``The Priest,'' said Clement, ``is not have so confidentof the Jew's conversion, since he receivedthat buffet on the ear.''

``Go to, knave, what pratest thou of conversions?---what, is there no respect?---all masters and nomen?---I tell thee, fellow, I was somewhat totty

when I received the good knight's blow, or I hadkept my ground under it. But an thou gibest moreof 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 toldthat thy race are held to be accursed in all Christiancommunities, and trust me that we cannot endurethy presence among us. Think, therefore,of an offer, while I examine a prisoner of anothercast.''

``Were many of Front-de-B<oe>uf's men taken?''demanded the Black Knight.

``None of note enough to be put to ransom,'' answeredthe Captain; ``a set of hilding fellows therewere, 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. Theprisoner I speak of is better booty---a jolly monkriding to visit his leman, an I may judge by hishorse-gear and wearing apparel.---Here cometh theworthy prelate, as pert as a pyet.'' And, betweentwo yeomen, was brought before the silvan throneof the outlaw Chief, our old friend, Prior Aymerof 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 exhibiteda whimsical mixture of offended pride, andderanged 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 orChristians, that handle a churchman?---Know yewhat it is, _manus imponere in servos Domini_? Yehave plundered my mails---torn my cope of curiouscut lace, which might have served a cardinal!---Another in my place would have been at his _excommunicabovos_; but I am placible, and if ye orderforth my palfreys, release my brethren, and restoremy mails, tell down with all speed an hundredcrowns to be expended in masses at the high altarof Jorvaulx Abbey, and make your vow to eat novenison until next Pentecost, it may be you shallhear little more of this mad frolic.''

``Holy Father,'' said the chief Outlaw, ``itgrieves me to think that you have met with suchusage from any of my followers, as calls for yourfatherly reprehension.''

``Usage!'' echoed the priest, encouraged by themild tone of the silvan leader; ``it were usage fitfor no hound of good race---much less for a Christian---far less for a priest---and least of all for thePrior of the holy community of Jorvaulx. Here isa profane and drunken minstrel, called Allan-a-Dale---_nebulo quidam_---who has menaced me withcorporal punishment---nay, with death itself, an Ipay not down four hundred crowns of ransom, tothe boot of all the treasure he hath already robbedme of---gold chains and gymmal rings to an unknownvalue; besides what is broken and spoiledamong their rude hands, such as my pouncer-boxand silver crisping-tongs.''

``It is impossible that Allan-a-Dale can have thustreated a man of your reverend bearing,'' repliedthe Captain.

``It is true as the gospel of Saint Nicodemus,''said the Prior; ``he swore, with many a cruel north-countryoath, that he would hang me up on thehighest 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 abideby 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 astoundedPrior, with a forced laugh; ``and I love a good jestwith all my heart. But, ha! ha! ha! when themirth has lasted the livelong night, it is time to begrave in the morning.''

``And I am as grave as a father confessor,'' repliedthe Outlaw; ``you must pay a round ransom,Sir Prior, or your convent is likely to be called toa new election; for your place will know you nomore.''

``Are ye Christians,'' said the Prior, ``and holdthis language to a churchman?''

``Christians! ay, marry are we, and have divinityamong us to boot,'' answered the Outlaw.``Let our buxom chaplain stand forth, and expoundto this reverend father the texts which concern thismatter.''

The Friar, half-drunk, half-sober, had huddleda friar's frock over his green cassock, and now summoningtogether whatever scraps of learning he hadacquired by rote in former days, ``Holy father,'' saidhe, ``_Deus faciat salvam benignitatem vestram_---You are welcome to the greenwood.''

``What profane mummery is this?'' said thePrior. ``Friend, if thou best indeed of the church,it were a better deed to show me how I may escapefrom these men's hands, than to stand ducking andgrinning here like a morris-dancer.''

``Truly, reverend father,'' said the Friar, ``Iknow but one mode in which thou mayst escape.

This is Saint Andrew's day with us, we are takingour tithes.''

``But not of the church, then, I trust, my goodbrother?'' said the Prior.

``Of church and lay,'' said the Friar; ``andtherefore, Sir Prior _facite vobis amicos de Mammoneiniquitatis_---make yourselves friends of theMammon of unrighteousness, for no other friendshipis like to serve your turn.''

``I love a jolly woodsman at heart,'' said thePrior, softening his tone; ``come, ye must not dealtoo hard with me---I can well of woodcraft, and canwind a horn clear and lustily, and hollo till everyoak rings again---Come, ye must not deal too hardwith me.''

``Give him a horn,'' said the Outlaw; ``we willprove the skill he boasts of.''

The Prior Aymer winded a blast accordingly.The Captain shook his head.

``Sir Prior,'' he said, ``thou blowest a merrynote, but it may not ransom thee---we cannot afford,as the legend on a good knight's shield hath it, toset thee free for a blast. Moreover, I have foundthee---thou art one of those, who, with new Frenchgraces and Tra-li-ras, disturb the ancient Englishbugle notes.---Prior, that last flourish on the recheathath added fifty crowns to thy ransom, forcorrupting the true old manly blasts of venerie.''

``Well, friend,'' said the Abbot, peevishly, ``thouart ill to please with thy woodcraft. I pray theebe more conformable in this matter of my ransom.At a word---since I must needs, for once, hold acandle to the devil---what ransom am I to pay forwalking on Watling-street, without having fiftymen at my back?''

``Were it not well,'' said the Lieutenant of thegang apart to the Captain, ``that the Prior should

name the Jew's ransom, and the Jew name thePrior's?''

``Thou art a mad knave,'' said the Captain, ``butthy plan transcends!---Here, Jew, step forth---Look at that holy Father Aymer, Prior of the richAbbey of Jorvaulx, and tell us at what ransom weshould hold him?---Thou knowest the income ofhis convent, I warrant thee.''

``O, assuredly,'' said Isaac. ``I have traffickedwith 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 uponthe fat, and drink the sweet wines upon the lees,these good fathers of Jorvaulx. Ah, if an outcastlike me had such a home to go to, and such incomingsby the year and by the month, I would paymuch gold and silver to redeem my captivity.''

``Hound of a Jew!'' exclaimed the Prior, ``noone knows better than thy own cursed self, thatour holy house of God is indebted for the finishingof our chancel---''

``And for the storing of your cellars in the lastseason with the due allowance of Gascon wine,'' interruptedthe Jew; ``but that---that is small matters.''

``Hear the infidel dog!'' said the churchman;he jangles as if our holy community did come underdebts for the wines we have a license to drink,_propter necessitatem, et ad frigus depellendum_. Thecircumcised 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 flayingboth hide and hair.''

``An six hundred crowns,'' said Isaac, ``the goodPrior 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 thevery pyx and candlesticks on the altar at Jorvaulx,I shall scarce raise the half; and it will be necessaryfor 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 fetchthy ransom. Thou shalt not want a cup of wineand a collop of venison the while; and if thou lovestwoodcraft, thou shalt see such as your north countrynever witnessed.''

``Or, if so please you,'' said Isaac, willing tocurry favour with the outlaws, ``I can send to Yorkfor the six hundred crowns, out of certain moniesin my hands, if so be that the most reverend Priorpresent will grant me a quittance.''

``He shall grant thee whatever thou dost list,Isaac,'' said the Captain; ``and thou shalt lay downthe redemption money for Prior Aymer as well asfor thyself.''

``For myself! ah, courageous sirs,'' said the Jew,``I am a broken and impoverished man; a beggar'sstaff must be my portion through life, supposingI were to pay you fifty crowns.''

``The Prior shall judge of that matter,'' repliedthe 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 redeemthe captivity of the ten tribes of Israel, who wereled into Assyrian bondage?---I have seen but littleof him myself, but our cellarer and treasurer havedealt largely with him, and report says that hishouse at York is so full of gold and silver as is ashame in any Christian land. Marvel it is to allliving Christian hearts that such gnawing addersshould be suffered to eat into the bowels of thestate, and even of the holy church herself, withfoul usuries and extortions.''

``Hold, father,'' said the Jew, ``mitigate andassuage your choler. I pray of your reverence toremember 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 uncivilterms. It is then, Friend Isaac, will you pleasureus in this matter, and our day shall be truly kept,so God sa' me?---and Kind Isaac, if ever you servedman, show yourself a friend in this need! Andwhen the day comes, and I ask my own, then whathear I but Damned Jew, and The curse of Egypt onyour tribe, and all that may stir up the rude anduncivil 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 fartherrude terms.''

``None but _latro famosus_---the interpretationwhereof,'' said the Prior, ``will I give at some othertime and tide---would place a Christian prelate andan unbaptized Jew upon the same bench. But sinceye require me to put a price upon this caitiff, I tellyou openly that ye will wrong yourselves if youtake from him a penny under a thousand crowns.''

``A sentence!---a sentence!'' exclaimed the chiefOutlaw.

``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 theJew; ``will ye bear to the ground an impoverishedcreature?---I am this day childless, and will yedeprive 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 permitsyou not to know how the child of our bosom is entwinedwith the strings of our heart---O Rebecca!laughter of my beloved Rachel! were each leaf onthat tree a zecchin, and each zecchin mine own, allthat mass of wealth would I give to know whetherthou art alive, and escaped the hands of the Nazarene!''

``Was not thy daughter dark-haired?'' said oneof the outlaws; ``and wore she not a veil of twistedsendal, broidered with silver?''

``She did!---she did!'' said the old man, tremblingwith eagerness, as formerly with fear. ``Theblessing of Jacob be upon thee! canst thou tell meaught of her safety?''

``It was she, then,'' said the yeoman, ``who wascarried off by the proud Templar, when he brokethrough our ranks on yester-even. I had drawnmy bow to send a shaft after him, but spared himeven for the sake of the damsel, who I feared mighttake harm from the arrow.''

``Oh!'' answered the Jew, ``I would to Godthou hadst shot, though the arrow had pierced herbosom!---Better the tomb of her fathers than thedishonourable couch of the licentious and savageTemplar. Ichabod! Ichabod! the glory hath departedfrom my house!''

``Friends,'' said the Chief, looking round, ``theold man is but a Jew, natheless his grief touches

me.---Deal uprightly with us, Isaac---will payingthis ransom of a thousand crowns leave thee altogetherpenniless?''

Isaac, recalled to think of his worldly goods, thelove of which, by dint of inveterate habit, contendedeven with his parental affection, grew pale, stammered,and could not deny there might be somesmall surplus.

``Well---go to---what though there be,'' said theOutlaw, ``we will not reckon with thee too closely.Without treasure thou mayst as well hope toredeem thy child from the clutches of Sir Brian deBois-Guilbert, as to shoot a stag-royal with a headlessshaft.---We will take thee at the same ransomwith Prior Aymer, or rather at one hundred crownslower, which hundred crowns shall be mine ownpeculiar loss, and not light upon this worshipfulcommunity; and so we shall avoid the heinous offenceof rating a Jew merchant as high as a Christianprelate, and thou wilt have six hundred crownsremaining to treat for thy daughter's ransom. Templarslove the glitter of silver shekels as well as thesparkle of black eyes.---Hasten to make thy crownschink in the ear of De Bois-Guilbert, ere worsecomes of it. Thou wilt find him, as our scouts havebrought notice, at the next Preceptory house ofhis Order.---Said I well, my merry mates?''

The yeomen expressed their wonted acquiescencein their leader's opinion; and Isaac, relieved ofone half of his apprehensions, by learning that hisdaughter lived, and might possibly be ransomed,threw himself at the feet of the generous Outlaw,and, rubbing his beard against his buskins, soughtto kiss the hem of his green cassock. The Captaindrew himself back, and extricated himself fromthe Jew's grasp, not without some marks of contempt.

``Nay, beshrew thee, man, up with thee! I amEnglish 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 whoknows, with thy sincere repentance and due gifts tothe shrine of Saint Robert, what grace thou maystacquire for thyself and thy daughter Rebecca? Igrieve for the maiden, for she is of fair and comelycountenance,---I beheld her in the lists of Ashby.Also Brian de Bois-Guilbert is one with whom Imay do much---bethink thee how thou mayst deservemy good word with him.''

``Alas! alas!'' said the Jew, ``on every hand thespoilers arise against me---I am given as a prey untothe Assyrian, and a prey unto him of Egypt.''

``And what else should be the lot of thy accursedrace?'' answered the Prior; ``for what saithholy writ, _verbum Dominii projecterunt, et sapientiaest nulla in eis_---they have cast forth the word ofthe Lord, and there is no wisdom in them; _proptereadabo mulieres eorum exteris_---I will give theirwomen to strangers, that is to the Templar, as inthe present matter; _et thesauros eorum h<ae>redibusalienis_, and their treasures to others---as in thepresent case to these honest gentlemen.''

Isaac groaned deeply, and began to wring hishands, and to relapse into his state of desolationand despair. But the leader of the yeomen led himaside.

``Advise thee well, Isaac,'' said Locksley, ``whatthou wilt do in this matter; my counsel to thee isto make a friend of this churchman. He is vain,Isaac, and he is covetous; at least he needs moneyto supply his profusion. Thou canst easily gratifyhis greed; for think not that I am blinded by thypretexts of poverty. I am intimately acquainted,Isaac, with the very iron chest in which thou dostkeep thy money-bags---What! know I not thegreat stone beneath the apple-tree, that leads intothe vaulted chamber under thy garden at York?''The Jew grew as pale as death---``But fear nothingfrom me,'' continued the yeoman, ``for weare of old acquainted. Dost thou not rememberthe sick yeoman whom thy fair daughter Rebecca

redeemed from the gyves at York, and kept him inthy house till his health was restored, when thoudidst dismiss him recovered, and with a piece ofmoney?---Usurer as thou art, thou didst never placecoin 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 knewthe accent of thy voice.''

``I am Bend-the-Bow,'' said the Captain, ``andLocksley, and have a good name besides all these.''

``But thou art mistaken, good Bend-the-Bow,concerning that same vaulted apartment. So helpme Heaven, as there is nought in it but some merchandiseswhich I will gladly part with to you---one hundred yards of Lincoln green to make doubletsto thy men, and a hundred staves of Spanishyew to make bows, and a hundred silken bowstrings,tough, round, and sound---these will I sendthee for thy good-will, honest Diccon, an thou wiltkeep silence about the vault, my good Diccon.''

``Silent as a dormouse,'' said the Outlaw; ``andnever trust me but I am grieved for thy daughter.But I may not help it---The Templars lances aretoo strong for my archery in the open field---theywould scatter us like dust. Had I but known itwas Rebecca when she was borne off, somethingmight have been done; but now thou must needsproceed by policy. Come, shall I treat for theewith the Prior?''

``In God's name, Diccon, an thou canst, aid meto recover the child of my bosom!''

``Do not thou interrupt me with thine ill-timedavarice,'' said the Outlaw, ``and I will deal withhim in thy behalf.''

He then turned from the Jew, who followed him,however, as closely as his shadow.

``Prior Aymer,'' said the Captain, ``come apartwith me under this tree. Men say thou dost lovewine, and a lady's smile, better than beseems thyOrder, Sir Priest; but with that I have nought todo. I have heard, too, thou dost love a brace of gooddogs and a fleet horse, and it may well be that,loving things which are costly to come by, thouhatest not a purse of gold. But I have never heardthat thou didst love oppression or cruelty.---Now,here is Isaac willing to give thee the means of pleasureand pastime in a bag containing one hundredmarks of silver, if thy intercession with thine allythe Templar shall avail to procure the freedom ofhis 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 upthine interest.---What say you to this my purpose,Prior Aymer?''

``The matter,'' quoth the Prior, ``is of a mixedcondition; 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, ifthe Israelite will advantage the Church by givingme somewhat over to the building of our dortour,*

* _Dortour_, or dormitory.

I will take it on my conscience to aid him in thematter of his daughter.''

``For a score of marks to the dortour,'' said theOutlaw,---``Be still, I say, Isaac!---or for a braceof silver candlesticks to the altar, we will not standwith you.''

``Nay, but, good Diccon Bend-the-Bow''---saidIsaac, endeavouring to interpose.

``Good Jew---good beast---good earthworm!''said the yeoman, losing patience; ``an thou dost goon to put thy filthy lucre in the balance with thy

daughter's life and honour, by Heaven, I will stripthee of every maravedi thou hast in the world, beforethree 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 yourmediation,'' said the Outlaw, ``I swear by SaintHubert, I will see that he pays thee the money ingood silver, or I will reckon with him for it in suchsort, he had better have paid twenty such sums.''

``Well then, Jew,'' said Aymer, ``since I mustneeds meddle in this matter, let me have the useof thy writing-tablets---though, hold---rather thanuse thy pen, I would fast for twenty-four hours,and where shall I find one?''

``If your holy scruples can dispense with usingthe Jew's tablets, for the pen I can find a remedy,''said the yeoman; and, bending his bow, he aimedhis shaft at a wild-goose which was soaring overtheir heads, the advanced-guard of a phalanx of histribe, which were winging their way to the distantand solitary fens of Holderness. The bird camefluttering down, transfixed with the arrow.

``There, Prior,'' said the Captain, ``are quillsenow to supply all the monks of Jorvaulx for thenext hundred years, an they take not to writingchronicles.''

The Prior sat down, and at great leisure inditedan epistle to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and havingcarefully sealed up the tablets, delivered them tothe Jew, saying, ``This will be thy safe-conductto the Preceptory of Templestowe, and, as I think,is most likely to accomplish the delivery of thydaughter, if it be well backed with proffers of advantageand commodity at thine own hand; for,trust me well, the good Knight Bois-Guilbert is oftheir confraternity that do nought for nought.''

``Well, Prior,'' said the Outlaw, ``I will detainthee no longer here than to give the Jew a quittancefor the six hundred crowns at which thy ransomis fixed---I accept of him for my pay-master;and if I hear that ye boggle at allowing him in hisaccompts the sum so paid by him, Saint Mary refuseme, an I burn not the abbey over thine head,though I hang ten years the sooner!''

With a much worse grace than that wherewithhe had penned the letter to Bois-Guilbert, the Priorwrote an acquittance, discharging Isaac of York ofsix hundred crowns, advanced to him in his needfor acquittal of his ransom, and faithfully promisingto hold true compt with him for that sum.

``And now,'' said Prior Aymer, ``I will prayyou of restitution of my mules and palfreys, andthe freedom of the reverend brethren attending uponme, and also of the gymmal rings, jewels, andfair vestures, of which I have been despoiled, havingnow satisfied you for my ransom as a true prisoner.''

``Touching your brethren, Sir Prior,'' said Locksley,``they shall have present freedom, it were unjustto detain them; touching your horses andmules, they shall also be restored, with such spending-moneyas may enable you to reach York, forit were cruel to deprive you of the means of journeying.---But as concerning rings, jewels, chains,and what else, you must understand that we aremen of tender consciences, and will not yield to avenerable man like yourself, who should be deadto the vanities of this life, the strong temptation tobreak 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 notwhat judgment might ensue were they to be handledby laical hands.''

``I will take care of that, reverend Prior,'' said

the Hermit of Copmanhurst; ``for I will wearthem myself.''

``Friend, or brother,'' said the Prior, in answerto this solution of his doubts, ``if thou hast reallytaken religious orders, I pray thee to look howthou wilt answer to thine official for the share thouhast taken in this day's work.''

``Friend Prior,'' returned the Hermit, ``you areto know that I belong to a little diocese, where Iam my own diocesan, and care as little for the Bishopof 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 themthe sacred character without due cause, profanethe holy rites, and endanger the souls of those whotake counsel at their hands; _lapides pro pane condonantesiis_, giving them stones instead of breadas the Vulgate hath it.''

``Nay,'' said the Friar, ``an my brain-pan couldhave been broken by Latin, it had not held so longtogether.---I say, that easing a world of such misproudpriests as thou art of their jewels and theirgimcracks, 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 willpouch up no such affront before my parishioners,as thou thinkest it not shame to put upon me, althoughI be a reverend brother to thee. _Ossa enisperfringam_, I will break your bones, as the Vulgatehath it.''

``Hola!'' cried the Captain, ``come the reverendbrethren to such terms?---Keep thine assurance of

peace, Friar.---Prior, an thou hast not made thypeace perfect with God, provoke the Friar no further.---Hermit, let the reverend father depart inpeace, as a ransomed man.''

The yeomen separated the incensed priests, whocontinued to raise their voices, vituperating eachother in bad Latin, which the Prior delivered themore fluently, and the Hermit with the greatervehemence. The Prior at length recollected himselfsufficiently to be aware that he was compromisinghis dignity, by squabbling with such a hedge-priestas the Outlaw's chaplain, and being joinedby his attendants, rode off with considerably lesspomp, and in a much more apostolical condition,so far as worldly matters were concerned, than hehad exhibited before this rencounter.

It remained that the Jew should produce somesecurity for the ransom which he was to pay on thePrior's account, as well as upon his own. He gave,accordingly, an order sealed with his signet, to abrother of his tribe at York, requiring him to payto the bearer the sum of a thousand crowns, and todeliver 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 intothat secret!''

``It is safe with me,'' said the Outlaw, ``so bethat this thy scroll produce the sum therein nominatedand set down.---But what now, Isaac?art dead? art stupefied? hath the payment of athousand crowns put thy daughter's peril out ofthy mind?''

The Jew started to his feet---``No, Diccon, no---I will presently set forth.---Farewell, thou whomI may not call good, and dare not and will not call

evil.''Yet ere Isaac departed, the Outlaw Chief bestowedon him this parting advice:---``Be liberalof thine offers, Isaac, and spare not thy purse forthy daughter's safety. Credit me, that the goldthou shalt spare in her cause, will hereafter givethee as much agony as if it were poured moltendown thy throat.''

Isaac acquiesced with a deep groan, and set forthon his journey, accompanied by two tall foresters,who were to be his guides, and at the same timehis guards, through the wood.

The Black Knight, who had seen with no smallinterest these various proceedings, now took hisleave of the Outlaw in turn; nor could he avoidexpressing his surprise at having witnessed so muchof civil policy amongst persons cast out from all theordinary protection and influence of the laws.

``Good fruit, Sir Knight,'' said the yeoman,``will sometimes grow on a sorry tree; and eviltimes are not always productive of evil alone andunmixed. Amongst those who are drawn into thislawless state, there are, doubtless, numbers whowish to exercise its license with some moderation,and some who regret, it may be, that they areobliged to follow such a trade at all.''

``And to one of those,'' said the Knight, ``I amnow, I presume, speaking?''

``Sir Knight,'' said the Outlaw, ``we have eachour secret. You are welcome to form your judgmentof me, and I may use my conjectures touchingyou, though neither of our shafts may hit themark they are shot at. But as I do not pray to beadmitted into your mystery, be not offended that Ipreserve my own.''

``I crave pardon, brave Outlaw,'' said the Knight,``your reproof is just. But it may be we shall meethereafter 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 withyours. For he that does good, having the unlimitedpower to do evil, deserves praise not only forthe good which he performs, but for the evil whichhe forbears. Fare thee well, gallant Outlaw!''Thus parted that fair fellowship; and He of theFetterlock, 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 throughhis ambitious projects upon his brother's throne.Waldemar Fitzurse, his able and politic agent,was at secret work among them, temperingall to that pitch of courage which was necessaryin making an open declaration of their purpose.But their enterprise was delayed by theabsence of more than one main limb of the confederacy.The stubborn and daring, though brutalcourage of Front-de-B<oe>uf; the buoyant spirits andbold bearing of De Bracy; the sagacity, martialexperience, and renowned valour of Brian de Bois-Guilbert,were important to the success of theirconspiracy; and, while cursing in secret their unnecessaryand unmeaning absence, neither John norhis 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 contractedwith that Israelite and his brethren. This deficiencywas 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 abroadin the city of York, that De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert,with their confederate Front-de-B<oe>uf, hadbeen taken or slain. Waldemar brought the rumourto Prince John, announcing, that he fearedits truth the more that they had set out with asmall attendance, for the purpose of committing anassault on the Saxon Cedric and his attendants.At another time the Prince would have treated thisdeed of violence as a good jest; but now, that itinterfered with and impeded his own plans, he exclaimedagainst the perpetrators, and spoke of thebroken laws, and the infringement of public orderand of private property, in a tone which might havebecome King Alfred.

``The unprincipled marauders,'' he said---``wereI ever to become monarch of England, I wouldhang such transgressors over the drawbridges oftheir own castles.''

``But to become monarch of England,'' said hisAhithophel coolly, ``it is necessary not only that yourGrace should endure the transgressions of theseunprincipled marauders, but that you should affordthem your protection, notwithstanding your laudablezeal for the laws they are in the habit of infringing.We shall be finely helped, if the churlSaxons should have realized your Grace's vision, ofconverting feudal drawbridges into gibbets; andyonder bold-spirited Cedric seemeth one to whomsuch an imagination might occur. Your Grace iswell aware, it will be dangerous to stir withoutFront-de-B<oe>uf, De Bracy, and the Templar; andyet 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 treacherousvillains, to desert me at this pinch!''

``Nay, say rather the feather-pated giddy madmen,''said Waldemar, ``who must be toying withfollies when such business was in hand.''

``What is to be done?'' said the Prince, stoppingshort before Waldemar.

``I know nothing which can be done,'' answeredhis counsellor, ``save that which I have alreadytaken order for.---I came not to bewail this evilchance with your Grace, until I had done my bestto remedy it.''

``Thou art ever my better angel, Waldemar,''said the Prince; ``and when I have such a chancellorto advise withal, the reign of John will berenowned in our annals.---What hast thou commanded?''

``I have ordered Louis Winkelbrand, De Bracy'slieutenant, to cause his trumpet sound to horse, andto display his banner, and to set presently forth towardsthe castle of Front-de-B<oe>uf, to do what yetmay be done for the succour of our friends.''

Prince John's face flushed with the pride of aspoilt child, who has undergone what it conceivesto be an insult.``By the face of God!'' he said, ``WaldemarFitzurse, much hast thou taken upon thee! andover malapert thou wert to cause trumpet to blow,or banner to be raised, in a town where ourselveswere 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 minutesmight be fatal, I judged it best to take thismuch burden upon me, in a matter of such importanceto your Grace's interest.''

``Thou art pardoned, Fitzurse,'' said the prince,

gravely; ``thy purpose hath atoned for thy hastyrashness.---But whom have we here?---De Bracyhimself, by the rood!---and in strange guise dothhe come before us.''

It was indeed De Bracy---``bloody with spurring,fiery red with speed.'' His armour bore allthe 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 tothe spur. Undoing his helmet, he placed it on thetable, and stood a moment as if to collect himselfbefore be told his news.

``De Bracy,'' said Prince John, ``what meansthis?---Speak, I charge thee!---Are the Saxons inrebellion?''

``Speak, De Bracy,'' said Fitzurse, almost in thesame moment with his master, ``thou wert wont tobe a man---Where is the Templar?---where Front-de-B<oe>uf?''

``The Templar is fled,'' said De Bracy; ``Front-de-B<oe>ufyou will never see more. He has founda red grave among the blazing rafters of his owncastle and I alone am escaped to tell you.''

``Cold news,'' said Waldemar, ``to us, thoughyou speak of fire and conflagration.''

``The worst news is not yet said,'' answered DeBracy; and, coming up to Prince John, he utteredin a low and emphatic tone---``Richard is inEngland---I have seen and spoken with him.''

Prince John turned pale, tottered, and caughtat the back of an oaken bench to support himself---much like to a man who receives an arrow in hisbosom.

``Thou ravest, De Bracy,'' said Fitzurse, ``itcannot be.''

``It is as true as truth itself,'' said De Bracy;``I was his prisoner, and spoke with him.''

``With Richard Plantagenet, sayest thou?'' continuedFitzurse.

``With Richard Plantagenet,'' replied De Bracy,with Richard C<oe>ur-de-Lion---with Richardof England.''

``And thou wert his prisoner?'' said Waldemar;``he is then at the head of a power?''

``No---only a few outlawed yeomen were aroundhim, and to these his person is unknown. I heardhim say he was about to depart from them. Hejoined them only to assist at the storming of Torquilstone.''

``Ay,'' said Fitzurse, ``such is indeed the fashionof Richard---a true knight-errant he, and will wanderin wild adventure, trusting the prowess of hissingle arm, like any Sir Guy or Sir Bevis, whilethe weighty affairs of his kingdom slumber, and hisown safety is endangered.---What dost thou proposeto do De Bracy?''

``I?---I offered Richard the service of my FreeLances, and he refused them---I will lead them toHull, seize on shipping, and embark for Flanders;thanks to the bustling times, a man of action willalways find employment. And thou, Waldemar,wilt thou take lance and shield, and lay down thypolicies, and wend along with me, and share thefate which God sends us?''

``I am too old, Maurice, and I have a daughter,''answered Waldemar.

``Give her to me, Fitzurse, and I will maintainher as fits her rank, with the help of lance and stirrup,''said De Bracy.

``Not so,'' answered Fitzurse; ``I will takesanctuary in this church of Saint Peter---theArchbishop is my sworn brother.'

During this discourse, Prince John had gradually

awakened from the stupor into which he hadbeen thrown by the unexpected intelligence, andhad been attentive to the conversation which passedbetwixt his followers. ``They fall off from me,''he said to himself, ``they hold no more by me thana withered leaf by the bough when a breeze blowson it?---Hell and fiends! can I shape no means formyself when I am deserted by these cravens?''---He paused, and there was an expression of diabolicalpassion in the constrained laugh with whichhe at length broke in on their conversation.

``Ha, ha, ha! my good lords, by the light ofOur 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 promisedyou, at the moment it might be won by one boldcast!''

``I understand you not,'' said De Bracy. ``Assoon as Richard's return is blown abroad, he will beat the head of an army, and all is then over with us.I would counsel you, my lord, either to fly to Franceor take the protection of the Queen Mother.''

``I seek no safety for myself,'' said Prince John,haughtily; ``that I could secure by a word spokento my brother. But although you, De Bracy, andyou, Waldemar Fitzurse, are so ready to abandonme, I should not greatly delight to see your headsblackening on Clifford's gate yonder. Thinkestthou, Waldemar, that the wily Archbishop will notsuffer thee to be taken from the very horns of thealtar, would it make his peace with King Richard?And forgettest thou, De Bracy, that Robert Estotevillelies 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 evenbefore Richard's return, trowest thou there is anydoubt now which party their leaders will take?Trust me, Estoteville alone has strength enoughto drive all thy Free Lances into the Humber.---''Waldemar Fitzurse and De Bracy looked in eachother's faces with blank dismay.---``There is butone road to safety,'' continued the Prince, and his

brow grew black as midnight; ``this object of ourterror journeys alone---He must be met withal.''

``Not by me,'' said De Bracy, hastily; ``I washis prisoner, and he took me to mercy. I will notharm a feather in his crest.''

``Who spoke of harming him?'' said PrinceJohn, with a hardened laugh; ``the knave willsay next that I meant he should slay him!---No---a prison were better; and whether in Britain orAustria, what matters it?---Things will be but asthey were when we commenced our enterprise---It was founded on the hope that Richard wouldremain a captive in Germany---Our uncle Robertlived and died in the castle of Cardiffe.''

``Ay, but,'' said Waldemar, ``your sire Henrysate more firm in his seat than your Grace can. Isay the best prison is that which is made by thesexton---no dungeon like a church-vault! I havesaid my say.''

``Prison or tomb,'' said De Bracy, ``I wash myhands of the whole matter.''

``Villain!'' said Prince John, ``thou wouldst notbewray our counsel?''

``Counsel was never bewrayed by me,'' said DeBracy, haughtily, ``nor must the name of villainbe coupled with mine!''

``Peace, Sir Knight!'' said Waldemar; ``andyou, good my lord, forgive the scruples of valiantDe Bracy; I trust I shall soon remove them.''

``That passes your eloquence, Fitzurse,'' repliedthe Knight.

``Why, good Sir Maurice,'' rejoined the wilypolitician, ``start not aside like a scared steed, without,at least, considering the object of your terror.---This Richard---but a day since, and it wouldhave been thy dearest wish to have met him hand

to hand in the ranks of battle---a hundred times Ihave heard thee wish it.''

``Ay,'' said De Bracy, ``but that was as thousayest, hand to hand, and in the ranks of battle!Thou never heardest me breathe a thought of assaultinghim alone, and in a forest.''

``Thou art no good knight if thou dost scrupleat it,'' said Waldemar. ``Was it in battle thatLancelot de Lac and Sir Tristram won renown?or was it not by encountering gigantic knights underthe shade of deep and unknown forests?''

``Ay, but I promise you,'' said De Bracy, ``thatneither Tristram nor Lancelot would have beenmatch, hand to hand, for Richard Plantagenet, andI think it was not their wont to take odds againsta single man.''

``Thou art mad, De Bracy---what is it we proposeto thee, a hired and retained captain of FreeCompanions, whose swords are purchased for PrinceJohn's service? Thou art apprized of our enemy,and then thou scruplest, though thy patron's fortunes,those of thy comrades, thine own, and thelife and honour of every one amongst us, be atstake!''

``I tell you,'' said De Bracy, sullenly, ``that hegave me my life. True, he sent me from his presence,and refused my homage---so far I owe himneither favour nor allegiance---but I will not lifthand against him.''

``It needs not---send Louis Winkelbrand and ascore of thy lances.''

``Ye have sufficient ruffians of your own,'' saidDe Bracy; ``not one of mine shall budge on suchan errand.''

``Art thou so obstinate, De Bracy?'' said PrinceJohn; ``and wilt thou forsake me, after so manyprotestations of zeal for my service?''

``I mean it not,'' said De Bracy; ``I will abideby you in aught that becomes a knight, whether inthe lists or in the camp; but this highway practicecomes not within my vow.''

``Come hither, Waldemar,'' said Prince John.``An unhappy prince am I. My father, KingHenry, had faithful servants---He had but to saythat he was plagued with a factious priest, and theblood 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 Fitzursehath left a son, he hath fallen off from his father'sfidelity and courage.''

``He has fallen off from neither,'' said WaldemarFitzurse; ``and since it may not better be, Iwill take on me the conduct of this perilous enterprise.Dearly, however, did my father purchase thepraise of a zealous friend; and yet did his proof ofloyalty to Henry fall far short of what I am aboutto afford; for rather would I assail a whole calendarof saints, than put spear in rest against C<oe>ur-de-Lion.---De Bracy, to thee I must trust to keepup the spirits of the doubtful, and to guard PrinceJohn's person. If you receive such news as I trustto send you, our enterprise will no longer wear adoubtful aspect.---Page,'' he said, ``hie to my lodgings,and tell my armourer to be there in readiness;and bid Stephen Wetheral, Broad Thoresby, andthe Three Spears of Spyinghow, come to me instantly;and let the scout-master, Hugh Bardon,attend me also.---Adieu, my Prince, till bettertimes.'' Thus speaking, he left the apartment.``He goes to make my brother prisoner,'' saidPrince John to De Bracy, ``with as little touch ofcompunction, 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 duerespect.''

De Bracy only answered by a smile.

``By the light of Our Lady's brow,'' said PrinceJohn, ``our orders to him were most precise---though it may be you heard them not, as we stoodtogether in the oriel window---Most clear and positivewas our charge that Richard's safety shouldbe cared for, and woe to Waldemar's head if hetransgress it!''

``I had better pass to his lodgings,'' said DeBracy, ``and make him fully aware of your Grace'spleasure; for, as it quite escaped my ear, it maynot perchance have reached that of Waldemar.''

``Nay, nay,'' said Prince John, impatiently, ``Ipromise thee he heard me; and, besides, I havefarther occupation for thee. Maurice, come hither;let me lean on thy shoulder.''

They walked a turn through the hall in this familiarposture, and Prince John, with an air ofthe 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 highto one who shows evidently how little he reverencesour blood, by his so readily undertaking this enterpriseagainst Richard. Thou dost think, I warrant,that thou hast lost somewhat of our regard, by thyboldly declining this unpleasing task---But no,Maurice! I rather honour thee for thy virtuousconstancy. There are things most necessary to bedone, the perpetrator of which we neither love norhonour; and there may be refusals to serve us,which shall rather exalt in our estimation thosewho deny our request. The arrest of my unfortunatebrother forms no such good title to the highoffice of Chancellor, as thy chivalrous and courageousdenial establishes in thee to the truncheon ofHigh Marshal. Think of this, De Bracy, and begone

to thy charge.''

``Fickle tyrant!'' muttered De Bracy, as he leftthe presence of the Prince; ``evil luck have theywho trust thee. Thy Chancellor, indeed!---Hewho hath the keeping of thy conscience shall havean easy charge, I trow. But High Marshal ofEngland! that,'' he said, extending his arm, as ifto grasp the baton of office, and assuming a loftierstride along the antechamber, ``that is indeed aprize worth playing for!''

De Bracy had no sooner left the apartment thanPrince John summoned an attendant.

``Bid Hugh Bardon, our scout-master, comehither, as soon as he shall have spoken with WaldemarFitzurse.''

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 desireof thee?''

``Two resolute men, well acquainted with thesenorthern wilds, and skilful in tracking the tread ofman and horse.''

``And thou hast fitted him?''

``Let your grace never trust me else,'' answeredthe master of the spies. ``One is from Hexamshire;he is wont to trace the Tynedale and Teviotdalethieves, as a bloodhound follows the slot of ahurt deer. The other is Yorkshire bred, and hastwanged his bowstring right oft in merry Sherwood;he knows each glade and dingle, copse andhigh-wood, betwixt this and Richmond.''

``'Tis well,'' said the Prince.---``Goes Waldemarforth 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 toRalph Middleton's gang---they are called the Spearsof Spyinghow.''

``'Tis well,'' said Prince John; then added, aftera moment's pause, ``Bardon, it imports our servicethat thou keep a strict watch on Maurice De Bracy---so that he shall not observe it, however---Andlet us know of his motions from time to time---with whom he converses, what he proposeth. Failnot 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 atthe 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 fireOf wild Fanaticism. _Anonymus_.

Our tale now returns to Isaac of York.---Mountedupon a mule, the gift of the Outlaw, with twotall yeomen to act as his guard and guides, the Jewhad set out for the Preceptory of Templestowe, forthe purpose of negotiating his daughter's redemption.The Preceptory was but a day's journey fromthe demolished castle of Torquilstone, and the Jewhad 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, hebegan to press on with such speed as his wearinesspermitted him to exert. But his strength failedhim totally ere he had reached within four milesof the Temple-Court; racking pains shot along hisback and through his limbs, and the excessive anguishwhich he felt at heart being now augmentedby bodily suffering, he was rendered altogether incapableof proceeding farther than a small market-town,were dwelt a Jewish Rabbi of his tribe,eminent in the medical profession, and to whomIsaac was well known. Nathan Ben Israel receivedhis suffering countryman with that kindness whichthe law prescribed, and which the Jews practisedto each other. He insisted on his betaking himselfto repose, and used such remedies as were then inmost repute to check the progress of the fever,which terror, fatigue, ill usage, and sorrow, hadbrought upon the poor old Jew.

On the morrow, when Isaac proposed to arise andpursue his journey, Nathan remonstrated againsthis 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 uponhis going that morning to Templestowe.

``To Templestowe!'' said his host with surpriseagain felt his pulse, and then muttered to himself,``His fever is abated, yet seems his mind somewhatalienated and disturbed.''

``And why not to Templestowe?'' answered hispatient. ``I grant thee, Nathan, that it is a dwellingof those to whom the despised Children of thePromise are a stumbling-block and an abomination;yet thou knowest that pressing affairs of trafficsometimes carry us among these bloodthirsty Nazarenesoldiers, and that we visit the Preceptoriesof the Templars, as well as the Commanderies ofthe 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 wottestthou that Lucas de Beaumanoir, the chief of theirOrder, and whom they term Grand Master, is nowhimself at Templestowe?''

``I know it not,'' said Isaac; ``our last lettersfrom our brethren at Paris advised us that he wasat that city, beseeching Philip for aid against theSultan Saladine.''

``He hath since come to England, unexpectedby his brethren,'' said Ben Israel; ``and he comethamong them with a strong and outstretched arm tocorrect and to punish. His countenance is kindledin anger against those who have departed from thevow which they have made, and great is the fearof those sons of Belial. Thou must have heard ofhis name?''

``It is well known unto me,'' said Isaac; ``theGentiles deliver this Lucas Beaumanoir as a manzealous to slaying for every point of the Nazarenelaw; and our brethren have termed him a fiercedestroyer of the Saracens, and a cruel tyrant to theChildren of the Promise.''

``And truly have they termed him,'' said Nathanthe physician. ``Other Templars may bemoved from the purpose of their heart by pleasure,or bribed by promise of gold and silver; but Beaumanoiris of a different stamp---hating sensuality,despising treasure, and pressing forward to thatwhich they call the crown of martyrdom---TheGod of Jacob speedily send it unto him, and untothem all! Specially hath this proud man extendedhis glove over the children of Judah, as holy Davidover Edom, holding the murder of a Jew to be alloffering of as sweet savour as the death of a Saracen.Impious and false things has he said even ofthe virtues of our medicines, as if they were the

devices of Satan---The Lord rebuke him!''

``Nevertheless,'' said Isaac, ``I must presentmyself at Templestowe, though he hath made hisface like unto a fiery furnace seven times heated.''

He then explained to Nathan the pressing causeof his journey. The Rabbi listened with interest,and testified his sympathy after the fashion of hispeople, rending his clothes, and saying, ``Ah, mydaughter!---ah, my daughter!---Alas! for the beautyof Zion!---Alas! for the captivity of Israel!''

``Thou seest,'' said Isaac, ``how it stands withme, and that I may not tarry. Peradventure, thepresence of this Lucas Beaumanoir, being the chiefman over them, may turn Brian de Bois-Guilbertfrom the ill which he doth meditate, and that hemay deliver to me my beloved daughter Rebecca.''

``Go thou,'' said Nathan Ben Israel, ``and bewise, for wisdom availed Daniel in the den of lionsinto which he was cast; and may it go well withthee, 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 morningand evening delight. It may be if thou couldstspeak with Bois-Guilbert in private, thou shalt thebetter prevail with him; for men say that theseaccursed Nazarenes are not of one mind in the Preceptory---May their counsels be confounded andbrought to shame! But do thou, brother, returnto me as if it were to the house of thy father, andbring me word how it has sped with thee; and welldo I hope thou wilt bring with thee Rebecca, eventhe scholar of the wise Miriam, whose cures theGentiles slandered as if they had been wrought bynecromancy.''

Isaac accordingly bade his friend farewell, andabout an hour's riding brought him before the Preceptoryof Templestowe.

This establishment of the Templars was seatedamidst fair meadows and pastures, which the devotion

of the former Preceptor had bestowed upontheir Order. It was strong and well fortified, apoint never neglected by these knights, and whichthe disordered state of England rendered peculiarlynecessary. Two halberdiers, clad in black, guardedthe drawbridge, and others, in the same sad livery,glided to and fro upon the walls with a funerealpace, resembling spectres more than soldiers. Theinferior officers of the Order were thus dressed, eversince their use of white garments, similar to thoseof the knights and esquires, had given rise to acombination of certain false brethren in the mountainsof Palestine, terming themselves Templars,and bringing great dishonour on the Order. Aknight was now and then seen to cross the court inhis long white cloak, his head depressed on hisbreast, and his arms folded. They passed eachother, if they chanced to meet, with a slow, solemn,and mute greeting; for such was the rule of theirOrder, quoting thereupon the holy texts, ``In manywords thou shalt not avoid sin,'' and ``Life anddeath 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 andlicentious indulgence, seemed at once to have revivedat Templestowe under the severe eye of LucasBeaumanoir.

Isaac paused at the gate, to consider how hemight seek entrance in the manner most likely tobespeak favour; for he was well aware, that to hisunhappy race the reviving fanaticism of the Orderwas not less dangerous than their unprincipled licentiousness;and that his religion would be theobject of hate and persecution in the one case, ashis wealth would have exposed him in the other tothe extortions of unrelenting oppression.

Meantime Lucas Beaumanoir walked in a smallgarden belonging to the Preceptory, included withinthe precincts of its exterior fortification, and heldsad and confidential communication with a brotherof his Order, who had come in his company fromPalestine.

The Grand Master was a man advanced in age,as was testified by his long grey beard, and theshaggy grey eyebrows overhanging eyes, of which,however, years had been unable to quench the fire.A formidable warrior, his thin and severe featuresretained the soldier's fierceness of expression; anascetic bigot, they were no less marked by the emaciationof abstinence, and the spiritual pride of theself-satisfied devotee. Yet with these severer traitsof physiognomy, there was mixed somewhat strikingand noble, arising, doubtless, from the greatpart which his high office called upon him to actamong monarchs and princes, and from the habitualexercise of supreme authority over the valiant andhigh-born knights, who were united by the rules ofthe Order. His stature was tall, and his gait, undepressedby 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 Burrelcloth, exactly fitted to the size of the wearer, andbearing on the left shoulder the octangular crosspeculiar to the Order, formed of red cloth. No vairor ermine decked this garment; but in respect ofhis age, the Grand Master, as permitted by therules, wore his doublet lined and trimmed with thesoftest lambskin, dressed with the wool outwards,which was the nearest approach he could regularlymake to the use of fur, then the greatest luxury ofdress. In his hand he bore that singular _abacus_,or staff of office, with which Templars are usuallyrepresented, having at the upper end a round plate,on which was engraved the cross of the Order, inscribedwithin a circle or orle, as heralds term it.His companion, who attended on this great personage,had nearly the same dress in all respects, buthis extreme deference towards his Superior showedthat no other equality subsisted between them. ThePreceptor, for such he was in rank, walked not ina line with the Grand Master, but just so far behindthat Beaumanoir could speak to him withoutturning round his head.

``Conrade,'' said the Grand Master, ``dear companionof my battles and my toils, to thy faithful

bosom alone I can confide my sorrows. To theealone can I tell how oft, since I came to this kingdom,I have desired to be dissolved and to be withthe just. Not one object in England hath met mineeye which it could rest upon with pleasure, savethe tombs of our brethren, beneath the massive roofof 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 marblecells, and take to your repose a weary brother, whowould rather strive with a hundred thousand pagansthan witness the decay of our Holy Order!''

``It is but true,'' answered Conrade Mont-Fitchet;``it is but too true; and the irregularities ofour brethren in England are even more gross thanthose in France.''

``Because they are more wealthy,'' answered theGrand Master. ``Bear with me, brother, althoughI should something vaunt myself. Thou knowestthe life I have led, keeping each point of my Order,striving with devils embodied and disembodied,striking down the roaring lion, who goeth aboutseeking whom be may devour, like a good knightand devout priest, wheresoever I met with him---even as blessed Saint Bernard hath prescribed to usin the forty-fifth capital of our rule, _Ut Leo semperferiatur_.* 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 thatvery Holy Temple I swear to thee, that save thyselfand some few that still retain the ancient severityof our Order, I look upon no brethren whomI can bring my soul to embrace under that holyname. What say our statutes, and how do our brethren

observe them? They should wear no vain orworldly ornament, no crest upon their helmet, nogold upon stirrup or bridle-bit; yet who now gopranked out so proudly and so gaily as the poorsoldiers of the Temple? They are forbidden byour statutes to take one bird by means of another,to shoot beasts with bow or arblast, to halloo to ahunting-horn, or to spur the horse after game. Butnow, at hunting and hawking, and each idle sportof wood and river, who so prompt as the Templarsin all these fond vanities? They are forbidden toread, save what their Superior permitted, or listento what is read, save such holy things as may berecited aloud during the hours of refaction; but lo!their ears are at the command of idle minstrels, andtheir eyes study empty romaunts. They were commandedto extirpate magic and heresy. Lo! theyare charged with studying the accursed cabalisticalsecrets of the Jews, and the magic of the PaynimSaracens. Simpleness of diet was prescribed tothem, roots, pottage, gruels, eating flesh but thricea-week, because the accustomed feeding on flesh isa dishonourable corruption of the body; and behold,their tables groan under delicate fare! Theirdrink was to be water, and now, to drink like aTemplar, is the boast of each jolly boon companion!This very garden, filled as it is with curious herbsand trees sent from the Eastern climes, better becomesthe harem of an unbelieving Emir, than theplot which Christian Monks should devote to raisetheir homely pot-herbs.---And O, Conrade! well itwere that the relaxation of discipline stopped evenhere!---Well thou knowest that we were forbiddento receive those devout women, who at the beginningwere associated as sisters of our Order, because,saith the forty-sixth chapter, the AncientEnemy hath, by female society, withdrawn manyfrom the right path to paradise. Nay, in the lastcapital, being, as it were, the cope-stone which ourblessed founder placed on the pure and undefileddoctrine which he had enjoined, we are prohibitedfrom offering, even to our sisters and our mothers,the kiss of affection--_-ut omnium mulierum fugianturoscula_.---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 SaintOmer, and of the blessed Seven who first joined indedicating their lives to the service of the Temple,are disturbed even in the enjoyment of paradiseitself. I have seen them, Conrade, in the visionsof the night---their sainted eyes shed tears for thesins and follies of their brethren, and for the fouland shameful luxury in which they wallow. Beaumanoir,they say, thou slumberest---awake! Thereis a stain in the fabric of the Temple, deep and foulas that left by the streaks of leprosy on the wallsof the infected houses of old.* The soldiers of the

* See the 13th chapter of Leviticus.

Cross, who should shun the glance of a woman asthe eye of a basilisk, live in open sin, not with thefemales of their own race only, but with the daughtersof the accursed heathen, and more accursedJew. Beaumanoir, thou sleepest; up, and avengeour cause!---Slay the sinners, male and female!---Take to thee the brand of Phineas!---The visionfled, Conrade, but as I awaked I could still hearthe clank of their mail, and see the waving of theirwhite mantles.---And I will do according to theirword, I =will= purify the fabric of the Temple! andthe unclean stones in which the plague is, I willremove and cast out of the building.''

``Yet bethink thee, reverend father,'' said Mont-Fitchet,``the stain hath become engrained by timeand consuetude; let thy reformation be cautious,as it is just and wise.''

``No, Mont-Fitchet,'' answered the stern oldman---``it must be sharp and sudden---the Order ison the crisis of its fate. The sobriety, self-devotion,and piety of our predecessors, made us powerfulfriends---our presumption, our wealth, our luxury,have raised up against us mighty enemies.---Wemust cast away these riches, which are a temptationto princes---we must lay down that presumption,which is an offence to them---we must reform thatlicense of manners, which is a scandal to the whole

Christian world! Or---mark my words---the Orderof the Temple will be utterly demolished---and thePlace thereof shall no more be known among thenations.''``Now may God avert such a calamity!'' said thePreceptor.

``Amen,'' said the Grand Master, with solemnity,``but we must deserve his aid. I tell thee,Conrade, that neither the powers in Heaven, northe powers on earth, will longer endure the wickednessof this generation---My intelligence is sure---the ground on which our fabric is reared is alreadyundermined, and each addition we make tothe structure of our greatness will only sink it thesooner in the abyss. We must retrace our steps,and show ourselves the faithful Champions of theCross, sacrificing to our calling, not alone our bloodand 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 pleasurewhich may be lawful to others, is forbidden tothe vowed soldier of the Temple.''

At this moment a squire, clothed in a threadbarevestment, (for the aspirants after this holy Orderwore during their noviciate the cast-off garments ofthe knights,) entered the garden, and, bowing profoundlybefore the Grand Master, stood silent,awaiting his permission ere he presumed to tell hiserrand.

``Is it not more seemly,'' said the Grand Master,``to see this Damian, clothed in the garments ofChristian humility, thus appear with reverend silencebefore 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 thineerrand?''

``A Jew stands without the gate, noble and reverendfather,'' said the Squire, ``who prays tospeak with brother Brian de Bois-Guilbert.''

``Thou wert right to give me knowledge of it,''said the Grand Master; ``in our presence a Preceptoris but as a common compeer of our Order,who may not walk according to his own will, butto 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'sproceedings,'' said he, turning to his companion.

``Report speaks him brave and valiant,'' saidConrade.

``And truly is he so spoken of,'' said the GrandMaster; ``in our valour only we are not degeneratedfrom our predecessors, the heroes of the Cross.But brother Brian came into our Order a moodyand disappointed man, stirred, I doubt me, to takeour vows and to renounce the world, not in sincerityof soul, but as one whom some touch of lightdiscontent had driven into penitence. Since then,he hath become an active and earnest agitator, amurmurer, and a machinator, and a leader amongstthose who impugn our authority; not consideringthat the rule is given to the Master even by thesymbol of the staff and the rod---the staff to supportthe infirmities of the weak---the rod to correctthe 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 Isaacof York. No naked slave, ushered into the presenceof some mighty prince, could approach hisjudgment-seat with more profound reverence andterror than that with which the Jew drew near tothe presence of the Grand Master. When he hadapproached within the distance of three yards, Beaumanoirmade a sign with his staff that he shouldcome no farther. The Jew kneeled down on theearth which he kissed in token of reverence; thenrising, stood before the Templars, his hands foldedon his bosom, his head bowed on his breast, in allthe submission of Oriental slavery.

``Damian,'' said the Grand Master, ``retire, and

have a guard ready to await our sudden call; andsuffer no one to enter the garden until we shall leaveit.''---The squire bowed and retreated.---``Jew,''continued the haughty old man, ``mark me. Itsuits not our condition to hold with thee long communication,nor do we waste words or time uponany one. Wherefore be brief in thy answers towhat questions I shall ask thee, and let thy wordsbe of truth; for if thy tongue doubles with me, Iwill have it torn from thy misbelieving jaws.''

The Jew was about to reply, but the GrandMaster went on.

``Peace, unbeliever!---not a word in our presence,save in answer to our questions.---What isthy business with our brother Brian de Bois-Guilbert?''

Isaac gasped with terror and uncertainty. To tellhis tale might be interpreted into scandalizing theOrder; yet, unless he told it, what hope could hehave of achieving his daughter's deliverance? Beaumanoirsaw his mortal apprehension, and condescendedto 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 businesswith Brian de Bois-Guilbert?''

``I am bearer of a letter,'' stammered out the Jew,``so please your reverend valour, to that goodknight, from Prior Aymer of the Abbey of Jorvaulx.''

``Said I not these were evil times, Conrade?''said the Master. ``A Cistertian Prior sends a letterto a soldier of the Temple, and can find no morefitting messenger than an unbelieving Jew.---Giveme the letter.''

The Jew, with trembling hands, undid the foldsof his Armenian cap, in which he had depositedthe Prior's tablets for the greater security, and wasabout to approach, with hand extended and bodycrouched, to place it within the reach of his grim

interrogator.

``Back, dog!'' said the Grand Master; ``I touchnot misbelievers, save with the sword.---Conrade,take thou the letter from the Jew, and give it tome.''

Beaumanoir, being thus possessed of the tablets,inspected the outside carefully, and then proceededto undo the packthread which secured its folds.``Reverend father,'' said Conrade, interposing,though with much deference, ``wilt thou break theseal?''

``And will I not?'' said Beaumanoir, with afrown. ``Is it not written in the forty-second capital,_De Lectione Literarum_, that a Templar shallnot receive a letter, no not from his father, withoutcommunicating the same to the Grand Master, andreading it in his presence?''

He then perused the letter in haste, with an expressionof surprise and horror; read it over againmore slowly; then holding it out to Conrade withone hand, and slightly striking it with the other,exclaimed---``Here is goodly stuff for one Christianman 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 purgethe 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'' (toIsaac) ``attend to the purport of it, for we will questionthee concerning it.''

Conrade read the letter, which was in thesewords: ``Aymer, by divine grace, Prior of theCistertian house of Saint Mary's of Jorvaulx, toSir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, a Knight of the holyOrder of the Temple, wisheth health, with thebounties of King Bacchus and of my Lady Venus.Touching our present condition, dear Brother, we

are a captive in the hands of certain lawless andgodless men, who have not feared to detain ourperson, and put us to ransom; whereby we havealso learned of Front-de-B<oe>uf's misfortune, andthat thou hast escaped with that fair Jewish sorceress,whose black eyes have bewitched thee. Weare heartily rejoiced of thy safety; nevertheless, wepray thee to be on thy guard in the matter of thissecond Witch of Endor; for we are privately assuredthat your Great Master, who careth not abean for cherry cheeks and black eyes, comes fromNormandy to diminish your mirth, and amend yourmisdoings. Wherefore we pray you heartily tobeware, and to be found watching, even as theHoly Text hath it, _Invenientur vigilantes_. And thewealthy Jew her father, Isaac of York, having prayedof me letters in his behalf, I gave him these,earnestly advising, and in a sort entreating, thatyou do hold the damsel to ransom, seeing he willpay you from his bags as much as may find fiftydamsels upon safer terms, whereof I trust to havemy part when we make merry together, as truebrothers, not forgetting the wine-cup. For whatsaith the text, _Vinum l<ae>tificat cor hominis_; andagain, _Rex delectabitur pulchritudine tua_.

``Till which merry meeting, we wish you farewell.Given from this den of thieves, about thehour of matins,

``Aymer Pr. S. M. Jorvolciencis.

``_Postscriptum_. Truly your golden chain hath notlong abidden with me, and will now sustain, aroundthe neck of an outlaw deer-stealer, the whistlewherewith he calleth on his hounds.''

``What sayest thou to this, Conrade?'' said theGrand Master---``Den of thieves! and a fit residenceis a den of thieves for such a Prior. No wonderthat the hand of God is upon us, and that inthe Holy Land we lose place by place, foot by foot,before the infidels, when we have such churchmenas this Aymer.---And what meaneth he, I trow,

by this second Witch of Endor?'' said he to hisconfident, something apart.Conrade was better acquainted (perhaps by practice)with the jargon of gallantry, than was his Superior;and he expounded the passage which embarrassedthe Grand Master, to be a sort of languageused by worldly men towards those whomthey loved _par amours_; but the explanation didnot satisfy the bigoted Beaumanoir.

``There is more in it than thou dost guess,Conrade; thy simplicity is no match for this deepabyss of wickedness. This Rebecca of York wasa pupil of that Miriam of whom thou hast heard.Thou shalt hear the Jew own it even now.'' Thenturning to Isaac, he said aloud, ``Thy daughter,then, is prisoner with Brian de Bois-Guilbert?''

``Ay, reverend valorous sir,'' stammered poorIsaac, ``and whatsoever ransom a poor man maypay for her deliverance------''

``Peace!'' said the Grand Master. ``This thydaughter hath practised the art of healing, hath shenot?''

``Ay, gracious sir,'' answered the Jew, with moreconfidence; ``and knight and yeoman, squire andvassal, may bless the goodly gift which Heavenhath assigned to her. Many a one can testify thatshe hath recovered them by her art, when everyother human aid hath proved vain; but the blessingof the God of Jacob was upon her.''

Beaumanoir turned to Mont-Fitchet with a grimsmile. ``See, brother,'' he said, ``the deceptionsof the devouring Enemy! Behold the baits withwhich he fishes for souls, giving a poor space ofearthly life in exchange for eternal happiness hereafter.Well said our blessed rule, __Semper percutiatur leo vorans_.---Up on the lion! Down with thedestroyer!'' 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,'' answeredIsaac, ``but in chief measure by a balsam of marvellousvirtue.''

``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; ``wasit not from that same witch Miriam, the abominationof whose enchantments have been heard ofthroughout every Christian land?'' exclaimed theGrand Master, crossing himself. ``Her body wasburnt at a stake, and her ashes were scattered tothe four winds; and so be it with me and mineOrder, if I do not as much to her pupil, and morealso! I will teach her to throw spell and incantationover the soldiers of the blessed Temple.---There, Damian, spurn this Jew from the gate---shoot him dead if he oppose or turn again. Withhis daughter we will deal as the Christian law andour own high office warrant.''

Poor Isaac was hurried off accordingly, and expelledfrom the preceptory; all his entreaties, andeven his offers, unheard and disregarded. He coulddo not better than return to the house of the Rabbi,and endeavour, through his means, to learn how hisdaughter was to be disposed of. He had hithertofeared for her honour, he was now to tremble forher life. Meanwhile, the Grand Master orderedto 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 courtierGains land and title, rank and rule, by seeming;

The clergy scorn it not, and the bold soldierWill eke with it his service.---All admit it,All practise it; and he who is contentWith showing what he is, shall have small creditIn church, or camp, or state---So wags the world. _Old Play_.

Albert Malvoisin, President, or, in the languageof the Order, Preceptor of the establishmentof Templestowe, was brother to that Philip Malvoisinwho has been already occasionally mentionedin this history, and was, like that baron, in closeleague with Brian de Bois-Guilbert.

Amongst dissolute and unprincipled men, ofwhom 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 vicesand his ambition the veil of hypocrisy, and to assumein his exterior the fanaticism which be internallydespised. Had not the arrival of the GrandMaster been so unexpectedly sudden, he wouldhave seen nothing at Templestowe which mighthave appeared to argue any relaxation of discipline.And, even although surprised, and, to a certain extent,detected, Albert Malvoisin listened with suchrespect and apparent contrition to the rebuke ofhis Superior, and made such haste to reform theparticulars he censured,---succeeded, in fine, so wellin giving an air of ascetic devotion to a familywhich had been lately devoted to license and pleasure,that Lucas Beaumanoir began to entertain ahigher opinion of the Preceptor's morals, than thefirst appearance of the establishment had inclinedhim to adopt.

But these favourable sentiments on the part ofthe Grand Master were greatly shaken by the intelligencethat Albert had received within a houseof religion the Jewish captive, and, as was to befeared, the paramour of a brother of the Order;and when Albert appeared before him, be was regardedwith unwonted sternness.

``There is in this mansion, dedicated to the purposesof the holy Order of the Temple,'' said theGrand Master, in a severe tone, ``a Jewish woman,brought hither by a brother of religion, by yourconnivance, Sir Preceptor.''

Albert Malvoisin was overwhelmed with confusion;for the unfortunate Rebecca had been confinedin a remote and secret part of the building,and every precaution used to prevent her residencethere from being known. He read in the looks ofBeaumanoir ruin to Bois-Guilbert and to himself,unless he should be able to avert the impendingstorm.

``Why are you mute?'' continued the GrandMaster.

``Is it permitted to me to reply?'' answered thePreceptor, in a tone of the deepest humility, althoughby the question he only meant to gain an instant'sspace for arranging his ideas.

``Speak, you are permitted,'' said the GrandMaster---``speak, and say, knowest thou the capitalof our holy rule,---_De commilitonibus Templi insancta 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 thePreceptor, ``I have not risen to this office in theOrder, being ignorant of one of its most importantprohibitions.''

``How comes it, then, I demand of thee oncemore, that thou hast suffered a brother to bringa paramour, and that paramour a Jewish sorceress,into this holy place, to the stain and pollutionthereof?''

``A Jewish sorceress!'' echoed Albert Malvoisin;``good angels guard us!''

``Ay, brother, a Jewish sorceress!'' said theGrand Master, sternly. ``I have said it. Darestthou deny that this Rebecca, the daughter of thatwretched usurer Isaac of York, and the pupil ofthe foul witch Miriam, is now---shame to be thoughtor spoken!---lodged within this thy Preceptory?''

``Your wisdom, reverend father,'' answered thePreceptor, ``hath rolled away the darkness frommy understanding. Much did I wonder that sogood a knight as Brian de Bois-Guilbert seemed sofondly besotted on the charms of this female, whomI received into this house merely to place a barbetwixt their growing intimacy, which else mighthave been cemented at the expense of the fall ofour valiant and religious brother.''

``Hath nothing, then, as yet passed betwixtthem in breach of his vow?'' demanded the GrandMaster.

``What! under this roof?'' said the Preceptor,crossing himself; ``Saint Magdalene and the tenthousand virgins forbid!---No! if I have sinned inreceiving her here, it was in the erring thought thatI might thus break off our brother's besotted devotionto this Jewess, which seemed to me so wildand unnatural, that I could not but ascribe it tosome touch of insanity, more to be cured by pitythan reproof. But since your reverend wisdomhath discovered this Jewish quean to be a sorceress,perchance it may account fully for his enamouredfolly.''

``It doth!---it doth!'' said Beaumanoir. ``See,brother Conrade, the peril of yielding to the firstdevices and blandishments of Satan! We lookupon 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, obtainspower over us, to complete, by talisman and spell,a work which was begun by idleness and folly. Itmay be that our brother Bois-Guilbert does in thismatter deserve rather pity than severe chastisement;

rather the support of the staff, than thestrokes of the rod; and that our admonitions andprayers may turn him from his folly, and restorehim to his brethren.''

``It were deep pity,'' said Conrade Mont-Fitchet,to lose to the Order one of its best lances, whenthe Holy Community most requires the aid of itssons. Three hundred Saracens hath this Brian deBois-Guilbert slain with his own hand.''

``The blood of these accursed dogs,'' said theGrand Master, ``shall be a sweet and acceptableoffering to the saints and angels whom they despiseand blaspheme; and with their aid will wecounteract the spells and charms with which ourbrother is entwined as in a net. He shall burst thebands of this Delilah, as Sampson burst the twonew cords with which the Philistines had boundhim, and shall slaughter the infidels, even heapsupon heaps. But concerning this foul witch, whohath flung her enchantments over a brother of theHoly Temple, assuredly she shall die the death.''

``But the laws of England,''---said the Preceptor,who, though delighted that the Grand Master'sresentment, thus fortunately averted from himselfand Bois-Guilbert, had taken another direction, begannow to fear he was carrying it too far.

``The laws of England,'' interrupted Beaumanoir,``permit and enjoin each judge to execute justicewithin his own jurisdiction. The most petty baronmay arrest, try, and condemn a witch found withinhis own domain. And shall that power be deniedto the Grand Master of the Temple within a preceptoryof his Order?---No!---we will judge andcondemn. The witch shall be taken out of the land,and the wickedness thereof shall be forgiven. Preparethe Castle-hall for the trial of the sorceress.''

Albert Malvoisin bowed and retired,---not togive directions for preparing the hall, but to seekout Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and communicate tohim how matters were likely to terminate. It was

not long ere he found him, foaming with indignationat a repulse he had anew sustained from thefair 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 andrafters crackled and crashed around me. I was thebutt of a hundred arrows; they rattled on minearmour like hailstones against a latticed casement,and the only use I made of my shield was for herprotection. This did I endure for her; and nowthe self-willed girl upbraids me that I did notleave her to perish, and refuses me not only theslightest proof of gratitude, but even the most distanthope that ever she will be brought to grantany. The devil, that possessed her race with obstinacy,has concentrated its full force in her singleperson!''

``The devil,'' said the Preceptor, ``I think, possessedyou both. How oft have I preached to youcaution, if not continence? Did I not tell you thatthere were enough willing Christian damsels to bemet with, who would think it sin to refuse so bravea knight _le don d'amoureux merci_, and you mustneeds anchor your affection on a wilful, obstinateJewess! By the mass, I think old Lucas Beaumanoirguesses right, when he maintains she hathcast a spell over you.''

``Lucas Beaumanoir!''---said Bois-Guilbert reproachfully---``Are these your precautions, Malvoisin?Hast thou suffered the dotard to learn thatRebecca is in the Preceptory?''

``How could I help it?'' said the Preceptor. ``Ineglected nothing that could keep secret your mystery;but it is betrayed, and whether by the devilor no, the devil only can tell. But I have turnedthe matter as I could; you are safe if you renounceRebecca. You are pitied---the victim of magicaldelusion. She is a sorceress, and must suffer assuch.''

``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 aJewess will be a sin-offering sufficient to atone forall the amorous indulgences of the Knights Templars;and thou knowest he hath both the powerand will to execute so reasonable and pious a purpose.''

``Will future ages believe that such stupid bigotryever existed!'' said Bois-Guilbert, striding upand down the apartment.

``What they may believe, I know not,'' saidMalvoisin, calmly; ``but I know well, that in thisour day, clergy and laymen, take ninety-nine to thehundred, will cry _amen_ to the Grand Master's sentence.''

``I have it,'' said Bois-Guilbert. ``Albert, thouart my friend. Thou must connive at her escape,Malvoisin, and I will transport her to some placeof greater security and secrecy.''``I cannot, if I would,'' replied the Preceptor;``the mansion is filled with the attendants of theGrand Master, and others who are devoted to him.And, to be frank with you, brother, I would notembark with you in this matter, even if I couldhope to bring my bark to haven. I have riskedenough already for your sake. I have no mind toencounter a sentence of degradation, or even to losemy Preceptory, for the sake of a painted piece ofJewish flesh and blood. And you, if you will beguided by my counsel, will give up this wild-goosechase, and fly your hawk at some other game.Think, Bois-Guilbert,---thy present rank, thy futurehonours, all depend on thy place in the Order.Shouldst thou adhere perversely to thy passion forthis Rebecca, thou wilt give Beaumanoir the powerof expelling thee, and he will not neglect it. Heis jealous of the truncheon which he holds in histrembling gripe, and he knows thou stretchest thybold hand towards it. Doubt not he will ruin thee,if thou affordest him a pretext so fair as thy protectionof a Jewish sorceress. Give him his scopein this matter, for thou canst not control him.

When the staff is in thine own firm grasp, thoumayest caress the daughters of Judah, or burnthem, as may best suit thine own humour.''

``Malvoisin,'' said Bois-Guilbert, ``thou art acold-blooded---''

``Friend,'' said the Preceptor, hastening to fillup the blank, in which Bois-Guilbert would probablyhave placed a worse word,---``a cold-bloodedfriend I am, and therefore more fit to give thee advice.I tell thee once more, that thou canst notsave Rebecca. I tell thee once more, thou canst butperish 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'svery beard will I say---''

``Say to him, then, to his beard,'' continued Malvoisin,coolly, ``that you love this captive Jewessto distraction; and the more thou dost enlarge onthy passion, the greater will be his haste to end itby the death of the fair enchantress; while thou,taken in flagrant delict by the avowal of a crimecontrary to thine oath, canst hope no aid of thybrethren, and must exchange all thy brilliant visionsof ambition and power, to lift perhaps a mercenaryspear in some of the petty quarrels betweenFlanders and Burgundy.''

``Thou speakest the truth, Malvoisin,'' said Briande Bois-Guilbert, after a moment's reflection. ``Iwill give the hoary bigot no advantage over me;and for Rebecca, she hath not merited at my handthat 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 whichamuse our lighter hours---ambition is the seriousbusiness of life. Perish a thousand such frail baublesas this Jewess, before thy manly step pause inthe brilliant career that lies stretched before thee!

For the present we part, nor must we be seen tohold close conversation---I must order the hall forhis judgment-seat.''

``What!'' said Bois-Guilbert, ``so soon?''

``Ay,'' replied the Preceptor, ``trial moves rapidlyon when the judge has determined the sentencebeforehand.''

``Rebecca,'' said Bois-Guilbert, when he was leftalone, ``thou art like to cost me dear---Why cannotI abandon thee to thy fate, as this calm hypocriterecommends?---One effort will I make to savethee---but beware of ingratitude! for if I am againrepulsed, my vengeance shall equal my love. Thelife and honour of Bois-Guilbert must not be hazarded,where contempt and reproaches are his onlyreward.''

The Preceptor had hardly given the necessaryorders, when he was joined by Conrade Mont-Fitchet,who acquainted him with the Grand Master'sresolution to bring the Jewess to instant trial forsorcery.

``It is surely a dream,'' said the Preceptor; ``wehave many Jewish physicians, and we call them notwizards though they work wonderful cures.''

``The Grand Master thinks otherwise,'' saidMont-Fitchet; ``and, Albert, I will be uprightwith thee---wizard or not, it were better that thismiserable damsel die, than that Brian de Bois-Guilbertshould be lost to the Order, or the Orderdivided by internal dissension. Thou knowest hishigh rank, his fame in arms---thou knowest thezeal with which many of our brethren regard him---but all this will not avail him with our GrandMaster, should he consider Brian as the accomplice,not the victim, of this Jewess. Were the souls ofthe twelve tribes in her single body, it were bettershe suffered alone, than that Bois-Guilbert werepartner in her destruction.''

``I have been working him even now to abandonher,'' said Malvoisin; ``but still, are there groundsenough to condemn this Rebecca for sorcery?---Will not the Grand Master change his mind whenhe sees that the proofs are so weak?''

``They must be strengthened, Albert,'' repliedMont-Fitchet, ``they must be strengthened. Dostthou understand me?''

``I do,'' said the Preceptor, ``nor do I scruple todo aught for advancement of the Order---but thereis 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 ofMaison-Dieu is worth double its value---thouknowest my interest with our old Chief---find thosewho can carry this matter through, and thou artPreceptor of Maison-Dieu in the fertile Kent---How sayst thou?''

``There is,'' replied Malvoisin, ``among thosewho came hither with Bois-Guilbert, two fellowswhom I well know; servants they were to mybrother Philip de Malvoisin, and passed from hisservice to that of Front-de-B<oe>uf---It may be theyknow something of the witcheries of this woman.''

``Away, seek them out instantly---and hark thee,if a byzant or two will sharpen their memory, letthem not be wanting.''

``They would swear the mother that bore thema sorceress for a zecchin,'' said the Preceptor.

``Away, then,'' said Mont-Fitchet; ``at noon theaffair will proceed. I have not seen our senior insuch earnest preparation since he condemned to thestake Hamet Alfagi, a convert who relapsed to theMoslem faith.''

The ponderous castle-bell had tolled the point of

noon, when Rebecca heard a trampling of feet uponthe private stair which led to her place of confinement.The noise announced the arrival of severalpersons, and the circumstance rather gave her joy;for she was more afraid of the solitary visits of thefierce and passionate Bois-Guilbert than of any evilthat could befall her besides. The door of thechamber was unlocked, and Conrade and the PreceptorMalvoisin entered, attended by four wardersclothed 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 forthee to question, but to obey. Nevertheless, be itknown to thee, that thou art to be brought beforethe tribunal of the Grand Master of our holy Order,there to answer for thine offences.''

``May the God of Abraham be praised!'' saidRebecca, folding her hands devoutly; ``the nameof a judge, though an enemy to my people, is to meas the name of a protector. Most willingly do Ifollow thee---permit me only to wrap my veil aroundmy head.''

They descended the stair with slow and solemnstep, traversed a long gallery, and, by a pair offolding doors placed at the end, entered the greathall in which the Grand Master had for the timeestablished his court of justice.

The lower part of this ample apartment wasfilled with squires and yeomen, who made way notwithout some difficulty for Rebecca, attended bythe Preceptor and Mont-Fitchet, and followed bythe guard of halberdiers, to move forward to theseat appointed for her. As she passed through thecrowd, her arms folded and her head depressed, ascrap of paper was thrust into her hand, which shereceived almost unconsciously, and continued tohold without examining its contents. The assurance

that she possessed some friend in this awfulassembly gave her courage to look around, and tomark into whose presence she had been conducted.She gazed, accordingly, upon the scene, which weshall endeavour to describe in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XXXVII

Stern was the law which bade its vot'ries leaveAt human woes with human hearts to grieve;Stern was the law, which at the winning wileOf frank and harmless mirth forbade to smile;But sterner still, when high the iron-rodOf tyrant power she shook, and call'd that power of God. _The Middle Ages._

The Tribunal, erected for the trial of the innocentand unhappy Rebecca, occupied the dais or elevated partof 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 inhabitantsor guests of an ancient mansion.

On an elevated seat, directly before the accused,sat the Grand Master of the Temple, in full andample robes of flowing white, holding in his handthe mystic staff, which bore the symbol of the Order.At his feet was placed a table, occupied bytwo scribes, chaplains of the Order, whose duty itwas to reduce to formal record the proceedings ofthe day. The black dresses, bare scalps, and demurelooks of these church-men, formed a strong contrastto the warlike appearance of the knights who attended,either as residing in the Preceptory, or ascome thither to attend upon their Grand Master.The Preceptors, of whom there were four present,occupied seats lower in height, and somewhat drawnback behind that of their superior; and the knights,who enjoyed no such rank in the Order, were placedon benches still lower, and preserving the same distancefrom the Preceptors as these from the Grand

Master. Behind them, but still upon the dais orelevated portion of the hall, stood the esquires ofthe Order, in white dresses of an inferior quality.

The whole assembly wore an aspect of the mostprofound gravity; and in the faces of the knightsmight be perceived traces of military daring, unitedwith the solemn carriage becoming men of a religiousprofession, and which, in the presence oftheir Grand Master, failed not to sit upon everybrow.

The remaining and lower part of the hall wasfilled with guards, holding partisans, and with otherattendants whom curiosity had drawn thither, tosee at once a Grand Master and a Jewish sorceress.By far the greater part of those inferior personswere, in one rank or other, connected with the Order,and were accordingly distinguished by theirblack dresses. But peasants from the neighbouringcountry were not refused admittance; for it wasthe pride of Beaumanoir to render the edifyingspectacle of the justice which he administered aspublic as possible. His large blue eyes seemed toexpand as be gazed around the assembly, and hiscountenance appeared elated by the conscious dignity,and imaginary merit, of the part which hewas about to perform. A psalm, which he himselfaccompanied with a deep mellow voice, which agehad not deprived of its powers, commenced the proceedingsof the day; and the solemn sounds, _Veniteexultemus Domino_, so often sung by the Templarsbefore engaging with earthly adversaries, wasjudged by Lucas most appropriate to introduce theapproaching triumph, for such he deemed it, overthe powers of darkness. The deep prolonged notes,raised by a hundred masculine voices accustomedto combine in the choral chant, arose to the vaultedroof of the hill, and rolled on amongst its archeswith the pleasing yet solemn sound of the rushingof mighty waters.

When the sounds ceased, the Grand Masterglanced his eye slowly around the circle, and observedthat the seat of one of the Preceptors was vacant.

Brian de Bois-Guilbert, by whom it had beenoccupied, had left his place, and was now standingnear the extreme corner of one of the benches occupiedby the Knights Companions of the Temple,one hand extending his long mantle, so as in somedegree to hide his face; while the other held hiscross-handled sword, with the point of which, sheathedas it was, he was slowly drawing lines upon theoaken floor.

``Unhappy man!'' said the Grand Master, afterfavouring him with a glance of compassion. ``Thouseest, Conrade, how this holy work distresses him.To this can the light look of woman, aided by thePrince of the Powers of this world, bring a valiantand worthy knight!---Seest thou he cannot lookupon us; he cannot look upon her; and who knowsby what impulse from his tormentor his hand formsthese cabalistic lines upon the floor?---It may beour life and safety are thus aimed at; but we spitat and defy the foul enemy. _Semper Leo percutiatur!''

This was communicated apart to his confidentialfollower, Conrade Mont-Fitchet. The Grand Masterthen raised his voice, and addressed the assembly.

``Reverend and valiant men, Knights, Preceptors,and Companions of this Holy Order, my brethrenand my children!---you also, well-born andpious 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 defectof power in us which hath occasioned the assemblingof this congregation; for, however unworthyin our person, yet to us is committed, with thisbatoon, full power to judge and to try all that regardsthe weal of this our Holy Order. HolySaint Bernard, in the rule of our knightly and religiousprofession, 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 commandof the Master; leaving it free to us, as to thosemore worthy fathers who have preceded us in thisour office, to judge, as well of the occasion as of thetime and place in which a chapter of the wholeOrder, or of any part thereof, may be convoked.Also, in all such chapters, it is our duty to hearthe advice of our brethren, and to proceed accordingto our own pleasure. But when the ragingwolf hath made an inroad upon the flock, and carriedoff one member thereof, it is the duty of thekind shepherd to call his comrades together, thatwith bows and slings they may quell the invader,according to our well-known rule, that the lion isever to be beaten down. We have therefore summonedto our presence a Jewish woman, by nameRebecca, daughter of Isaac of York---a woman infamousfor sortileges and for witcheries; wherebyshe hath maddened the blood, and besotted thebrain, not of a churl, but of a Knight---not of asecular Knight, but of one devoted to the serviceof the Holy Temple---not of a Knight Companion,but of a Preceptor of our Order, first in honour asin place. Our brother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, iswell known to ourselves, and to all degrees whonow hear me, as a true and zealous champion ofthe Cross, by whose arm many deeds of valour havebeen wrought in the Holy Land, and the holyplaces purified from pollution by the blood of thoseinfidels who defiled them. Neither have our brother'ssagacity and prudence been less in reputeamong his brethren than his valour and discipline;in so much, that knights, both in eastern and westernlands, have named De Bois-Guilbert as onewho may well be put in nomination as successor tothis batoon, when it shall please Heaven to releaseus from the toil of bearing it. If we were toldthat such a man, so honoured, and so honourable,suddenly casting away regard for his character, hisvows, his brethren, and his prospects, had associatedto himself a Jewish damsel, wandered in thislewd company, through solitary places, defended herperson in preference to his own, and, finally, was soutterly blinded and besotted by his folly, as tobring her even to one of our own Preceptories, what

should we say but that the noble knight was possessedby some evil demon, or influenced by somewicked spell?---If we could suppose it otherwise,think not rank, valour, high repute, or any earthlyconsideration, should prevent us from visiting himwith punishment, that the evil thing might be removed,even according to the text, _Auferte malumex vobis_. For various and heinous are the acts oftransgression against the rule of our blessed Orderin this lamentable history.---1st, He hath walkedaccording to his proper will, contrary to capital 33,_Quod nullus juxta propriam voluntatem incedat_.---2d, He hath held communication with an excommunicatedperson, capital 57, _Ut fratres non participentcum excommunicatis_, and therefore hath aportion in _Anathema Maranatha_.---3d, He hath conversedwith strange women, contrary to the capital,_Ut fratres non conversantur cum extraneis mulieribus.---4th, He hath not avoided, nay, he hath, it isto be feared, solicited the kiss of woman; bywhich, saith the last rule of our renowned Order,_Ut fugiantur oscula_, the soldiers of the Cross arebrought into a snare. For which heinous and multipliedguilt, Brian de Bois-Guilbert should be cutoff and cast out from our congregation, were he theright hand and right eye thereof.''

He paused. A low murmur went through theassembly. Some of the younger part, who had beeninclined to smile at the statute _De osculis fugiendis_,became now grave enough, and anxiously waitedwhat the Grand Master was next to propose.

``Such,'' he said, ``and so great should indeedbe the punishment of a Knight Templar, who wilfullyoffended against the rules of his Order in suchweighty points. But if, by means of charms andof spells, Satan had obtained dominion over theKnight, perchance because he cast his eyes toolightly upon a damsel's beauty, we are then ratherto lament than chastise his backsliding; and, imposingon him only such penance as may purify himfrom his iniquity, we are to turn the full edge ofour indignation upon the accursed instrument, whichhad so wellnigh occasioned his utter falling away.

---Stand forth, therefore, and bear witness, ye whohave witnessed these unhappy doings, that we mayjudge of the sum and bearing thereof; and judgewhether our justice may be satisfied with the punishmentof this infidel woman, or if we must goon, with a bleeding heart, to the further proceedingagainst our brother.''

Several witnesses were called upon to prove therisks to which Bois-Guilbert exposed himself inendeavouring to save Rebecca from the blazingcastle, and his neglect of his personal defence inattending to her safety. The men gave these detailswith the exaggerations common to vulgar mindswhich have been strongly excited by any remarkableevent, and their natural disposition to the marvellouswas greatly increased by the satisfactionwhich their evidence seemed to afford to the eminentperson for whose information it had been delivered.Thus the dangers which Bois-Guilbertsurmounted, in themselves sufficiently great, becameportentous in their narrative. The devotionof the Knight to Rebecca's defence was exaggeratedbeyond the bounds, not only of discretion, buteven of the most frantic excess of chivalrous zeal;and his deference to what she said, even althoughher language was often severe and upbraiding, waspainted as carried to an excess, which, in a man ofhis haughty temper, seemed almost preternatural.

The Preceptor of Templestowe was then calledon to describe the manner in which Bois-Guilbertand the Jewess arrived at the Preceptory. Theevidence of Malvoisin was skilfully guarded. Butwhile he apparently studied to spare the feelingsof Bois-Guilbert, he threw in, from time to time,such hints, as seemed to infer that he laboured undersome temporary alienation of mind, so deeplydid he appear to be enamoured of the damsel whomhe brought along with him. With sighs of penitence,the Preceptor avowed his own contrition forhaving admitted Rebecca and her lover within thewalls of the Preceptory---``But my defence,'' heconcluded, ``has been made in my confession to ourmost reverend father the Grand Master; he knows

my motives were not evil, though my conduct mayhave been irregular. Joyfully will I submit to anypenance he shall assign me.''

``Thou hast spoken well, Brother Albert,'' saidBeaumanoir; ``thy motives were good, since thoudidst judge it right to arrest thine erring brother inhis career of precipitate folly. But thy conduct waswrong; as he that would stop a runaway steed,and seizing by the stirrup instead of the bridle, receivethinjury himself, instead of accomplishing hispurpose. Thirteen paternosters are assigned byour pious founder for matins, and nine for vespers;be those services doubled by thee. Thrice a-weekare Templars permitted the use of flesh; but dothou keep fast for all the seven days. This do for sixweeks to come, and thy penance is accomplished.''

With a hypocritical look of the deepest submission,the Preceptor of Templestowe bowed to theground before his Superior, and resumed his seat.

``Were it not well, brethren,'' said the GrandMaster, ``that we examine something into the formerlife and conversation of this woman, speciallythat we may discover whether she be one likely touse magical charms and spells, since the truthswhich we have heard may well incline us to suppose,that in this unhappy course our erring brotherhas been acted upon by some infernal enticementand delusion?''

Herman of Goodalricke was the Fourth Preceptorpresent; the other three were Conrade, Malvoisin,and Bois-Guilbert himself. Herman was anancient warrior, whose face was marked with searsinflicted by the sabre of the Moslemah, and hadgreat rank and consideration among his brethren.He arose and bowed to the Grand Master, who instantlygranted him license of speech. ``I wouldcrave to know, most Reverend Father, of our valiantbrother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, what he saysto these wondrous accusations, and with what eyehe himself now regards his unhappy intercoursewith this Jewish maiden?''

``Brian de Bois-Guilbert,'' said the Grand Master,``thou hearest the question which our Brotherof Goodalricke desirest thou shouldst answer. Icommand thee to reply to him.''

Bois-Guilbert turned his head towards the GrandMaster when thus addressed, and remained silent.

``He is possessed by a dumb devil,'' said theGrand Master. ``Avoid thee, Sathanus!---Speak,Brian de Bois-Guilbert, I conjure thee, by thissymbol of our Holy Order.''

Bois-Guilbert made an effort to suppress his risingscorn and indignation, the expression of which,he was well aware, would have little availed him.``Brian de Bois-Guilbert,'' he answered, ``repliesnot, most Reverend Father, to such wild and vaguecharges. If his honour be impeached, he will defendit with his body, and with that sword whichhas often fought for Christendom.''

``We forgive thee, Brother Brian,'' said theGrand Master; ``though that thou hast boasted thywarlike achievements before us, is a glorifying ofthine own deeds, and cometh of the Enemy, whotempteth us to exalt our own worship. But thouhast our pardon, judging thou speakest less of thineown suggestion than from the impulse of him whomby Heaven's leave, we will quell and drive forthfrom our assembly.'' A glance of disdain flashedfrom the dark fierce eyes of Bois-Guilbert, but hemade no reply.---``And now,'' pursued the GrandMaster, ``since our Brother of Goodalricke's questionhas been thus imperfectly answered, pursue weour quest, brethren, and with our patron's assistance,we will search to the bottom this mystery ofiniquity.---Let those who have aught to witness ofthe life and conversation of this Jewish woman,stand forth before us.'' There was a bustle in thelower part of the hall, and when the Grand Masterenquired the reason, it was replied, there wasin the crowd a bedridden man, whom the prisonerhad restored to the perfect use of his limbs, by a

miraculous balsam.

The poor peasant, a Saxon by birth, was draggedforward to the bar, terrified at the penal consequenceswhich he might have incurred by theguilt of having been cured of the palsy by a Jewishdamsel. Perfectly cured be certainly was not, forhe supported himself forward on crutches to giveevidence. Most unwilling was his testimony, andgiven with many tears; but he admitted that twoyears since, when residing at York, he was suddenlyafflicted with a sore disease, while labouring forIsaac the rich Jew, in his vocation of a joiner; thathe had been unable to stir from his bed until theremedies applied by Rebecca's directions, and especiallya warming and spicy-smelling balsam, had insome degree restored him to the use of his limbs.Moreover, he said, she had given him a pot of thatprecious ointment, and furnished him with a pieceof money withal, to return to the house of his father,near to Templestowe. ``And may it pleaseyour gracious Reverence,'' said the man, ``I cannotthink the damsel meant harm by me, thoughshe hath the ill hap to be a Jewess; for even whenI used her remedy, I said the Pater and the Creed,and it never operated a whit less kindly---''

``Peace, slave,'' said the Grand Master, ``andbegone! It well suits brutes like thee to be tamperingand trinketing with hellish cures, and tobe giving your labour to the sons of mischief. Itell thee, the fiend can impose diseases for the verypurpose of removing them, in order to bring intocredit some diabolical fashion of cure. Hast thouthat unguent of which thou speakest?''

The peasant, fumbling in his bosom with a tremblinghand, produced a small box, bearing someHebrew characters on the lid, which was, withmost of the audience, a sure proof that the devilhad stood apothecary. Beaumanoir, after crossinghimself, took the box into his hand, and, learned inmost of the Eastern tongues, read with ease themotto on the lid,---_The Lion of the tribe of Judahhath conquered_. ``Strange powers of Sathanas.''

said he, ``which can convert Scripture into blasphemy,mingling poison with our necessary food!---Isthere no leech here who can tell us the ingredientsof this mystic unguent?''

Two mediciners, as they called themselves, theone a monk, the other a barber, appeared, andavouched they knew nothing of the materials, exceptingthat they savoured of myrrh and camphire,which they took to be Oriental herbs. But with thetrue professional hatred to a successful practitionerof their art, they insinuated that, since the medicinewas beyond their own knowledge, it must necessarilyhave been compounded from an unlawfuland magical pharmacopeia; since they themselves,though no conjurors, fully understood every branchof their art, so far as it might be exercised with thegood faith of a Christian. When this medical researchwas ended, the Saxon peasant desired humblyto have back the medicine which he had foundso salutary; but the Grand Master frowned severelyat 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 GrandMaster, ``I tell thee it is better to be bedridden,than to accept the benefit of unbelievers' medicinethat thou mayest arise and walk; better to despoilinfidels of their treasure by the strong hand, thanto accept of them benevolent gifts, or do them servicefor wages. Go thou, and do as I have said.''

``Alack,'' said the peasant, ``an it shall not displeaseyour Reverence, the lesson comes too latefor me, for I am but a maimed man; but I will tellmy two brethren, who serve the rich Rabbi NathanBen Samuel, that your mastership says it is morelawful to rob him than to render him faithful service.''

``Out with the prating villain!'' said Beaumanoir,who was not prepared to refute this practicalapplication of his general maxim.

Higg, the son of Snell, withdrew into the crowd,but, interested in the fate of his benefactress, lingereduntil he should learn her doom, even at therisk of again encountering the frown of that severejudge, the terror of which withered his very heartwithin him.

At this period of the trial, the Grand Mastercommanded Rebecca to unveil herself. Openingher lips for the first time, she replied patiently, butwith dignity,---``That it was not the wont of thedaughters of her people to uncover their faces whenalone in an assembly of strangers.'' The sweet tones.of her voice, and the softness of her reply, impressedon the audience a sentiment of pity and sympathy.But Beaumanoir, in whose mind the suppressionof each feeling of humanity which couldinterfere with his imagined duty, was a virtue ofitself, repeated his commands that his victim shouldbe unveiled. The guards were about to remove herveil accordingly, when she stood up before theGrand Master and said, ``Nay, but for the love ofyour own daughters---Alas,'' she said, recollectingherself, ``ye have no daughters!---yet for the remembranceof your mothers---for the love of yoursisters, and of female decency, let me not be thushandled in your presence; it suits not a maiden tobe disrobed by such rude grooms. I will obey you,''she added, with an expression of patient sorrow inher voice, which had almost melted the heart ofBeaumanoir himself; ``ye are elders among yourpeople, and at your command I will show the featuresof an ill-fated maiden.''

She withdrew her veil, and looked on them witha countenance in which bashfulness contended withdignity. Her exceeding beauty excited a murmurof surprise, and the younger knights told each otherwith their eyes, in silent correspondence, that Brian'sbest 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 producedby the sight of the countenance of his benefactress.``Let me go forth,'' he said to the wardersat the door of the hall,---``let me go forth!---To

look at her again will kill me, for I have had a sharein murdering her.''

``Peace, poor man,'' said Rebecca, when sheheard his exclamation; ``thou hast done me noharm by speaking the truth---thou canst not aid meby thy complaints or lamentations. Peace, I praythee---go home and save thyself.''

Higg was about to be thrust out by the compassionof the warders, who were apprehensive lesthis clamorous grief should draw upon them reprehension,and upon himself punishment. But he promisedto be silent, and was permitted to remain.The two men-at-arms, with whom Albert Malvoisinhad not failed to communicate upon the import oftheir testimony, were now called forward. Thoughboth were hardened and inflexible villains, the sightof the captive maiden, as well as her excellingbeauty, at first appeared to stagger them; but anexpressive glance from the Preceptor of Templestowerestored them to their dogged composure;and they delivered, with a precision which wouldhave seemed suspicious to more impartial judges,circumstances either altogether fictitious or trivial,and natural in themselves, but rendered pregnantwith suspicion by the exaggerated manner in whichthey were told, and the sinister commentary whichthe witnesses added to the facts. The circumstancesof their evidence would have been, in modern days,divided into two classes---those which were immaterial,and those which were actually and physicallyimpossible. But both were, in those ignorantand superstitions times, easily credited as proofs ofguilt.---The first class set forth, that Rebecca washeard to mutter to herself in an unknown tongue---that the songs she sung by fits were of a strangelysweet sound, which made the ears of the hearertingle, and his heart throb---that she spoke at timesto herself, and seemed to look upward for a reply---that her garments were of a strange and mysticform, unlike those of women of good repute---thatshe had rings impressed with cabalistical devices,and that strange characters were broidered on herveil.

All these circumstances, so natural and so trivial,were gravely listened to as proofs, or, at least,as affording strong suspicions that Rebecca had unlawfulcorrespondence with mystical powers.

But there was less equivocal testimony, whichthe credulity of the assembly, or of the greater part,greedily swallowed, however incredible. One ofthe soldiers had seen her work a cure upon a woundedman, brought with them to the castle of Torquilstone.She did, he said, make certain signsupon the wound, and repeated certain mysteriouswords, which he blessed God he understood not,when the iron head of a square cross-bow bolt disengageditself from the wound, the bleeding wasstanched, the wound was closed, and the dyingman was, within a quarter of an hour, walkingupon the ramparts, and assisting the witness inmanaging a mangonel, or machine for hurlingstones. This legend was probably founded uponthe fact, that Rebecca had attended on the woundedIvanhoe when in the castle of Torquilstone.But it was the more difficult to dispute the accuracyof the witness, as, in order to produce realevidence in support of his verbal testimony, he drewfrom his pouch the very bolt-head, which, accordingto his story, had been miraculously extractedfrom the wound; and as the iron weighed a fullounce, it completely confirmed the tale, howevermarvellous.

His comrade had been a witness from a neighbouringbattlement of the scene betwixt Rebeccaand Bois-Guilbert, when she was upon the point ofprecipitating herself from the top of the tower.Not to be behind his companion, this fellow stated,that he had seen Rebecca perch herself upon theparapet of the turret, and there take the form of amilk-white swan, under which appearance she flittedthree times round the castle of Torquilstone;then again settle on the turret, and once more assumethe 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 beena Jewess. United with that fatal circumstance, thebody 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 Rebeccawhat 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 holdit mean. To state that to relieve the sick andwounded of another religion, cannot be displeasingto the acknowledged Founder of both our faiths,were also unavailing; to plead that many thingswhich these men (whom may Heaven pardon!)have spoken against me are impossible, would availme but little, since you believe in their possibility;and still less would it advantage me to explain, thatthe peculiarities of my dress, language, and manners,are those of my people---I had wellnigh saidof my country, but alas! we have no country. Norwill I even vindicate myself at the expense of myoppressor, who stands there listening to the fictionsand surmises which seem to convert the tyrant intothe victim.---God be judge between him andme! but rather would I submit to ten such deathsas your pleasure may denounce against me, thanlisten to the suit which that man of Belial has urgedupon me---friendless, defenceless, and his prisoner.But he is of your own faith, and his lightestaffirmance would weigh down the most solemn protestationsof the distressed Jewess. I will not thereforereturn to himself the charge brought againstme---but to himself---Yes, Brian de Bois-Guilbert,to thyself I appeal, whether these accusations arenot false? as monstrous and calumnious as they aredeadly?''

There was a pause; all eyes turned to Brain deBois-Guilbert. He was silent.

``Speak,'' she said, ``if thou art a man---if thouart a Christian, speak!---I conjure thee, by thehabit which thou dost wear, by the name thou dostinherit---by the knighthood thou dost vaunt---bythe honour of thy mother---by the tomb and thebones of thy father---I conjure thee to say, are thesethings true?''

``Answer her, brother,'' said the Grand Master,``if the Enemy with whom thou dost wrestle willgive thee power.''

In fact, Bois-Guilbert seemed agitated by contendingpassions, which almost convulsed his features,and it was with a constrained voice that atlast he replied, looking to Rebecca,---``The scroll!---the scroll!''

``Ay,'' said Beaumanoir, ``this is indeed testimony!The victim of her witcheries can only namethe fatal scroll, the spell inscribed on which is,doubtless, the cause of his silence.''

But Rebecca put another interpretation on thewords extorted as it were from Bois-Guilbert, andglancing her eye upon the slip of parchment whichshe continued to hold in her hand, she read writtenthereupon in the Arabian character, _Demand aChampion!_ The murmuring commentary whichran through the assembly at the strange reply ofBois-Guilbert, gave Rebecca leisure to examine andinstantly to destroy the scroll unobserved. Whenthe whisper had ceased, the Grand Master spoke.

``Rebecca, thou canst derive no benefit from theevidence of this unhappy knight, for whom, as wewell perceive, the Enemy is yet too powerful. Hastthou aught else to say?''

``There is yet one chance of life left to me,'' saidRebecca, ``even by your own fierce laws. Life hasbeen miserable---miserable, at least, of late---but Iwill not cast away the gift of God, while he affordsme the means of defending it. I deny this charge---I maintain my innocence, and I declare the falsehood

of this accusation---I challenge the privilegeof 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 willbe the champion of a Jewess?''

``God will raise me up a champion,'' said Rebecca---``It cannot be that in merry England---thehospitable, the generous, the free, where so manyare ready to peril their lives for honour, there willnot be found one to fight for justice. But it isenough that I challenge the trial by combat---therelies my gage.''

She took her embroidered glove from her hand,and flung it down before the Grand Master withan air of mingled simplicity and dignity, which exciteduniversal surprise and admiration.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

------There I throw my gage,To prove it on thee to the extremest pointOf martial daring. _Richard II._

Even Lucas Beaumanoir himself was affectedby the mien and appearance of Rebecca. He wasnot originally a cruel or even a severe man; butwith passions by nature cold, and with a high,though mistaken, sense of duty, his heart had beengradually hardened by the ascetic life which hepursued, the supreme power which he enjoyed, andthe supposed necessity of subduing infidelity anderadicating heresy, which he conceived peculiarlyincumbent on him. His features relaxed in theirusual severity as he gazed upon the beautiful creaturebefore him, alone, unfriended, and defendingherself with so much spirit and courage. He crossedhimself twice, as doubting whence arose the unwonted

softening of a heart, which on such occasionsused to resemble in hardness the steel of hissword. At length he spoke.

``Damsel,'' he said, ``if the pity I feel for theearise from any practice thine evil arts have madeon me, great is thy guilt. But I rather judge itthe kinder feelings of nature, which grieves that sogoodly a form should be a vessel of perdition. Repent,my daughter---confess thy witchcrafts---turnthee from thine evil faith---embrace this holy emblem,and all shall yet be well with thee here andhereafter. 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 doand live---what has the law of Moses done for theethat thou shouldest die for it?''

``It was the law of my fathers,'' said Rebecca;``it was delivered in thunders and in storms uponthe 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, ``standforth, and tell this obstinate infidel---''

``Forgive the interruption,'' said Rebecca, meekly;``I am a maiden, unskilled to dispute for myreligion, 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. ``Thisis indeed,'' he continued, as he looked at the flimsytexture and slender fingers, ``a slight and frail gagefor a purpose so deadly!---Seest thou, Rebecca, asthis thin and light glove of thine is to one of ourheavy steel gauntlets, so is thy cause to that ofthe Temple, for it is our Order which thou hastdefied.''

``Cast my innocence into the scale,'' answeredRebecca, ``and the glove of silk shall outweigh theglove of iron.''

``Then thou dost persist in thy refusal to confessthy guilt, and in that bold challenge whichthou hast made?''

``I do persist, noble sir,'' answered Rebecca.

``So be it then, in the name of Heaven,'' saidthe Grand Master; ``and may God show theright!''

``Amen,'' replied the Preceptors around him,and the word was deeply echoed by the whole assembly.

``Brethren,'' said Beaumanoir, ``you are awarethat we might well have refused to this woman thebenefit of the trial by combat---but though a Jewessand an unbeliever, she is also a stranger and defenceless,and God forbid that she should ask thebenefit of our mild laws, and that it should be refusedto her. Moreover, we are knights and soldiersas well as men of religion, and shame it were to usupon any pretence, to refuse proffered combat.Thus, therefore, stands the case. Rebecca, thedaughter of Isaac of York, is, by many frequentand suspicious circumstances, defamed of sorcerypractised on the person of a noble knight of ourholy Order, and hath challenged the combat inproof of her innocence. To whom, reverend brethren,is it your opinion that we should deliver thegage of battle, naming him, at the same time, tobe our champion on the field?''

``To Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whom it chieflyconcerns,'' said the Preceptor of Goodalricke, ``andwho, moreover, best knows how the truth standsin this matter.''

``But if,'' said the Grand Master, ``our brotherBrian be under the influence of a charm or a spell---we speak but for the sake of precaution, for tothe arm of none of our holy Order would we morewillingly confide this or a more weighty cause.''

``Reverend father,'' answered the Preceptor ofGoodalricke, ``no spell can effect the champion who

comes forward to fight for the judgment of God.''

``Thou sayest right, brother,'' said the GrandMaster. ``Albert Malvoisin, give this gage of battleto Brian de Bois-Guilbert.---It is our charge tothee, brother,'' he continued, addressing himself toBois-Guilbert, ``that thou do thy battle manfully,nothing doubting that the good cause shall triumph.---And do thou, Rebecca, attend, that we assignthee 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 findone who will do battle, wagering life and honourfor her cause, against a knight who is called an approvedsoldier.''

``We may not extend it,'' answered the GrandMaster; ``the field must be foughten in our ownpresence, and divers weighty causes call us on thefourth day from hence.''

``God's will be done!'' said Rebecca; ``I putmy trust in Him, to whom an instant is as effectualto save as a whole age.''

``Thou hast spoken well, damsel,'' said the GrandMaster; ``but well know we who can array himselflike an angel of light. It remains but to name afitting place of combat, and, if it so hap, also of execution.---Where is the Preceptor of this house?''

Albert Malvoisin, still holding Rebecca's glovein his hand, was speaking to Bois-Guilbert veryearnestly, but in a low voice.

``How!'' said the Grand Master, ``will he notreceive the gage?''

``He will---he doth, most Reverend Father,''said Malvoisin, slipping the glove under his ownmantle. ``And for the place of combat, I hold thefittest to be the lists of Saint George belonging tothis Preceptory, and used by us for military exercise.''

``It is well,'' said the Grand Master.---``Rebecca,in those lists shalt thou produce thy champion; andif thou failest to do so, or if thy champion shall bediscomfited by the judgment of God, thou shaltthen die the death of a sorceress, according todoom.---Let this our judgment be recorded, and therecord read aloud, that no one may pretend ignorance.''

One of the chaplains, who acted as clerks to thechapter, immediately engrossed the order in a hugevolume, which contained the proceedings of theTemplar Knights when solemnly assembled on suchoccasions; and when he had finished writing, theother read aloud the sentence of the Grand Master,which, when translated from the Norman-Frenchin which it was couched, was expressed as follows.---

``Rebecca, a Jewess, daughter of Isaac of York,being attainted of sorcery, seduction, and other damnablepractices, practised on a Knight of the mostHoly Order of the Temple of Zion, doth denythe same; and saith, that the testimony deliveredagainst 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 therewithshe proffered her gage. And the gage having beendelivered to the noble Lord and Knight, Brian deBois-Guilbert, of the Holy Order of the Temple ofZion, he was appointed to do this battle, in behalfof his Order and himself, as injured and impairedby the practices of the appellant. Wherefore themost reverend Father and puissant Lord, LucasMarquis 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, theplace being the enclosure called the lists of Saint

George, near to the Preceptory of Templestowe.And the Grand Master appoints the appellant toappear there by her champion, on pain of doom, asa person convicted of sorcery or seduction; andalso the defendant so to appear, under the penaltyof being held and adjudged recreant in case of default;and the noble Lord and most reverend Fatheraforesaid appointed the battle to be done inhis own presence, and according to all that is commendableand profitable in such a case. And mayGod aid the just cause!''

``Amen!'' said the Grand Master; and the wordwas echoed by all around. Rebecca spoke not, butshe 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 opportunityof free communication with her friends, for the purposeof making her condition known to them, andprocuring, if possible, some champion to fight inher behalf.

``It is just and lawful,'' said the Grand Master;``choose what messenger thou shalt trust, and heshall have free communication with thee in thyprison-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 thepresence of the Grand Master, to avow any interestin the calumniated prisoner, lest he should be suspectedof leaning towards Judaism. Not even theprospect of reward, far less any feelings of compassionalone, could surmount this apprehension.

Rebecca stood for a few moments in indescribableanxiety, and then exclaimed, ``Is it really thus?---And, in English land, am I to be deprived ofthe poor chance of safety which remains to me, forwant of an act of charity which would not be refusedto the worst criminal?''

Higg, the son of Snell, at length replied, ``I ambut a maimed man, but that I can at all stir or movewas owing to her charitable assistance.---I will dothine errand,'' he added, addressing Rebecca, ``aswell as a crippled object can, and happy were mylimbs fleet enough to repair the mischief done bymy 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 bythe weakest instrument. To execute his messagethe snail is as sure a messenger as the falcon. Seekout Isaac of York---here is that will pay for horseand man---let him have this scroll.---I know not ifit be of Heaven the spirit which inspires me, butmost truly do I judge that I am not to die thisdeath, and that a champion will be raised up forme. Farewell!---Life and death are in thy haste.''

The peasant took the scroll, which contained onlya few lines in Hebrew. Many of the crowd wouldhave dissuaded him from touching a document sosuspicious; but Higg was resolute in the serviceof his benefactress. She had saved his body, hesaid, and he was confident she did not mean to perilhis soul.

``I will get me,'' he said, ``my neighbour Buthan'sgood 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 sofar, for within a quarter of a mile from the gate ofthe Preceptory he met with two riders, whom, bytheir dress and their huge yellow caps, he knew tobe Jews; and, on approaching more nearly, discoveredthat 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 Preceptoryas they dared, on hearing that the Grand

Master had summoned a chapter for the trial of asorceress.

``Brother Ben Samuel,'' said Isaac, ``my soulis disquieted, and I wot not why. This charge ofnecromancy is right often used for cloaking evilpractices on our people.''

``Be of good comfort, brother,'' said the physician;``thou canst deal with the Nazarenes as onepossessing the mammon of unrighteousness, andcanst therefore purchase immunity at their hands---it rules the savage minds of those ungodly men,even as the signet of the mighty Solomon was saidto command the evil genii.---But what poor wretchcomes hither upon his crutches, desiring, as I think,some speech of me?---Friend,'' continued the physician,addressing Higg, the son of Snell, ``I refusethee not the aid of mine art, but I relieve notwith one asper those who beg for alms upon thehighway. Out upon thee!---Hast thou the palsyin 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 forthe service of a hasty master, yet there be occupations---How now, brother?'' said he, interruptinghis harangue to look towards Isaac, who had butglanced at the scroll which Higg offered, when,uttering a deep groan, he fell from his mule like adying man, and lay for a minute insensible.

The Rabbi now dismounted in great alarm, andhastily applied the remedies which his art suggestedfor the recovery of his companion. He had eventaken from his pocket a cupping apparatus, and wasabout to proceed to phlebotomy, when the objectof his anxious solicitude suddenly revived; but itwas to dash his cap from his head, and to throwdust on his grey hairs. The physician was at firstinclined to ascribe this sudden and violent emotionto the effects of insanity; and, adhering to his originalpurpose, began once again to handle his implements.But Isaac soon convinced him of hiserror.

``Child of my sorrow,'' he said, ``well shouldstthou be called Benoni, instead of Rebecca! Whyshould thy death bring down my grey hairs to thegrave, till, in the bitterness of my heart, I curseGod and die!''

``Brother,'' said the Rabbi, in great surprise,``art thou a father in Israel, and dost thou utterwords like unto these?---I trust that the child ofthy house yet liveth?''

``She liveth,'' answered Isaac; ``but it is asDaniel, who was called Beltheshazzar, even whenwithin the den of the lions. She is captive untothose men of Belial, and they will wreak theircruelty upon her, sparing neither for her youth norher comely favour. O! she was as a crown of greenpalms to my grey locks; and she must wither in anight, like the gourd of Jonah!---Child of my love!---child of my old age!---oh, Rebecca, daughter ofRachel! the darkness of the shadow of death hathencompassed thee.''

``Yet read the scroll,'' said the Rabbi; ``peradventureit may be that we may yet find out a wayof deliverance.''

``Do thou read, brother,'' answered Isaac, ``formine 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 theGentiles call Isaac of York, peace and the blessingof the promise be multiplied unto thee!---Myfather, I am as one doomed to die for that whichmy soul knoweth not---even for the crime of witchcraft.My father, if a strong man can be found todo battle for my cause with sword and spear, accordingto the custom of the Nazarenes, and thatwithin the lists of Templestowe, on the third dayfrom this time, peradventure our fathers' God willgive him strength to defend the innocent, and herwho hath none to help her. But if this may not be,

let the virgins of our people mourn for me as forone cast off, and for the hart that is stricken by thehunter, and for the flower which is cut down bythe scythe of the mower. Wherefore look nowwhat thou doest, and whether there be any rescue.One Nazarene warrior might indeed bear arms inmy behalf, even Wilfred, son of Cedric, whom theGentiles call Ivanhoe. But he may not yet endurethe weight of his armour. Nevertheless, send thetidings unto him, my father; for he hath favouramong the strong men of his people, and as he wasour companion in the house of bondage, he may findsome one to do battle for my sake. And say untohim, even unto him, even unto Wilfred, the son ofCedric, that if Rebecca live, or if Rebecca die, sheliveth or dieth wholly free of the guilt she is chargedwithal. And if it be the will of God that thoushalt 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 brotherliveth in safety, under the shadow of the throne,even of the throne of Boabdil the Saracen; forless cruel are the cruelties of the Moors unto therace of Jacob, than the cruelties of the Nazarenesof England.''

Isaac listened with tolerable composure whileBen Samuel read the letter, and then again resumedthe gestures and exclamations of Oriental sorrow,tearing his garments, besprinkling his head withdust, and ejaculating, ``My daughter! my daughter!flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bone!''

``Yet,'' said the Rabbi, ``take courage, for thisgrief availeth nothing. Gird up thy loins, and seekout this Wilfred, the son of Cedric. It may be hewill help thee with counsel or with strength; forthe youth hath favour in the eyes of Richard, calledof the Nazarenes C<oe>ur-de-Lion, and the tidingsthat he hath returned are constant in the land. Itmay be that be may obtain his letter, and his signet,commanding these men of blood, who taketheir name from the Temple to the dishonourthereof, that they proceed not in their purposedwickedness.''

``I will seek him out,'' said Isaac, ``for he is agood youth, and hath compassion for the exile ofJacob. But he cannot bear his armour, and whatother Christian shall do battle for the oppressed ofZion?''

``Nay, but,'' said the Rabbi, ``thou speakest asone that knoweth not the Gentiles. With goldshalt thou buy their valour, even as with gold thoubuyest thine own safety. Be of good courage, anddo thou set forward to find out this Wilfred ofIvanhoe. I will also up and be doing, for great sinit were to leave thee in thy calamity. I will hieme to the city of York, where many warriors andstrong men are assembled, and doubt not I willfind among them some one who will do battle forthy daughter; for gold is their god, and for richeswill they pawn their lives as well as their lands.---Thou wilt fulfil, my brother, such promise as I maymake unto them in thy name?''

``Assuredly, brother,'' said Isaac, ``and Heavenbe praised that raised me up a comforter in my misery.Howbeit, grant them not their full demandat once, for thou shalt find it the quality of thisaccursed people that they will ask pounds, and peradventureaccept of ounces---Nevertheless, be it asthou willest, for I am distracted in this thing, andwhat would my gold avail me if the child of mylove should perish!''

``Farewell,'' said the physician, ``and may it beto thee as thy heart desireth.''

They embraced accordingly, and departed ontheir several roads. The crippled peasant remainedfor some time looking after them.

``These dog-Jews!'' said he; ``to take no morenotice of a free guild-brother, than if I were a bondslave or a Turk, or a circumcised Hebrew like themselves!They might have flung me a mancus ortwo, however. I was not obliged to bring their unhallowedscrawls, and run the risk of being bewitched,

as more folks than one told me. Andwhat care I for the bit of gold that the wench gaveme, if I am to come to harm from the priest nextEaster at confession, and be obliged to give himtwice as much to make it up with him, and be calledthe Jew's flying post all my life, as it may hap,into the bargain? I think I was bewitched in earnestwhen I was beside that girl!---But it was alwaysso with Jew or Gentile, whosoever camenear her---none could stay when she had an errandto go---and still, whenever I think of her, I wouldgive 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 alow knock was heard at the door of Rebecca's prison-chamber.It disturbed not the inmate, who wasthen engaged in the evening prayer recommendedby her religion, and which concluded with a hymnwe 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 landsThe cloudy pillar glided slow;By night, Arabia's crimson'd sandsReturn'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 screenTo temper the deceitful ray.And oh, when stoops on Judah's pathIn shade and storm the frequent night,Be =Thou=, long-suffering, slow to wrath,A burning, and a shining light!

Our harps we left by Babel's streams,The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn;No censer round our altar beams,And mute our timbrel, trump, and horn.But =Thou= hast said, the blood of goat,The flesh of rams, I will not prize;A contrite heart, and humble thought,Are mine accepted sacrifice.

When the sounds of Rebecca's devotional hymnhad died away in silence, the low knock at the doorwas again renewed. ``Enter,'' she said, ``if thouart a friend; and if a foe, I have not the means ofrefusing thy entrance.''

``I am,'' said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, enteringthe apartment, ``friend or foe, Rebecca, as the eventof this interview shall make me.''

Alarmed at the sight of this man, whose licentiouspassion she considered as the root of her misfortunes,Rebecca drew backward with a cautiousand alarmed, yet not a timorous demeanour, intothe farthest corner of the apartment, as if determinedto retreat as far as she could, but to standher ground when retreat became no longer possible.She drew herself into an attitude not of defiance,but of resolution, as one that would avoid provokingassault, yet was resolute to repel it, being offered,to the utmost of her power.

``You have no reason to fear me, Rebecca,'' saidthe Templar; ``Or if I must so qualify my speech,

you have at least _now_ no reason to fear me.''

``I fear you not, Sir Knight,'' replied Rebecca,although her short-drawn breath seemed to beliethe heroism of her accents my trust is strong,and I fear thee not.''

``You have no cause,'' answered Bois-Guilbert,gravely; ``my former frantic attempts you havenot now to dread. Within your call are guards,over whom I have no authority. They are designedto conduct you to death, Rebecca, yet wouldnot suffer you to be insulted by any one, even byme, were my frenzy---for frenzy it is---to urge meso far.''

``May Heaven be praised!'' said the Jewess;``death is the least of my apprehensions in thisden of evil.''

``Ay,'' replied the Templar, ``the idea of deathis easily received by the courageous mind, whenthe road to it is sudden and open. A thrust witha lance, a stroke with a sword, were to me little---To you, a spring from a dizzy battlement, a strokewith a sharp poniard, has no terrors, comparedwith what either thinks disgrace. Mark me---Isay this---perhaps mine own sentiments of honourare not less fantastic, Rebecca, than thine are; butwe know alike how to die for them.''

``Unhappy man,'' said the Jewess; ``and artthou condemned to expose thy life for principles,of which thy sober judgment does not acknowledgethe solidity? Surely this is a parting with yourtreasure for that which is not bread---but deem notso of me. Thy resolution may fluctuate on thewild and changeful billows of human opinion, butmine is anchored on the Rock of Ages.''

``Silence, maiden,'' answered the Templar;``such discourse now avails but little. Thou artcondemned to die not a sudden and easy death,such as misery chooses, and despair welcomes, buta slow, wretched, protracted course of torture, suited

to what the diabolical bigotry of these men callsthy crime.''

``And to whom---if such my fate---to whom doI owe this?'' said Rebecca ``surely only to him,who, for a most selfish and brutal cause, draggedme hither, and who now, for some unknown purposeof his own, strives to exaggerate the wretchedfate to which he exposed me.''

``Think not,'' said the Templar, ``that I haveso exposed thee; I would have bucklered theeagainst such danger with my own bosom, as freelyas ever I exposed it to the shafts which had otherwisereached thy life.''

``Had thy purpose been the honourable protectionof the innocent,'' said Rebecca, ``I had thankedthee for thy care---as it is, thou hast claimedmerit for it so often, that I tell thee life is worthnothing to me, preserved at the price which thouwouldst exact for it.''

``Truce with thine upbraidings, Rebecca,'' saidthe Templar; ``I have my own cause of grief, andbrook not that thy reproaches should add to it.''

``What is thy purpose, then, Sir Knight?'' saidthe Jewess; ``speak it briefly.---If thou hast aughtto do, save to witness the misery thou hast caused,let me know it; and then, if so it please you, leaveme to myself---the step between time and eternityis short but terrible, and I have few moments toprepare for it.''

``I perceive, Rebecca,'' said Bois-Guilbert, ``thatthou dost continue to burden me with the chargeof distresses, which most fain would I have prevented.''

``Sir Knight,'' said Rebecca, ``I would avoidreproaches---But what is more certain than that Iowe my death to thine unbridled passion?''

``You err---you err,''---said the Templar, hastily,``if you impute what I could neither foresee

nor prevent to my purpose or agency.---Could Iguess the unexpected arrival of yon dotard, whomsome flashes of frantic valour, and the praises yieldedby fools to the stupid self-torments of an ascetic,have raised for the present above his own merits,above common sense, above me, and above the hundredsof our Order, who think and feel as men freefrom such silly and fantastic prejudices as are thegrounds of his opinions and actions?''

``Yet,'' said Rebecca, ``you sate a judge uponme, innocent---most innocent---as you knew me tobe---you concurred in my condemnation, and, if Iaright understood, are yourself to appear in armsto assert my guilt, and assure my punishment.''

``Thy patience, maiden,'' replied the Templar.``No race knows so well as thine own tribes howto submit to the time, and so to trim their bark asto make advantage even of an adverse wind.''

``Lamented be the hour,'' said Rebecca, ``thathas taught such art to the House of Israel! butadversity bends the heart as fire bends the stubbornsteel, and those who are no longer their owngovernors, and the denizens of their own free independentstate, must crouch before strangers. It isour curse, Sir Knight, deserved, doubtless, by ourown misdeeds and those of our fathers; but you---you who boast your freedom as your birthright,how much deeper is your disgrace when you stoopto soothe the prejudices of others, and that againstyour own conviction?''

``Your words are bitter, Rebecca,'' said Bois-Guilbert,pacing the apartment with impatience,``but I came not hither to bandy reproaches withyou.---Know that Bois-Guilbert yields not to createdman, although circumstances may for a timeinduce him to alter his plan. His will is the mountainstream, which may indeed be turned for a littlespace aside by the rock, but fails not to find itscourse to the ocean. That scroll which warned theeto demand a champion, from whom couldst thouthink it came, if not from Bois-Guilbert? In whom

else couldst thou have excited such interest?''

``A brief respite from instant death,'' said Rebecca,``which will little avail me---was this all thoucouldst do for one, on whose head thou hast heapedsorrow, and whom thou hast brought near evento the verge of the tomb?''

``No maiden,'' said Bois-Guilbert, ``this was _not_all that I purposed. Had it not been for the accursedinterference of yon fanatical dotard, and thefool of Goodalricke, who, being a Templar, affectsto think and judge according to the ordinary rulesof humanity, the office of the Champion Defenderhad devolved, not on a Preceptor, but on a Companionof the Order. Then I myself---such wasmy purpose---had, on the sounding of the trumpet,appeared in the lists as thy champion, disguisedindeed in the fashion of a roving knight, who seeksadventures to prove his shield and spear; and then,let Beaumanoir have chosen not one, but two or threeof the brethren here assembled, I had not doubtedto cast them out of the saddle with my single lance.Thus, Rebecca, should thine innocence have beenavouched, and to thine own gratitude would I havetrusted for the reward of my victory.''

``This, Sir Knight,'' said Rebecca, ``is but idleboasting---a brag of what you would have donehad you not found it convenient to do otherwise.You received my glove, and my champion, if acreature so desolate can find one, must encounteryour lance in the lists---yet you would assume theair of my friend and protector!''

``Thy friend and protector,'' said the Templar,gravely, ``I will yet be---but mark at what risk, orrather at what certainty, of dishonour; and thenblame me not if I make my stipulations, before Ioffer up all that I have hitherto held dear, to savethe life of a Jewish maiden.''

``Speak,'' said Rebecca; ``I understand thee not.''

``Well, then,'' said Bois-Guilbert, ``I will speak

as freely as ever did doting penitent to his ghostlyfather, when placed in the tricky confessional.---Rebecca, if I appear not in these lists I lose fameand rank---lose that which is the breath of my nostrils,the esteem, I mean, in which I am held by mybrethren, and the hopes I have of succeeding to thatmighty authority, which is now wielded by the bigoteddotard Lucas de Beaumanoir, but of whichI should make a different use. Such is my certaindoom, except I appear in arms against thycause. Accursed be he of Goodalricke, who baitedthis trap for me! and doubly accursed Albert deMalvoisin, who withheld me from the resolution Ihad formed, of hurling back the glove at the faceof the superstitious and superannuated fool, wholistened to a charge so absurd, and against a creatureso high in mind, and so lovely in form as thouart!''

``And what now avails rant or flattery?'' answeredRebecca. ``Thou hast made thy choice betweencausing to be shed the blood of an innocent woman,or of endangering thine own earthly state and earthlyhopes---What avails it to reckon together?---thychoice is made.''

``No, Rebecca,'' said the knight, in a softer tone,and drawing nearer towards her; ``my choice is=not= made---nay, mark, it is thine to make the election.If I appear in the lists, I must maintain myname in arms; and if I do so, championed or unchampioned,thou diest by the stake and faggot,for there lives not the knight who hath coped withme in arms on equal issue, or on terms of vantage,save Richard C<oe>ur-de-Lion, and his minion ofIvanhoe. Ivanhoe, as thou well knowest, is unableto bear his corslet, and Richard is in a foreignprison. If I appear, then thou diest, even althoughthy charms should instigate some hot-headed youthto enter the lists in thy defence.''

``And what avails repeating this so often?'' saidRebecca.

``Much,'' replied the Templar; ``for thou must

learn to look at thy fate on every side.''

``Well, then, turn the tapestry,'' said the Jewess,``and let me see the other side.''

``If I appear,'' said Bois-Guilbert, ``in the fatallists, thou diest by a slow and cruel death, in painsuch as they say is destined to the guilty hereafter.But if I appear not, then am I a degraded and dishonouredknight, accused of witchcraft and of communionwith infidels---the illustrious name whichbas grown yet more so under my wearing, becomesa hissing and a reproach. I lose fame, I lose honour,I lose the prospect of such greatness as scarceemperors attain to---I sacrifice mighty ambition, Idestroy schemes built as high as the mountainswith which heathens say their heaven was oncenearly scaled---and yet, Rebecca,'' he added, throwinghimself at her feet, ``this greatness will I sacrifice,this fame will I renounce, this power will Iforego, even now when it is half within my grasp,if thou wilt say, Bois-Guilbert, I receive thee formy lover.''

``Think not of such foolishness, Sir Knight,''answered Rebecca, ``but hasten to the Regent, theQueen Mother, and to Prince John---they cannot,in honour to the English crown, allow of the proceedingsof your Grand Master. So shall you giveme protection without sacrifice on your part, or thepretext of requiring any requital from me.''

``With these I deal not,'' he continued, holdingthe train of her robe---``it is thee only I address;and what can counterbalance thy choice? Bethinkthee, were I a fiend, yet death is a worse, and it isdeath who is my rival.''

``I weigh not these evils,'' said Rebecca, afraidto provoke the wild knight, yet equally determinedneither to endure his passion, nor even feign to endureit. ``Be a man, be a Christian! If indeedthy faith recommends that mercy which ratheryour tongues than your actions pretend, save mefrom this dreadful death, without seeking a requital

which would change thy magnanimity into basebarter.''

``No, damsel!'' said the proud Templar, springingup, ``thou shalt not thus impose on me---if Irenounce present fame and future ambition, I renounceit for thy sake, and we will escape in company.Listen to me, Rebecca,'' he said, againsoftening his tone; ``England,---Europe,---is notthe world. There are spheres in which we may act,ample enough even for my ambition. We will goto Palestine, where Conrade, Marquis of Montserrat,is my friend---a friend free as myself fromthe doting scruples which fetter our free-born reason----rather with Saladin will we league ourselves,than endure the scorn of the bigots whom we contemn.---I will form new paths to greatness,'' he continued,again traversing the room with hasty strides---``Europe shall hear the loud step of him shehas driven from her sons!---Not the millions whomher crusaders send to slaughter, can do so much todefend Palestine---not the sabres of the thousandsand ten thousands of Saracens can hew their wayso deep into that land for which nations are striving,as the strength and policy of me and thosebrethren, who, in despite of yonder old bigot, willadhere to me in good and evil. Thou shalt be aqueen, Rebecca---on Mount Carmel shall we pitchthe throne which my valour will gain for you, andI will exchange my long-desired batoon for a sceptre!''

``A dream,'' said Rebecca; ``an empty visionof the night, which, were it a waking reality, affectsme not. Enough, that the power which thou mightestacquire, I will never share; nor hold I so lightof country or religious faith, as to esteem him whois willing to barter these ties, and cast away thebonds of the Order of which he is a sworn member,in order to gratify an unruly passion for thedaughter of another people.---Put not a price on mydeliverance, Sir Knight---sell not a deed of generosity---protect the oppressed for the sake of charity,and not for a selfish advantage---Go to thethrone of England; Richard will listen to my appealfrom these cruel men.''

``Never, Rebecca!'' said the Templar, fiercely.``If I renounce my Order, for thee alone will I renounceit---Ambition shall remain mine, if thourefuse my love; I will not be fooled on all hands.---Stoop my crest to Richard?---ask a boon of thatheart of pride?---Never, Rebecca, will I place theOrder of the Temple at his feet in my person. Imay forsake the Order, I never will degrade or betrayit.''

``Now God be gracious to me,'' said Rebecca,``for the succour of man is wellnigh hopeless!''

``It is indeed,'' said the Templar; ``for, proudas thou art, thou hast in me found thy match. IfI enter the lists with my spear in rest, think notany human consideration shall prevent my puttingforth my strength; and think then upon thine ownfate---to die the dreadful death of the worst of criminals---to be consumed upon a blazing pile---dispersedto the elements of which our strange formsare so mystically composed---not a relic left ofthat graceful frame, from which we could say thislived and moved!---Rebecca, it is not in woman tosustain this prospect---thou wilt yield to my suit.''

``Bois-Guilbert,'' answered the Jewess, ``thouknowest not the heart of woman, or hast only conversedwith those who are lost to her best feelings.I tell thee, proud Templar, that not in thy fiercestbattles hast thou displayed more of thy vauntedcourage, than has been shown by woman when calledupon to suffer by affection or duty. I am myselfa woman, tenderly nurtured, naturally fearfulof danger, and impatient of pain---yet, when weenter those fatal lists, thou to fight and I to suffer,I feel the strong assurance within me, that mycourage shall mount higher than thine. Farewell---I waste no more words on thee; the time that remainson earth to the daughter of Jacob must beotherwise spent---she must seek the Comforter,who may hide his face from his people, but whoever opens his ear to the cry of those who seek himin sincerity and in truth.''

``We part then thus?'' said the Templar, after ashort pause; ``would to Heaven that we had nevermet, or that thou hadst been noble in birth andChristian in faith!---Nay, by Heaven! when Igaze on thee, and think when and how we are nextto meet, I could even wish myself one of thine owndegraded nation; my hand conversant with ingotsand shekels, instead of spear and shield; my headbent down before each petty noble, and my lookonly terrible to the shivering and bankrupt debtor---this could I wish, Rebecca, to be near to thee inlife, and to escape the fearful share I must have inthy death.''

``Thou hast spoken the Jew,'' said Rebecca, ``asthe persecution of such as thou art has made him.Heaven in ire has driven him from his country, butindustry has opened to him the only road to powerand to influence, which oppression has left unbarred.Read the ancient history of the people of God,and tell me if those, by whom Jehovah wroughtsuch marvels among the nations, were then a peopleof misers and of usurers!---And know, proudknight, we number names amongst us to whichyour boasted northern nobility is as the gourd comparedwith the cedar---names that ascend far backto those high times when the Divine Presenceshook the mercy-seat between the cherubim, andwhich derive their splendour from no earthly prince,but from the awful Voice, which bade their fathersbe nearest of the congregation to the Vision---Suchwere the princes of the House of Jacob.''

Rebecca's colour rose as she boasted the ancientglories of her race, but faded as she added, with atsigh, ``Such _were_ the princes of Judah, now suchno more!---They are trampled down like the shorngrass, and mixed with the mire of the ways. Yetare there those among them who shame not suchhigh descent, and of such shall be the daughter ofIsaac the son of Adonikam! Farewell!---I envynot thy blood-won honours---I envy not thy barbarousdescent from northern heathens---I envy theenot thy faith, which is ever in thy mouth, but never

in thy heart nor in thy practice.''

``There is a spell on me, by Heaven!'' said Bois-Guilbert.``I almost think yon besotted skeletonspoke truth, and that the reluctance with whichI part from thee hath something in it more thanis natural.---Fair creature!'' he said, approachingnear her, but with great respect,---``so young, sobeautiful, so fearless of death! and yet doomed todie, and with infamy and agony. Who would notweep for thee?---The tear, that has been a strangerto these eyelids for twenty years, moistens themas I gaze on thee. But it must be---nothing maynow save thy life. Thou and I are but the blindinstruments of some irresistible fatality, that hurriesus along, like goodly vessels driving before thestorm, which are dashed against each other, and soperish. Forgive me, then, and let us part at leastas friends part. I have assailed thy resolution invain, and mine own is fixed as the adamantine decreesof fate.''

``Thus,'' said Rebecca, ``do men throw on fatethe issue of their own wild passions. But I do forgivethee, Bois-Guilbert, though the author of myearly death. There are noble things which crossover thy powerful mind; but it is the garden of thesluggard, and the weeds have rushed up, and conspiredto choke the fair and wholesome blossom.''

``Yes,'' said the Templar, ``I am, Rebecca, asthou hast spoken me, untaught, untamed---andproud, that, amidst a shoal of empty fools and craftybigots, I have retained the preeminent fortitudethat places me above them. I have been a child ofbattle from my youth upward, high in my views,steady and inflexible in pursuing them. Such mustI remain---proud, inflexible, and unchanging; andof this the world shall have proof.---But thou forgivestme, Rebecca?''

``As freely as ever victim forgave her executioner.''

``Farewell, then,'' said the Templar, and leftthe apartment.

The Preceptor Albert waited impatiently in anadjacent chamber the return of Bois-Guilbert.

``Thou hast tarried long,'' he said; ``I havebeen as if stretched on red-hot iron with very impatience.What if the Grand Master, or his spyConrade, had come hither? I had paid dear formy complaisance.---But what ails thee, brother?---Thy step totters, thy brow is as black as night.Art thou well, Bois-Guilbert?''

``Ay,'' answered the Templar, ``as well as thewretch who is doomed to die within an hour.---Nay,by the rood, not half so well---for there be those insuch state, who can lay down life like a cast-offgarment. By Heaven, Malvoisin, yonder girl hathwellnigh unmanned me. I am half resolved to goto the Grand Master, abjure the Order to his veryteeth, and refuse to act the brutality which histyranny has imposed on me.''

``Thou art mad,'' answered Malvoisin; ``thoumayst thus indeed utterly ruin thyself, but canstnot even find a chance thereby to save the life ofthis Jewess, which seems so precious in thine eyes.Beaumanoir will name another of the Order todefend his judgment in thy place, and the accusedwill as assuredly perish as if thou hadst taken theduty imposed on thee.''

``'Tis false---I will myself take arms in her behalf,''answered the Templar, haughtily; ``and,should I do so, I think, Malvoisin, that thou knowestnot one of the Order, who will keep his saddlebefore the point of my lance.''

``Ay, but thou forgettest,'' said the wily adviser,``thou wilt have neither leisure nor opportunity toexecute this mad project. Go to Lucas Beaumanoir,and say thou hast renounced thy vow of obedience,and see how long the despotic old man willleave thee in personal freedom. The words shallscarce have left thy lips, ere thou wilt either be anhundred feet under ground, in the dungeon of the

Preceptory, to abide trial as a recreant knight; or,if his opinion holds concerning thy possession, thouwilt be enjoying straw, darkness, and chains, insome distant convent cell, stunned with exorcisms,and drenched with holy water, to expel the foulfiend which hath obtained dominion over thee.Thou must to the lists, Brian, or thou art a lost anddishonoured man.''

``I will break forth and fly,'' said Bois-Guilbert---``fly to some distant land, to which folly andfanaticism have not yet found their way. No dropof the blood of this most excellent creature shall bespilled by my sanction.''

``Thou canst not fly,'' said the Preceptor; ``thyravings have excited suspicion, and thou wilt notbe permitted to leave the Preceptory. Go andmake the essay---present thyself before the gate,and command the bridge to be lowered, and markwhat answer thou shalt receive.---Thou are surprisedand offended; but is it not the better for thee?Wert thou to fly, what would ensue but the reversalof thy arms, the dishonour of thine ancestry,the degradation of thy rank?---Think on it.Where shall thine old companions in arms hidetheir heads when Brian de Bois-Guilbert, the bestlance of the Templars, is proclaimed recreant, amidthe hisses of the assembled people? What griefwill be at the Court of France! With what joywill the haughty Richard hear the news, that theknight that set him hard in Palestine, and well-nighdarkened his renown, has lost fame and honourfor a Jewish girl, whom he could not evensave by so costly a sacrifice!''

``Malvoisin,'' said the Knight, ``I thank thee---thou hast touched the string at which my heart mostreadily thrills!---Come of it what may, recreantshall never be added to the name of Bois-Guilbert.Would to God, Richard, or any of his vauntingminions of England, would appear in these lists!But they will be empty---no one will risk to breaka lance for the innocent, the forlorn.''

``The better for thee, if it prove so,'' said thePreceptor; ``if no champion appears, it is not bythy means that this unlucky damsel shall die, butby the doom of the Grand Master, with whom restsall the blame, and who will count that blame forpraise and commendation.''

``True,'' said Bois-Guilbert; ``if no championappears, I am but a part of the pageant, sitting indeedon horseback in the lists, but having no partin what is to follow.''

``None whatever,'' said Malvoisin; ``no morethan the armed image of Saint George when itmakes part of a procession.''

``Well, I will resume my resolution,'' repliedthe haughty Templar. ``She has despised me---repulsed me---reviled me---And wherefore shouldI offer up for her whatever of estimation I have inthe opinion of others? Malvoisin, I will appear inthe lists.''

He left the apartment hastily as he uttered thesewords, and the Preceptor followed, to watch andconfirm him in his resolution; for in Bois-Guilbert'sfame he had himself a strong interest, expectingmuch advantage from his being one day at the headof the Order, not to mention the preferment ofwhich Mont-Fitchet had given him hopes, on conditionhe would forward the condemnation of theunfortunate Rebecca. Yet although, in combatinghis friend's better feelings, he possessed all the advantagewhich a wily, composed, selfish dispositionhas over a man agitated by strong and contendingpassions, it required all Malvoisin's art to keepBois-Guilbert steady to the purpose he had prevailedon him to adopt. He was obliged to watchhim closely to prevent his resuming his purposeof flight, to intercept his communication with theGrand Master, lest he should come to an open rupturewith his Superior, and to renew, from time totime, the various arguments by which he endeavouredto show, that, in appearing as champion onthis occasion, Bois-Guilbert, without either accelerating

or ensuring the fate of Rebecca, would followthe only course by which be could save himselffrom degradation and disgrace.

CHAPTER XL

Shadows avaunt!---Richard's himself again. _Richard III._

When the Black Knight---for it becomes necessaryto resume the train of his adventures---leftthe Trysting-tree of the generous Outlaw, he heldhis way straight to a neighbouring religious house,of small extent and revenue, called the Priory ofSaint Botolph, to which the wounded Ivanhoe hadbeen removed when the castle was taken, under theguidance of the faithful Gurth, and the magnanimousWamba. It is unnecessary at present to mentionwhat took place in the interim betwixt Wilfredand his deliverer; suffice it to say, that after longand grave communication, messengers were dispatchedby the Prior in several directions, and thaton the succeeding morning the Black Knight wasabout to set forth on his journey, accompanied bythe jester Wamba, who attended as his guide.

``We will meet,'' he said to Ivanhoe, ``at Coningsburgh,the castle of the deceased Athelstane,since there thy father Cedric holds the funeral feastfor his noble relation. I would see your Saxon kindredtogether, Sir Wilfred, and become better acquaintedwith them than heretofore. Thou alsowilt meet me; and it shall be my task to reconcilethee to thy father.''

So saying, he took an affectionate farewell ofIvanhoe, who expressed an anxious desire to attendupon his deliverer. But the Black Knight wouldnot listen to the proposal.

``Rest this day; thou wilt have scarce strengthenough to travel on the next. I will have no guidewith me but honest Wamba, who can play priest

or fool as I shall be most in the humour.''

``And I,'' said Wamba, ``will attend you withall my heart. I would fain see the feasting at thefuneral of Athelstane; for, if it be not full andfrequent, he will rise from the dead to rebuke cook,sewer, and cupbearer; and that were a sight worthseeing. Always, Sir Knight, I will trust your valourwith making my excuse to my master Cedric, incase mine own wit should fail.''

``And how should my poor valour succeed, SirJester, when thy light wit halts?---resolve me that.''

``Wit, Sir Knight,'' replied the Jester, ``maydo much. He is a quick, apprehensive knave, whosees his neighbours blind side, and knows how tokeep the lee-gage when his passions are blowinghigh. But valour is a sturdy fellow, that makesall split. He rows against both wind and tide, andmakes way notwithstanding; and, therefore, goodSir Knight, while I take advantage of the fairweather in our noble master's temper, I will expectyou to bestir yourself when it grows rough.''

``Sir Knight of the Fetterlock, since it is yourpleasure so to be distinguished,'' said Ivanhoe, ``Ifear me you have chosen a talkative and a troublesomefool to be your guide. But he knows everypath and alley in the woods as well as e'er a hunterwho frequents them; and the poor knave, as thouhast partly seen, is as faithful as steel.''``Nay,'' said the Knight, ``an he have the giftof showing my road, I shall not grumble with himthat he desires to make it pleasant.---Fare theewell, kind Wilfred---I charge thee not to attemptto travel till to-morrow at earliest.''

So saying, he extended his hand to Ivanhoe,who pressed it to his lips, took leave of the Prior,mounted his horse, and departed, with Wamba forhis companion. Ivanhoe followed them with hiseyes, until they were lost in the shades of the surroundingforest, and then returned into the convent.

But shortly after matin-song, he requested to seethe Prior. The old man came in haste, and enquiredanxiously after the state of his health.

``It is better,'' he said, ``than my fondest hopecould have anticipated; either my wound has beenslighter than the effusion of blood led me to suppose,or this balsam hath wrought a wonderful cureupon it. I feel already as if I could bear my corslet;and so much the better, for thoughts pass inmy mind which render me unwilling to remain herelonger in inactivity.''

``Now, the saints forbid,'' said the Prior, ``thatthe son of the Saxon Cedric should leave our conventere his wounds were healed! It were shameto our profession were we to suffer it.''

``Nor would I desire to leave your hospitableroof, venerable father,'' said Ivanhoe, ``did I notfeel myself able to endure the journey, and compelledto undertake it.''

``And what can have urged you to so sudden adeparture?'' said the Prior.

``Have you never, holy father,'' answered theKnight, ``felt an apprehension of approaching evil,for which you in vain attempted to assign a cause?---Have you never found your mind darkened, likethe sunny landscape, by the sudden cloud, whichaugurs a coming tempest?---And thinkest thounot that such impulses are deserving of attention, asbeing the hints of our guardian spirits, that dangeris impending?''

``I may not deny,'' said the Prior, crossing himself,``that such things have been, and have beenof Heaven; but then such communications havehad a visibly useful scope and tendency. But thou,wounded as thou art, what avails it thou shouldstfollow the steps of him whom thou couldst not aid,were he to be assaulted?''

``Prior,'' said Ivanhoe, ``thou dost mistake---I

am stout enough to exchange buffets with any whowill challenge me to such a traffic---But were itotherwise, may I not aid him were he in danger,by other means than by force of arms? It is buttoo well known that the Saxons love not the Normanrace, and who knows what may be the issue,if he break in upon them when their hearts are irritatedby the death of Athelstane, and their headsheated by the carousal in which they will indulgethemselves? I hold his entrance among them atsuch a moment most perilous, and I am resolved toshare or avert the danger; which, that I may thebetter do, I would crave of thee the use of somepalfrey whose pace may be softer than that of my_destrier_.''*

* _Destrier_---war-horse.

``Surely,'' said the worthy churchman; ``youshall have mine own ambling jennet, and I wouldit ambled as easy for your sake as that of the Abbotof Saint Albans. Yet this will I say for Malkin,for so I call her, that unless you were to borrowa ride on the juggler's steed that paces a hornpipeamongst the eggs, you could not go a journeyon a creature so gentle and smooth-paced. I havecomposed many a homily on her back, to the edificationof my brethren of the convent, and manypoor Christian souls.''

``I pray you, reverend father,'' said Ivanhoe, ``letMalkin be got ready instantly, and bid Gurth attendme with mine arms.''

``Nay, but fair sir,'' said the Prior, ``I pray youto remember that Malkin hath as little skill in armsas her master, and that I warrant not her enduringthe sight or weight of your full panoply. O, Malkin,I promise you, is a beast of judgment, and willcontend against any undue weight---I did but borrowthe _Fructus Temporum_ from the priest of SaintBees, and I promise you she would not stir fromthe gate until I had exchanged the huge volume formy little breviary.''

``Trust me, holy father,'' said Ivanhoe, ``I willnot distress her with too much weight; and if shecalls a combat with me, it is odds but she has theworst.''

This reply was made while Gurth was bucklingon the, Knight's heels a pair of large gilded spurs,capable of convincing any restive horse that his bestsafety lay in being conformable to the will of hisrider.

The deep and sharp rowels with which Ivanhoe's.heels were now armed, began to make the worthyPrior repent of his courtesy, and ejaculate,---``Nay,but fair sir, now I bethink me, my Malkin abidethnot the spur---Better it were that you tarry for themare of our manciple down at the Grange, whichmay be had in little more than an hour, and cannotbut be tractable, in respect that she draweth muchof our winter fire-wood, and eateth no corn.''

``I thank you, reverend father, but will abide byyour first offer, as I see Malkin is already led forthto the gate. Gurth shall carry mine armour; andfor the rest, rely on it, that as I will not overloadMalkin's back, she shall not overcome my patience.And now, farewell!''

Ivanhoe now descended the stairs more hastilyand easily than his wound promised, and threw himselfupon the jennet, eager to escape the importunityof the Prior, who stuck as closely to his sideas his age and fatness would permit, now singingthe praises of Malkin, now recommending cautionto the Knight in managing her.

``She is at the most dangerous period for maidensas well as mares,'' said the old man, laughingat his own jest, ``being barely in her fifteenth year.''

Ivanhoe, who had other web to weave than tostand canvassing a palfrey's paces with its owner,lent but a deaf ear to the Prior's grave advices andfacetious jests, and having leapt on his mare, andcommanded his squire (for such Gurth now called

himself) to keep close by his side, he followed thetrack of the Black Knight into the forest, whilethe Prior stood at the gate of the convent lookingafter him, and ejaculating,---``Saint Mary! howprompt and fiery be these men of war! I would Ihad not trusted Malkin to his keeping, for, crippledas I am with the cold rheum, I am undone if aughtbut good befalls her. And yet,'' said he, recollectinghimself, ``as I would not spare my own old anddisabled limbs in the good cause of Old England,so Malkin must e'en run her hazard on the sameventure; and it may be they will think our poorhouse worthy of some munificent guerdon---or, itmay be, they will send the old Prior a pacing nag.And if they do none of these, as great men willforget little men's service, truly I shall hold me wellrepaid in having done that which is right. And itis now wellnigh the fitting time to summon thebrethren to breakfast in the refectory---Ah! I doubtthey obey that call more cheerily than the bells forprimes and matins.''

So the Prior of Saint Botolph's hobbled backagain into the refectory, to preside over the stockfishand ale, which was just serving out for thefriars' breakfast. Pursy and important, he sat himdown at the table, and many a dark word he threwout, of benefits to be expected to the convent, andhigh deeds of service done by himself, which, atanother season, would have attracted observation.But as the stockfish was highly salted, and the alereasonably powerful, the jaws of the brethren weretoo anxiously employed to admit of their makingmuch use of their ears; nor do we read of any ofthe fraternity, who was tempted to speculate uponthe mysterious hints of their Superior, exceptFather Diggory, who was severely afflicted by thetoothache, so that be could only eat on one side ofhis jaws.

In the meantime, the Black Champion and hisguide were pacing at their leisure through the recessesof the forest; the good Knight whiles hummingto himself the lay of some enamoured troubadour,sometimes encouraging by questions the

prating disposition of his attendant, so that theirdialogue formed a whimsical mixture of song andjest, of which we would fain give our readers someidea. You are then to imagine this Knight, suchas we have already described him, strong of person,tall, broad-shouldered, and large of bone, mountedon his mighty black charger, which seemed madeon purpose to bear his weight, so easily he pacedforward under it, having the visor of his helmetraised, in order to admit freedom of breath, yetkeeping the beaver, or under part, closed, so thathis features could be but imperfectly distinguished.But his ruddy embrowned cheek-bones could beplainly seen, and the large and bright blue eyes,that flashed from under the dark shade of the raisedvisor; and the whole gesture and look of the championexpressed careless gaiety and fearless confidence---a mind which was unapt to apprehend danger,and prompt to defy it when most imminent---yet with whom danger was a familiar thought, aswith one whose trade was war and adventure.

The Jester wore his usual fantastic habit, butlate accidents had led him to adopt a good cuttingfalchion, instead of his wooden sword, with a targeto match it; of both which weapons he had, notwithstandinghis profession, shown himself a skilfulmaster during the storming of Torquilstone.Indeed, the infirmity of Wamba's brain consistedchiefly in a kind of impatient irritability, which sufferedhim not long to remain quiet in any posture,or adhere to any certain train of ideas, although hewas for a few minutes alert enough in performingany immediate task, or in apprehending any immediatetopic. On horseback, therefore, he wasperpetually swinging himself backwards and forwards,now on the horse's ears, then anon on thevery rump of the animal,---now hanging both hislegs on one side, and now sitting with his face tothe tail, moping, mowing, and making a thousandapish gestures, until his palfrey took his freaks somuch to heart, as fairly to lay him at his length onthe green grass---an incident which greatly amusedthe Knight, but compelled his companion to ridemore steadily thereafter.

At the point of their journey at which we takethem up, this joyous pair were engaged in singinga virelai, as it was called, in which the clown borea mellow burden, to the better instructed Knightof the Fetterlock. And thus run the ditty:---

Anna-Marie, love, up is the sun,Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun,Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free,Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie.Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn,The hunter is winding blithe sounds on his horn,The echo rings merry from rock and from tree,'Tis time to arouse thee, love, Anna-Marie.

Wamba.

O Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet,Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit,For what are the joys that in waking we prove,Compared with these visions, O, Tybalt, my love?Let the birds to the rise of the mist carol shrill,Let the hunter blow out his load horn on the hill,Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I prove,---But think not I dreamt of thee, Tybalt, my love.

``A dainty song,'' said Wamba, when they hadfinished their carol, ``and I swear by my bauble,a pretty moral!---I used to sing it with Gurth, oncemy playfellow, and now, by the grace of God andhis master, no less than a freemen; and we oncecame by the cudgel for being so entranced by themelody, that we lay in bed two hours after sunrise,singing the ditty betwixt sleeping and waking---my bones ache at thinking of the tune ever since.Nevertheless, I have played the part of Anna-Marie,to please you, fair sir.''

The Jester next struck into another carol, a sortof comic ditty, to which the Knight, catching upthe tune, replied in the like manner.

Knight and Wamba.

There came three merry men from south, west, and north,Ever more sing the roundelay;To win the Widow of Wycombe forth,And where was the widow might say them nay?

The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came,Ever more sing the roundelay;And his fathers, God save us, were men of great faine,And where was the widow might say him nay?

Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire,He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay;She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire,For she was the widow would say him nay.

Wamba.

The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails,Merrily sing the roundelay;Hur's a gentleman, God wot, and hur's lineage was of Wales,And where wall the widow might say him nay?

Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap HughAp Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelayShe said that one widow for so many was too few,And she bade the Welshman wend his way.

But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent,Jollily singing his roundelay;He spoke to the widow of living and rent,And where was the widow could say him nay?

Both.

So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire,There for to sing their roundelay;For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent,There never was a widow could say him nay.

``I would, Wamba,'' said the knight, ``that ourhost of the Trysting-tree, or the jolly Friar, hischaplain, heard this thy ditty in praise of our bluffyeoman.''

``So would not I,'' said Wamba---``but for thehorn that hangs at your baldric.''

``Ay,'' said the Knight,---``this is a pledge ofLocksley's good-will, though I am not like to needit. Three mots on this bugle will, I am assured,bring round, at our need, a jolly band of yonderhonest yeomen.''

``I would say, Heaven forefend,'' said the Jester,``were it not that that fair gift is a pledge theywould let us pass peaceably.''

``Why, what meanest thou?'' said the Knight;``thinkest thou that but for this pledge of fellowshipthey would assault us?''

``Nay, for me I say nothing,'' said Wamba; ``forgreen trees have ears as well as stone walls. Butcanst thou construe me this, Sir Knight---When isthy wine-pitcher and thy purse better empty thanfull?''

``Why, never, I think,'' replied the Knight.

``Thou never deservest to have a full one in thyhand, for so simple an answer! Thou hadst bestempty thy pitcher ere thou pass it to a Saxon, andleave thy money at home ere thou walk in thegreenwood.''

``You hold our friends for robbers, then?'' saidthe Knight of the Fetterlock.

``You hear me not say so, fair sir,'' said Wamba;``it may relieve a man's steed to take of hismail when he hath a long journey to make; and,certes, it may do good to the rider's soul to easehim of that which is the root of evil; therefore willI give no hard names to those who do such services.Only I would wish my mail at home, and my pursein my chamber, when I meet with these good fellows,because it might save them some trouble.''

``_We_ are bound to pray for them, my friend,

notwithstanding the fair character thou dost affordthem.''

``Pray for them with all my heart,'' said Wamba;``but in the town, not in the greenwood, likethe Abbot of Saint Bees, whom they caused to saymass with an old hollow oak-tree for his stall.''

``Say as thou list, Wamba,'' replied the Knight,``these yeomen did thy master Cedric yeomanlyservice at Torquilstone.''

``Ay, truly,'' answered Wamba; ``but that wasin the fashion of their trade with Heaven.''

``Their trade, Wamba! how mean you by that?''replied his companion.

``Marry, thus,'' said the Jester. ``They makeup a balanced account with Heaven, as our old cellarerused to call his ciphering, as fair as Isaac theJew keeps with his debtors, and, like him, give outa very little, and take large credit for doing so;reckoning, doubtless, on their own behalf the seven-foldusury which the blessed text hath promised tocharitable loans.''

``Give me an example of your meaning, Wamba,---I know nothing of ciphers or rates of usage,''answered the Knight.

``Why,'' said Wamba, ``an your valour be sodull, you will please to learn that those honest fellowsbalance a good deed with one not quite solaudable; as a crown given to a begging friar withan hundred byzants taken from a fat abbot, or awench kissed in the greenwood with the relief of apoor widow.''

``Which of these was the good deed, which wasthe felony?'' interrupted the Knight.

``A good gibe! a good gibe!'' said Wamba;``keeping witty company sharpeneth the apprehension.You said nothing so well, Sir Knight, I will

be sworn, when you held drunken vespers with thebluff Hermit.---But to go on. The merry-men ofthe forest set off the building of a cottage with theburning of a castle,---the thatching of a choir againstthe robbing of a church,---the setting free a poorprisoner against the murder of a proud sheriff; or,to come nearer to our point, the deliverance of aSaxon franklin against the burning alive of a Normanbaron. Gentle thieves they are, in short, andcourteous robbers; but it is ever the luckiest tomeet with them when they are at the worst.''

``How so, Wamba?'' said the Knight.

``Why, then they have some compunction, andare for making up matters with Heaven. But whenthey have struck an even balance, Heaven helpthem with whom they next open the account! Thetravellers who first met them after their good serviceat Torquilstone would have a woful flaying.---And yet,'' said Wamba, coming close up to theKnight's side, ``there be companions who are farmore dangerous for travellers to meet than yonderoutlaws.''

``And who may they be, for you have neitherbears nor wolves, I trow?'' said the Knight.

``Marry, sir, but we have Malvoisin's men-at-arms,''said Wamba; ``and let me tell you, that,in time of civil war, a halfscore of these is worth aband of wolves at any time. They are now expectingtheir harvest, and are reinforced with the soldiersthat escaped from Torquilstone. So that,should we meet with a band of them, we are like topay for our feats of arms.---Now, I pray you, SirKnight, what would you do if we met two of them?''

``Pin the villains to the earth with my lance,Wamba, if they offered us any impediment.''

``But what if there were four of them?''

``They should drink of the same cup,'' answeredthe Knight.

``What if six,'' continued Wamba, ``and we aswe now are, barely two---would you not rememberLocksley's horn?''

``What! sound for aid,'' exclaimed the Knight,``against a score of such rascaille as these, whomone good knight could drive before him, as thewind drives the withered leaves?''

``Nay, then,'' said Wamba, ``I will pray youfor a close sight of that same horn that hath sopowerful a breath.''

The Knight undid the clasp of the baldric, andindulged his fellow-traveller, who immediately hungthe bugle round his own neck.

``Tra-lira-la,'' said he, whistling the notes; ``nay,I know my gamut as well as another.''

``How mean you, knave?'' said the Knight;``restore me the bugle.''

``Content you, Sir Knight, it is in safe keeping.When Valour and Folly travel, Folly should bearthe horn, because she can blow the best.''

``Nay but, rogue,'' said the Black Knight, ``thisexceedeth thy license---Beware ye tamper not withmy patience.''

``Urge me not with violence, Sir Knight,'' saidthe Jester, keeping at a distance from the impatientchampion, ``or Folly will show a clean pair of heels,and leave Valour to find out his way through thewood as best he may.''

``Nay, thou hast hit me there,'' said the Knight;``and, sooth to say, I have little time to jangle withthee. Keep the horn an thou wilt, but let us proceedon our journey.''

``You will not harm me, then?'' said Wamba.

``I tell thee no, thou knave!''

``Ay, but pledge me your knightly word for it,''continued Wamba, as he approached with greatcaution.

``My knightly word I pledge; only come onwith thy foolish self.''

``Nay, then, Valour and Folly are once moreboon companions,'' said the Jester, coming up franklyto the Knight's side; ``but, in truth, I love notsuch buffets as that you bestowed on the burlyFriar, when his holiness rolled on the green like aking of the nine-pins. And now that Folly wearsthe horn, let Valour rouse himself, and shake hismane; for, if I mistake not, there are company inyonder brake that are on the look-out for us.''

``What makes thee judge so?'' said the Knight.

``Because I have twice or thrice noticed theglance of a motion from amongst the green leaves.Had they been honest men, they had kept the path.But yonder thicket is a choice chapel for the Clerksof Saint Nicholas.''

``By my faith,'' said the Knight, closing his visor,``I think thou best in the right on't.''

And in good time did he close it, for three arrows,flew at the same instant from the suspectedspot against his head and breast, one of whichwould have penetrated to the brain, had it not beenturned aside by the steel visor. The other two wereaverted by the gorget, and by the shield which hungaround his neck.

``Thanks, trusty armourers,'' said the Knight.---``Wamba, let us close with them,''---and he rodestraight to the thicket. He was met by six orseven men-at-arms, who ran against him with theirlances at full career. Three of the weapons struckagainst him, and splintered with as little effect asif they had been driven against a tower of steel.

The Black Knight's eyes seemed to flash fire eventhrough the aperture of his visor. He raised himselfin his stirrups with an air of inexpressible dignity,and exclaimed, ``What means this, my masters!''---The men made no other reply than bydrawing their swords and attacking him on everyside, crying, ``Die, tyrant!''

``Ha! Saint Edward! Ha! Saint George!''said the Black Knight, striking down a man atevery invocation; ``have we traitors here?''

His opponents, desperate as they were, bore backfrom an arm which carried death in every blow, andit seemed as if the terror of his single strength wasabout to gain the battle against such odds, whena knight, in blue armour, who had hitherto kepthimself behind the other assailants, spurred forwardwith his lance, and taking aim, not at the rider butat the steed, wounded the noble animal mortally.

``That was a felon stroke!'' exclaimed the BlackKnight, as the steed fell to the earth, bearing hisrider along with him.

And at this moment, Wamba winded the bugle,for the whole had passed so speedily, that he hadnot time to do so sooner. The sudden sound madethe murderers bear back once more, and Wamba,though so imperfectly weaponed, did not hesitateto rush in and assist the Black Knight to rise.

``Shame on ye, false cowards!'' exclaimed he inthe blue harness, who seemed to lead the assailants,``do ye fly from the empty blast of a hornblown by a Jester?''

Animated by his words, they attacked the BlackKnight anew, whose best refuge was now to placehis back against an oak, and defend himself withhis sword. The felon knight, who had taken anotherspear, watching the moment when his formidableantagonist was most closely pressed, gallopedagainst him in hopes to nail him with his lanceagainst the tree, when his purpose was again intercepted

by Wamba. The Jester, making up byagility the want of strength, and little noticed bythe men-at-arms, who were busied in their more importantobject, hovered on the skirts of the fight,and effectually checked the fatal career of the BlueKnight, by hamstringing his horse with a stroke ofhis sword. Horse and man went to the ground;yet the situation of the Knight of the Fetterlockcontinued very precarious, as he was pressed closeby several men completely armed, and began to befatigued by the violent exertions necessary to defendhimself on so many points at nearly the samemoment, when a grey-goose shaft suddenly stretchedon the earth one of the most formidable of hisassailants, and a band of yeomen broke forth fromthe glade, headed by Locksley and the jovial Friar,who, taking ready and effectual part in the fray,soon disposed of the ruffians, all of whom lay onthe spot dead or mortally wounded. The BlackKnight thanked his deliverers with a dignity theyhad not observed in his former bearing, which hithertohad seemed rather that of a blunt bold soldier,than of a person of exalted rank.

``It concerns me much,'' he said, ``even beforeI express my full gratitude to my ready friends, todiscover, if I may, who have been my unprovokedenemies.---Open the visor of that Blue Knight,Wamba, who seems the chief of these villains.''

The Jester instantly made up to the leader ofthe assassins, who, bruised by his fall, and entangledunder the wounded steed, lay incapable eitherof flight or resistance.

``Come, valiant sir,'' said Wamba, ``I must beyour armourer as well as your equerry---I have dismountedyou, and now I will unhelm you.''

So saying, with no very gentle hand he undidthe helmet of the Blue Knight, which, rolling to adistance on the grass, displayed to the Knight ofthe Fetterlock grizzled locks, and a countenancehe did not expect to have seen under such circumstances.

``Waldemar Fitzurse!'' he said in astonishment;``what could urge one of thy rank and seemingworth to so foul an undertaking? ''

``Richard,'' said the captive Knight, looking upto him, ``thou knowest little of mankind, if thouknowest not to what ambition and revenge can leadevery child of Adam.''

``Revenge?'' answered the Black Knight; ``Inever wronged thee---On me thou hast nought torevenge.''

``My daughter, Richard, whose alliance thoudidst scorn---was that no injury to a Norman,whose blood is noble as thine own?''

``Thy daughter?'' replied the Black Knight;``a proper cause of enmity, and followed up to abloody issue!---Stand back, my masters, I wouldspeak to him alone.---And now, Waldemar Fitzurse,say me the truth---confess who set thee onthis traitorous deed.''

``Thy father's son,'' answered Waldemar, ``who,in so doing, did but avenge on thee thy disobedienceto thy father.''

Richard's eyes sparkled with indignation, but hisbetter nature overcame it. He pressed his handagainst his brow, and remained an instant gazingon the face of the humbled baron, in whose featurespride was contending with shame.

``Thou dost not ask thy life, Waldemar,'' said theKing.

``He that is in the lion's clutch,'' answered Fitzurse,``knows it were needless.''

``Take it, then, unasked,'' said Richard; ``thelion preys not on prostrate carcasses.---Take thy life,but with this condition, that in three days thoushalt leave England, and go to hide thine infamy inthy Norman castle, and that thou wilt never mention

the name of John of Anjou as connected withthy felony. If thou art found on English groundafter the space I have allotted thee, thou diest---orif thou breathest aught that can attaint the honourof my house, by Saint George! not the altar itselfshall be a sanctuary. I will hang thee out to feedthe ravens, from the very pinnacle of thine owncastle.---Let this knight have a steed, Locksley, forI see your yeomen have caught those which wererunning loose, and let him depart unharmed.''

``But that I judge I listen to a voice whose behestsmust not be disputed,'' answered the yeoman,``I would send a shaft after the skulking villainthat should spare him the labour of a long journey.''

``Thou bearest an English heart, Locksley,''said the Black Knight, ``and well dost judge thouart the more bound to obey my behest---I am Richardof England!''

At these words, pronounced in a tone of majestysuited to the high rank, and no less distinguishedcharacter of C<oe>ur-de-Lion, the yeomen at oncekneeled down before him, and at the same timetendered their allegiance, and implored pardon fortheir offences.

``Rise, my friends,'' said Richard, in a gracioustone, looking on them with a countenance in whichhis habitual good-humour had already conqueredthe blaze of hasty resentment, and whose featuresretained no mark of the late desperate conflict, exceptingthe flush arising from exertion,---``Arise,''he said, ``my friends!---Your misdemeanours,whether in forest or field, have been atoned by theloyal services you rendered my distressed subjectsbefore the walls of Torquilstone, and the rescueyou have this day afforded to your sovereign. Arise,my liegemen, and be good subjects in future.---Andthou, brave Locksley---''

``Call me no longer Locksley, my Liege, butknow me under the name, which, I fear, fame hathblown too widely not to have reached even your

royal ears---I am Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest.''*

* From the ballads of Robin Hood, we learn that this celebrated* outlaw, when in disguise, sometimes assumed the name of* Locksley, from a village where he was born, but where situated* we are not distinctly told.

``King of Outlaws, and Prince of good fellows!''said the King, ``who hath not heard a name thathas been borne as far as Palestine? But be assured,brave Outlaw, that no deed done in our absence,and in the turbulent times to which it hathgiven rise, shall be remembered to thy disadvantage.''

``True says the proverb,'' said Wamba, interposinghis word, but with some abatement of hisusual petulance,---

`When the cat is away,The mice will play.' ''

``What, Wamba, art thou there?'' said Richard;``I have been so long of hearing thy voice, I thoughtthou hadst taken flight.''

``I take flight!'' said Wamba; ``when do youever find Folly separated from Valour? There liesthe trophy of my sword, that good grey gelding,whom I heartily wish upon his legs again, conditioninghis master lay there houghed in his place.It is true, I gave a little ground at first, for a motleyjacket does not brook lance-heads, as a steeldoublet will. But if I fought not at sword's point,you will grant me that I sounded the onset.''

``And to good purpose, honest Wamba,'' repliedthe King. ``Thy good service shall not be forgotten.''

``_Confiteor! Confiteor!_''---exclaimed, in a submissivetone, a voice near the King's side---``myLatin will carry me no farther---but I confess mydeadly treason, and pray leave to have absolutionbefore I am led to execution!''

Richard looked around, and beheld the jovial

Friar on his knees, telling his rosary, while hisquarter-staff, which had not been idle during theskirmish, lay on the grass beside him. His countenancewas gathered so as be thought might bestexpress the most profound contrition, his eyes beingturned up, and the corners of his mouth drawn down,as Wamba expressed it, like the tassels at themouth of a purse. Yet this demure affectation ofextreme penitence was whimsically belied by a ludicrousmeaning which lurked in his huge features,and seemed to pronounce his fear and repentancealike hypocritical.

``For what art thou cast down, mad Priest?''said Richard; ``art thou afraid thy diocesan shouldlearn how truly thou dost serve Our Lady andSaint Dunstan?---Tush, man! fear it not; Richardof England betrays no secrets that pass over the flagon.''

``Nay, most gracious sovereign,'' answered theHermit, (well known to the curious in penny-historiesof Robin Hood, by the name of Friar Tuck,)``it is not the crosier I fear, but the sceptre.---Alas!that my sacrilegious fist should ever have been appliedto the ear of the Lord's anointed!''

``Ha! ha!'' said Richard, ``sits the wind there?---In truth I had forgotten the buffet, though mineear sung after it for a whole day. But if the cuffwas fairly given, I will be judged by the good menaround, if it was not as well repaid---or, if thouthinkest I still owe thee aught, and will stand forthfor another counterbuff---''

``By no means,'' replied Friar Tuck, ``I hadmine own returned, and with usury---may yourMajesty ever pay your debts as fully!''

``If I could do so with cuffs,'' said the King,``my creditors should have little reason to complainof an empty exchequer.''

``And yet,'' said the Friar, resuming his demurehypocritical countenance, ``I know not whatpenance I ought to perform for that most sacrilegious

blow!------''

``Speak no more of it, brother,'' said the King;``after having stood so many cuffs from Paynimsand misbelievers, I were void of reason to quarrelwith the buffet of a clerk so holy as he of Copmanhurst.Yet, mine honest Friar, I think it wouldbe best both for the church and thyself, that Ishould procure a license to unfrock thee, and retainthee as a yeoman of our guard, serving in care ofour person, as formerly in attendance upon thealtar of Saint Dunstan.''

``My Liege,'' said the Friar, ``I humbly craveyour pardon; and you would readily grant my excuse,did you but know how the sin of laziness hasbeset me. Saint Dunstan---may he be gracious tous!---stands quiet in his niche, though I shouldforget my orisons in killing a fat buck---I stayout of my cell sometimes a night, doing I wot notwhat---Saint Dunstan never complains---a quietmaster he is, and a peaceful, as ever was made ofwood.---But to be a yeoman in attendance on mysovereign the King---the honour is great, doubtless---yet, if I were but to step aside to comfort awidow in one corner, or to kill a deer in another,it would be, `where is the dog Priest?' says one.`Who has seen the accursed Tuck?' says another.`The unfrocked villain destroys more venison thanhalf the country besides,' says one keeper; `Andis hunting after every shy doe in the country!'quoth a second.---In fine, good my Liege, I prayyou to leave me as you found me; or, if in aughtyou desire to extend your benevolence to me, thatI may be considered as the poor Clerk of SaintDunstan's cell in Copmanhurst, to whom any smalldonation will be most thankfully acceptable.''

``I understand thee,'' said the King, ``and theHoly Clerk shall have a grant of vert and venisonin my woods of Warncliffe. Mark, however, I willbut assign thee three bucks every season; but ifthat do not prove an apology for thy slaying thirty,I am no Christian knight nor true king.''

``Your Grace may be well assured,'' said theFriar, ``that, with the grace of Saint Dunstan, Ishall find the way of multiplying your most bounteousgift.''

``I nothing doubt it, good brother,'' said theKing; ``and as venison is but dry food, our cellarershall have orders to deliver to thee a butt of sack,a runlet of Malvoisie, and three hogsheads of ale ofthe first strike, yearly---If that will not quenchthy thirst, thou must come to court, and becomeacquainted with my butler.''

``But for Saint Dunstan?'' said the Friar---

``A cope, a stole, and an altar-cloth shalt thou alsohave,'' continued the King, crossing himself---``Butwe may not turn our game into earnest, lest Godpunish us for thinking more on our follies than onhis honour and worship.''

``I will answer for my patron,'' said the Priest,joyously.

``Answer for thyself, Friar,'' said King Richard,something sternly; but immediately stretching outhis hand to the Hermit, the latter, somewhat abashed,bent his knee, and saluted it. ``Thou dost lesshonour to my extended palm than to my clenchedfist,'' said the Monarch; ``thou didst only kneel tothe one, and to the other didst prostrate thyself.''

But the Friar, afraid perhaps of again givingoffence by continuing the conversation in too jocosea style---a false step to be particularly guardedagainst by those who converse with monarchs---bowed profoundly, and fell into the rear.

At the same time, two additional personages appeared on the scene.

CHAPTER XLI

All hail to the lordlings of high degree,Who live not more happy, though greater than we!Our pastimes to see,Under every green tree,In all the gay woodland, right welcome ye be. _Macdonald_.

The new comers were Wilfred of Ivanhoe,on the Prior of Botolph's palfrey, and Gurth,who attended him, on the Knight's own war-horse.The astonishment of Ivanhoe was beyond bounds,when he saw his master besprinkled with blood,and six or seven dead bodies lying aroundin the little glade in which the battle had taken place.Nor was he less surprised to see Richard surroundedby so many silvan attendants, the outlaws, as they seemedto be, of the forest, and a perilous retinue thereforefor a prince. He hesitated whether to addressthe King as the Black Knight-errant, or in whatother manner to demean himself towards him.Richard saw his embarrassment.

``Fear not, Wilfred,'' he said, ``to address RichardPlantagenet as himself, since thou seest himin the company of true English hearts, although itmay be they have been urged a few steps aside bywarm English blood.''

``Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe,'' said the gallant Outlaw,stepping forward, ``my assurances can add nothingto those of our sovereign; yet, let me say somewhat proudly,that of men who have suffered much, he hath not truer subjectsthan those who now stand around him.''

``I cannot doubt it, brave man,'' said Wilfred,``since thou art of the number---But what meanthese marks of death and danger? these slain men,and the bloody armour of my Prince?''

``Treason hath been with us, Ivanhoe,'' said theKing; ``but, thanks to these brave men, treasonhath met its meed---But, now I bethink me, thoutoo art a traitor,'' said Richard, smiling; ``a mostdisobedient traitor; for were not our orders positive,

that thou shouldst repose thyself at SaintBotolph's until thy wound was healed?''

``It is healed,'' said Ivanhoe; ``it is not of moreconsequence than the scratch of a bodkin. But why,oh why, noble Prince, will you thus vex the heartsof your faithful servants, and expose your life bylonely journeys and rash adventures, as if it were ofno more value than that of a mere knight-errant,who has no interest on earth but what lance andsword may procure him?''

``And Richard Plantagenet,'' said the King,``desires no more fame than his good lance andsword may acquire him---and Richard Plantagenetis prouder of achieving an adventure, with only hisgood sword, and his good arm to speed, than if heled to battle an host of an hundred thousand armed men.''

``But your kingdom, my Liege,'' said Ivanhoe,``your kingdom is threatened with dissolution andcivil war---your subjects menaced with every speciesof evil, if deprived of their sovereign in someof those dangers which it is your daily pleasure toincur, and from which you have but this momentnarrowly escaped.''

``Ho! ho! my kingdom and my subjects?'' answeredRichard, impatiently; ``I tell thee, Sir Wilfred,the best of them are most willing to repay myfollies in kind---For example, my very faithful servant,Wilfred of Ivanhoe, will not obey my positivecommands, and yet reads his king a homily,because he does not walk exactly by his advice.Which of us has most reason to upbraid the other?---Yet forgive me, my faithful Wilfred. The timeI have spent, and am yet to spend in concealment,is, as I explained to thee at Saint Botolph's, necessaryto give my friends and faithful nobles time toassemble their forces, that when Richard's returnis announced, he should be at the head of such aforce as enemies shall tremble to face, and thus subduethe meditated treason, without even unsheathinga sword. Estoteville and Bohun will not bestrong enough to move forward to York for twenty-four

hours. I must have news of Salisbury fromthe south; and of Beauchamp, in Warwickshire;and of Multon and Percy in the north. TheChancellor must make sure of London. Too suddenan appearance would subject me to dangers,other than my lance and sword, though backed bythe bow of bold Robin, or the quarter-staff of FriarTuck, and the horn of the sage Wamba, may beable to rescue me from.''

Wilfred bowed in submission, well knowing howvain it was to contend with the wild spirit of chivalrywhich so often impelled his master upon dangerswhich he might easily have avoided, or rather,which it was unpardonable in him to have soughtout. The young knight sighed, therefore, and heldhis peace; while Richard, rejoiced at having silencedhis counsellor, though his heart acknowledged thejustice of the charge he had brought against him,went on in conversation with Robin Hood.---``Kingof Outlaws,'' he said, ``have you no refreshmentto offer to your brother sovereign? for these deadknaves have found me both in exercise and appetite.''

``In troth,'' replied the Outlaw, ``for I scorn tolie to your Grace, our larder is chiefly suppliedwith---'' He stopped, and was somewhat embarrassed.

``With venison, I suppose?'' said Richard, gaily;``better food at need there can be none---and truly,if a king will not remain at home and slay hisown game, methinks he should not brawl too loudif he finds it killed to his hand.''

``If your Grace, then,'' said Robin, ``will againhonour with your presence one of Robin Hood'splaces of rendezvous, the venison shall not be lacking;and a stoup of ale, and it may be a cup ofreasonably good wine, to relish it withal.''

The Outlaw accordingly led the way, followed bythe buxom Monarch, more happy, probably, in thischance meeting with Robin Hood and his foresters,than he would have been in again assuming hisroyal state, and presiding over a splendid circle of

peers and nobles. Novelty in society and adventurewere the zest of life to Richard C<oe>ur-de-Lion, andit had its highest relish when enhanced by dangersencountered and surmounted. In the lion-heartedKing, the brilliant, but useless character, of a knightof romance, was in a great measure realized andrevived; and the personal glory which he acquiredby his own deeds of arms, was far more dear to hisexcited imagination, than that which a course ofpolicy and wisdom would have spread around hisgovernment. Accordingly, his reign was like thecourse of a brilliant and rapid meteor, which shootsalong the face of Heaven, shedding around an unnecessaryand portentous light, which is instantlyswallowed up by universal darkness; his feats ofchivalry furnishing themes for bards and minstrels,but affording none of those solid benefits to hiscountry on which history loves to pause, and holdup as an example to posterity. But in his presentcompany Richard showed to the greatest imaginableadvantage. He was gay, good-humoured, andfond of manhood in every rank of life.

Beneath a huge oak-tree the silvan repast washastily prepared for the King of England, surroundedby men outlaws to his government, butwho now formed his court and his guard. As theflagon went round, the rough foresters soon losttheir awe for the presence of Majesty. The songand the jest were exchanged---the stories of formerdeeds were told with advantage; and at length, andwhile boasting of their successful infraction of thelaws, no one recollected they were speaking in presenceof their natural guardian. The merry King,nothing heeding his dignity any more than his company,laughed, quaffed, and jested among the jollyband. The natural and rough sense of Robin Hoodled him to be desirous that the scene should be closedere any thing should occur to disturb its harmony,the more especially that he observed Ivanhoe'sbrow clouded with anxiety. ``We are honoured,''he said to Ivanhoe, apart, ``by the presence of ourgallant Sovereign; yet I would not that he dalliedwith time, which the circumstances of his kingdommay render precious.''

``It is well and wisely spoken, brave RobinHood,'' said Wilfred, apart; ``and know, moreover,that they who jest with Majesty even in its gayestmood are but toying with the lion's whelp, which,on slight provocation, uses both fangs and claws.''

``You have touched the very cause of my fear,''said the Outlaw; ``my men are rough by practiceand nature, the King is hasty as well as good-humoured;nor know I how soon cause of offence mayarise, or how warmly it may be received---it istime this revel were broken off.''

``It must be by your management then, gallantyeoman,'' said Ivanhoe; ``for each hint I have essayedto give him serves only to induce him to prolongit.''

``Must I so soon risk the pardon and favour ofmy Sovereign?'' said Robin Hood, pausing for allinstant; ``but by Saint Christopher, it shall be so.I were undeserving his grace did I not peril it forhis good.---Here, Scathlock, get thee behind yonderthicket, and wind me a Norman blast on thybugle, and without an instant's delay on peril ofyour life.''

Scathlock obeyed his captain, and in less thanfive minutes the revellers were startled by the soundof his horn.

``It is the bugle of Malvoisin,'' said the Miller,starting to his feet, and seizing his bow. The Friardropped the flagon, and grasped his quarter-staffWamba stopt short in the midst of a jest, and betookhimself to sword and target. All the othersstood to their weapons.

Men of their precarious course of life changereadily from the banquet to the battle; and, toRichard, the exchange seemed but a succession ofpleasure. He called for his helmet and the mostcumbrous parts of his armour, which he had laidaside; and while Gurth was putting them on, he

laid his strict injunctions on Wilfred, under painof his highest displeasure, not to engage in theskirmish which he supposed was approaching.

``Thou hast fought for me an hundred times,Wilfred,---and I have seen it. Thou shalt this daylook on, and see how Richard will fight for hisfriend and liegeman.''

In the meantime, Robin Hood had sent off severalof his followers in different directions, as if toreconnoitre the enemy; and when he saw the companyeffectually broken up, he approached Richard,who was now completely armed, and, kneelingdown on one knee, craved pardon of his Sovereign.

``For what, good yeoman?'' said Richard, somewhatimpatiently. ``Have we not already grantedthee a full pardon for all transgressions? Thinkestthou our word is a feather, to be blown backwardand forward between us? Thou canst not have hadtime to commit any new offence since that time?''

``Ay, but I have though,'' answered the yeoman,``if it be an offence to deceive my prince for hisown advantage. The bugle you have heard wasnone of Malvoisin's, but blown by my direction, tobreak off the banquet, lest it trenched upon hoursof dearer import than to be thus dallied with.''

He then rose from his knee, folded his arm onhis bosom, and in a manner rather respectful thansubmissive, awaited the answer of the King,---likeone who is conscious he may have given offence,yet is confident in the rectitude of his motive.The blood rushed in anger to the countenance ofRichard; but it was the first transient emotion,and his sense of justice instantly subdued it.

``The King of Sherwood,'' he said, ``grudgeshis venison and his wine-flask to the King of England?It is well, bold Robin!---but when you cometo see me in merry London, I trust to be a lessniggard host. Thou art right, however, good fellow.Let us therefore to horse and away---Wilfred

has been impatient this hour. Tell me, boldRobin, hast thou never a friend in thy band, who,not content with advising, will needs direct thymotions, and look miserable when thou dost presumeto act for thyself?''

``Such a one,'' said Robin, ``is my Lieutenant,Little John, who is even now absent on an expeditionas far as the borders of Scotland; and I willown to your Majesty, that I am sometimes displeasedby the freedom of his councils---but, when Ithink twice, I cannot be long angry with one whocan have no motive for his anxiety save zeal forhis master's service.''

``Thou art right, good yeoman,'' answered Richard;``and if I had Ivanhoe, on the one hand, togive grave advice, and recommend it by the sadgravity of his brow, and thee, on the other, to trickme into what thou thinkest my own good, I shouldhave as little the freedom of mine own will as anyking in Christendom or Heathenesse.---But come,sirs, let us merrily on to Coningsburgh, and thinkno more on't.''

Robin Hood assured them that he had detacheda party in the direction of the road they were topass, who would not fail to discover and apprizethem of any secret ambuscade; and that he hadlittle doubt they would find the ways secure, or,if otherwise, would receive such timely notice ofthe danger as would enable them to fall back on astrong troop of archers, with which he himself proposedto follow on the same route.

The wise and attentive precautions adopted forhis safety touched Richard's feelings, and removedany slight grudge which he might retain on accountof the deception the Outlaw Captain had practisedupon him. He once more extended his hand toRobin Hood, assured him of his full pardon andfuture favour, as well as his firm resolution to restrainthe tyrannical exercise of the forest rightsand other oppressive laws, by which so many Englishyeomen were driven into a state of rebellion.

But Richard's good intentions towards the bold Outlawwere frustrated by the King's untimely death;and the Charter of the Forest was extorted fromthe unwilling hands of King John when he succeededto his heroic brother. As for the rest ofRobin Hood's career, as well as the tale of histreacherous death, they are to be found in thoseblack-letter garlands, once sold at the low and easyrate of one halfpenny,

``Now cheaply purchased at their weight in gold.''

The Outlaw's opinion proved true; and the King,attended by Ivanhoe, Gurth, and Wamba, arrived,without any interruption, within view of the Castleof Coningsburgh, while the sun was yet in the horizon.

There are few more beautiful or striking scenesin England, than are presented by the vicinity ofthis ancient Saxon fortress. The soft and gentleriver Don sweeps through an amphitheatre, in whichcultivation is richly blended with woodland, and ona mount, ascending from the river, well defendedby walls and ditches, rises this ancient edifice,which, as its Saxon name implies, was, previous tothe Conquest, a royal residence of the kings ofEngland. The outer walls have probably been addedby the Normans, but the inner keep bears tokenof very great antiquity. It is situated on a mountat one angle of the inner court, and forms a completecircle of perhaps twenty-five feet in diameter.The wall is of immense thickness, and is proppedor defended by six huge external buttresses whichproject from the circle, and rise up against the sidesof the tower is if to strengthen or to support it.These massive buttresses are solid when they arisefrom the foundation, and a good way higher up;but are hollowed out towards the top, and terminatein a sort of turrets communicating with theinterior of the keep itself. The distant appearanceof this huge building, with these singular accompaniments,is as interesting to the lovers of thepicturesque, as the interior of the castle is to theeager antiquary, whose imagination it carries backto the days of the heptarchy. A barrow, in the

vicinity of the castle, is pointed out as the tomb ofthe memorable Hengist; and various monuments,of great antiquity and curiosity, are shown in theneighbouring churchyard.*

* Note I. Castle of Coningsburgh.

When C<oe>ur-de-Lion and his retinue approachedthis rude yet stately building, it was not, as atpresent, surrounded by external fortifications. TheSaxon architect had exhausted his art in renderingthe main keep defensible, and there was no othercircumvallation than a rude barrier of palisades.

A huge black banner, which floated from the topof the tower, announced that the obsequies of thelate owner were still in the act of being solemnized.It bore no emblem of the deceased's birth or quality,for armorial bearings were then a novelty amongthe Norman chivalry themselves and, were totallyunknown to the Saxons. But above the gate wasanother banner, on which the figure of a whitehorse, rudely painted, indicated the nation and rankof the deceased, by the well-known symbol of Hengistand his Saxon warriors.

All around the castle was a scene of busy commotion;for such funeral banquets were times ofgeneral and profuse hospitality, which not onlyevery one who could claim the most distant connexionwith the deceased, but all passengers whatsoever,were invited to partake. The wealth andconsequence of the deceased Athelstane, occasionedthis custom to be observed in the fullest extent.

Numerous parties, therefore, were seen ascendingand descending the hill on which the castle wassituated; and when the King and his attendantsentered the open and unguarded gates of the externalbarrier, the space within presented a scenenot easily reconciled with the cause of the assemblage.In one place cooks were toiling to roasthuge oxen, and fat sheep; in another, hogsheadsof ale were set abroach, to be drained at the freedomof all comers. Groups of every description

were to be seen devouring the food and swallowingthe liquor thus abandoned to their discretion. Thenaked Saxon serf was drowning the sense of hishalf-year's hunger and thirst, in one day of gluttonyand drunkenness---the more pampered burgessand guild-brother was eating his morsel with gust,or curiously criticising the quantity of the maltand the skill of the brewer. Some few of the poorerNorman gentry might also be seen, distinguishedby their shaven chins and short cloaks, and notless so by their keeping together, and looking withgreat scorn on the whole solemnity, even whilecondescending to avail themselves of the good cheerwhich was so liberally supplied.

Mendicants were of course assembled by thescore, together with strolling soldiers returnedfrom Palestine, (according to their own account atleast,) pedlars were displaying their wares, travellingmechanics were enquiring after employment,and wandering palmers, hedge-priests, Saxonminstrels, and Welsh bards, were muttering prayers,and extracting mistuned dirges from their harps,crowds, and rotes.* One sent forth the praises

* The crowth, or crowd, was a species of violin. The rote a* sort of guitar, or rather hurdy-gurdy, the strings of which were* managed by a wheel, from which the instrument took its name.

of Athelstane in a doleful panegyric; another, ina Saxon genealogical poem, rehearsed the uncouthand harsh names of his noble ancestry. Jestersand jugglers were not awanting, nor was the occasionof the assembly supposed to render the exerciseof their profession indecorous or improper.Indeed the ideas of the Saxons on these occasionswere as natural as they were rude. If sorrow wasthirsty, there was drink---if hungry, there was food---if it sunk down upon and saddened the heart,here were the means supplied of mirth, or at leastof amusement. Nor did the assistants scorn to availthemselves of those means of consolation, although,every now and then, as if suddenly recollecting thecause which had brought them together, the mengroaned in unison, while the females, of whom many

were present, raised up their voices and shriekedfor very woe.

Such was the scene in the castle-yard at Coningsburghwhen it was entered by Richard and his followers.The seneschal or steward deigned not totake notice of the groups of inferior guests whowere perpetually entering and withdrawing, unlessso far as was necessary to preserve order; neverthelesshe was struck by the good mien of the Monarchand Ivanhoe, more especially as he imaginedthe features of the latter were familiar to him. Besides,the approach of two knights, for such theirdress bespoke them, was a rare event at a Saxonsolemnity, and could not but be regarded as a sortof honour to the deceased and his family. And inhis sable dress, and holding in his hand his whitewand of office, this important personage made waythrough the miscellaneous assemblage of guests,thus conducting Richard and Ivanhoe to the entranceof the tower. Gurth and Wamba speedilyfound acquaintances in the court-yard, nor presumedto intrude themselves any farther until theirpresence should be required.

CHAPTER XLII

I find them winding of Marcello's corpse.And there was such a solemn melody,'Twixt doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies,---Such as old grandames, watching by the dead,Are wont to outwear the night with. _Old Play._

The mode of entering the great tower of ConingsburghCastle is very peculiar, and partakes ofthe rude simplicity of the early times in which itwas erected. A flight of steps, so deep and narrowas to be almost precipitous, leads up to a low portalin the south side of the tower, by which the adventurous

antiquary may still, or at least could a fewyears since, gain access to a small stair within thethickness of the main wall of the tower, which leadsup to the third story of the building,---the twolower being dungeons or vaults, which neither receiveair nor light, save by a square hole in the thirdstory, with which they seem to have communicatedby a ladder. The access to the upper apartmentsin the tower which consist in all of four stories, isgiven by stairs which are carried up through theexternal buttresses.

By this difficult and complicated entrance, thegood King Richard, followed by his faithful Ivanhoe,was ushered into the round apartment whichoccupies the whole of the third story from theground. Wilfred, by the difficulties of the ascent,gained time to muffle his face in his mantle, as ithad been held expedient that he should not presenthimself to his father until the King should givehim the signal.

There were assembled in this apartment, arounda large oaken table, about a dozen of the most distinguishedrepresentatives of the Saxon families inthe adjacent counties. They were all old, or, atleast, elderly men; for the younger race, to thegreat displeasure of the seniors, had, like Ivanhoe,broken down many of the barriers which separatedfor half a century the Norman victors from thevanquished Saxons. The downcast and sorrowfullooks of these venerable men, their silence and theirmournful posture, formed a strong contrast to thelevity of the revellers on the outside of the castle.Their grey locks and long full beards, togetherwith their antique tunics and loose black mantles,suited well with the singular and rude apartmentin which they were seated, and gave the appearanceof a band of ancient worshippers of Woden,recalled to life to mourn over the decay of theirnational glory.

Cedric, seated in equal rank among his countrymen,seemed yet, by common consent, to act aschief of the assembly. Upon the entrance of Richard

(only known to him as the valorous Knightof the Fetterlock) he arose gravely, and gave himwelcome by the ordinary salutation, _Waes hael_,raising at the same time a goblet to his head. TheKing, no stranger to the customs of his Englishsubjects, returned the greeting with the appropriatewords, _Drinc hael_, and partook of a cup whichwas handed to him by the sewer. The same courtesywas offered to Ivanhoe, who pledged his fatherin silence, supplying the usual speech by an inclinationof his head, lest his voice should have beenrecognised.

When this introductory ceremony was performed,Cedric arose, and, extending his hand to Richard,conducted him into a small and very rude chapel,which was excavated, as it were, out of one of theexternal buttresses. As there was no opening,saving a little narrow loop-hole, the place wouldhave been nearly quite dark but for two flambeauxor torches, which showed, by a red and smoky light,the arched roof and naked walls, the rude altar ofstone, and the crucifix of the same material.

Before this altar was placed a bier, and on eachside of this bier kneeled three priests, who toldtheir beads, and muttered their prayers, with thegreatest signs of external devotion. For this servicea splendid _soul-scat_ was paid to the convent ofSaint Edmund's by the mother of the deceased;and, that it might be fully deserved, the wholebrethren, saving the lame Sacristan, had transferredthemselves to Coningsburgh, where, while six oftheir number were constantly on guard in the performanceof divine rites by the bier of Athelstane,the others failed not to take their share of the refreshmentsand amusements which went on at thecastle. In maintaining this pious watch and ward,the good monks were particularly careful not to interrupttheir hymns for an instant, lest Zernebock,the ancient Saxon Apollyon, should lay his clutcheson the departed Athelstane. Now were they lesscareful to prevent any unhallowed layman fromtouching the pall, which, having been that used atthe funeral of Saint Edmund, was liable to be desecrated,

if handled by the profane. If, in truth,these attentions could be of any use to the deceased,he had some right to expect them at the hands ofthe brethren of Saint Edmund's, since, besides ahundred mancuses of gold paid down as the soul-ransom,the mother of Athelstane had announcedher intention of endowing that foundation with thebetter part of the lands of the deceased, in orderto maintain perpetual prayers for his soul, and thatof her departed husband.Richard and Wilfred followed the Saxon Cedricinto the apartment of death, where, as their guidepointed with solemn air to the untimely bier ofAthelstane, they followed his example in devoutlycrossing themselves, and muttering a brief prayerfor the weal of the departed soul.

This act of pious charity performed, Cedric againmotioned them to follow him, gliding over thestone floor with a noiseless tread; and, after ascendinga few steps, opened with great caution the doorof a small oratory, which adjoined to the chapel.It was about eight feet square, hollowed, like thechapel itself, out of the thickness of the wall; andthe loop-hole, which enlightened it, being to thewest, and widening considerably as it sloped inward,a beam of the setting sun found its way intoits dark recess, and showed a female of a dignifiedmien, and whose countenance retained the markedremains of majestic beauty. Her long mourningrobes and her flowing wimple of black cypress, enhancedthe whiteness of her skin, and the beautyof her light-coloured and flowing tresses, whichtime had neither thinned nor mingled with silver.Her countenance expressed the deepest sorrow thatis consistent with resignation. On the stone tablebefore her stood a crucifix of ivory, beside whichwas laid a missal, having its pages richly illuminated,and its boards adorned with clasps of gold,and bosses of the same precious metal.

``Noble Edith,'' said Cedric, after having stooda moment silent, as if to give Richard and Wilfredtime to look upon the lady of the mansion, ``theseare worthy strangers, come to take a part in thy

sorrows. And this, in especial, is the valiant Knightwho fought so bravely for the deliverance of himfor whom we this day mourn.'

``His bravery has my thanks,'' returned thelady; ``although it be the will of Heaven that itshould be displayed in vain. I thank, too, hiscourtesy, and that of his companion, which hathbrought them hither to behold the widow of Adeling,the mother of Athelstane, in her deep hourof sorrow and lamentation. To your care, kindkinsman, I intrust them, satisfied that they willwant no hospitality which these sad walls can yetafford.''

The guests bowed deeply to the mourning parent,and withdrew from their hospitable guide.

Another winding stair conducted them to anapartment of the same size with that which theyhad first entered, occupying indeed the story immediatelyabove. From this room, ere yet the doorwas opened, proceeded a low and melancholy strainof vocal music. When they entered, they foundthemselves in the presence of about twenty matronsand maidens of distinguished Saxon lineage. Fourmaidens, Rowena leading the choir, raised a hymnfor the soul of the deceased, of which we have onlybeen able to decipher two or three stanzas:---

Dust unto dust,To this all must;The tenant hath resign'dThe faded formTo waste and worm---Corruption claims her kind.

Through paths unknownThy soul hath flown,To seek the realms of woe,Where fiery painShall purge the stainOf actions done below.

In that sad place,

By Mary's grace,Brief may thy dwelling beTill prayers and alms,And holy psalms,Shall set the captive free.

While this dirge was sang, in a low and melancholytone, by the female choristers, the others weredivided into two bands, of which one was engagedin bedecking, with such embroidery as their skilland taste could compass, a large silken pall, destinedto cover the bier of Athelstane, while theothers busied themselves in selecting, from basketsof flowers placed before them, garlands, which theyintended for the same mournful purpose. The behaviourof the maidens was decorous, if not markedwith deep affliction; but now and then a whisperor a smile called forth the rebuke of the severermatrons, and here and there might be seen a damselmore interested in endeavouring to find out howher mourning-robe became her, than in the dismalceremony for which they were preparing. Neitherwas this propensity (if we must needs confess thetruth) at all diminished by the appearance of twostrange knights, which occasioned some looking up,peeping, and whispering. Rowena alone, too proudto be vain, paid her greeting to her deliverer witha graceful courtesy. Her demeanour was serious,but not dejected; and it may be doubted whetherthoughts of Ivanhoe, and of the uncertainty of hisfate, did not claim as great a share in her gravityas the death of her kinsman.

To Cedric, however, who, as we have observed,was not remarkably clear-sighted on such occasions,the sorrow of his ward seemed so much deeper thanany of the other maidens, that he deemed it properto whisper the explanation---``She was the affiancedbride of the noble Athelstane.''---It maybe doubted whether this communication went a farway to increase Wilfred's disposition to sympathizewith the mourners of Coningsburgh.

Having thus formally introduced the guests tothe different chambers in which the obsequies of

Athelstane were celebrated under different forms,Cedric conducted them into a small room, destined,as he informed them, for the exclusive accomodationof honourable guests, whose more slight connexionwith the deceased might render them unwillingto join those who were immediately effectedby the unhappy event. He assured them ofevery accommodation, and was about to withdrawwhen the Black Knight took his hand.

``I crave to remind you, noble Thane,'' he said,that when we last parted, you promised, for theservice I had the fortune to render you, to grantme a boon.''

``It is granted ere named, noble Knight,'' saidCedric; ``yet, at this sad moment------''

``Of that also,'' said the King, ``I have bethoughtme---but my time is brief---neither does it seem tome unfit, that, when closing the grave on the nobleAthelstane, we should deposit therein certain prejudicesand hasty opinions.''

``Sir Knight of the Fetterlock,'' said Cedric,colouring, and interrupting the King in his turn,``I trust your boon regards yourself and no other;for in that which concerns the honour of my house,it is scarce fitting that a stranger should mingle.''

``Nor do I wish to mingle,'' said the King, mildly,``unless in so far as you will admit me to havean interest. As yet you have known me but asthe Black Knight of the Fetterlock---Know menow as Richard Plantagenet.''

``Richard of Anjou!'' exclaimed Cedric, steppingbackward with the utmost astonishment.

``No, noble Cedric---Richard of England!---whose deepest interest---whose deepest wish, is tosee her sons united with each other.---And, hownow, worthy Thane! hast thou no knee for thyprince?''

``To Norman blood,'' said Cedric, ``it hath neverbended.''

``Reserve thine homage then,'' said the Monarch,``until I shall prove my right to it by myequal protection of Normans and English.''

``Prince,'' answered Cedric, ``I have ever donejustice to thy bravery and thy worth---Nor am Iignorant of thy claim to the crown through thydescent from Matilda, niece to Edgar Atheling,and daughter to Malcolm of Scotland. But Matilda,though of the royal Saxon blood, was not theheir to the monarchy.''

``I will not dispute my title with thee, nobleThane,'' said Richard, calmly; ``but I will bid theelook around thee, and see where thou wilt find anotherto be put into the scale against it.''

``And hast thou wandered hither, Prince, totell me so?'' said Cedric---``To upbraid me withthe ruin of my race, ere the grave has closed o'erthe last scion of Saxon royalty?''---His countenancedarkened as he spoke.---``It was boldly---itwas rashly done!''

``Not so, by the holy rood!'' replied the King;``it was done in the frank confidence which onebrave man may repose in another, without a shadowof danger.''

``Thou sayest well, Sir King---for King I ownthou art, and wilt be, despite of my feeble opposition.---I dare not take the only mode to prevent it,though thou hast placed the strong temptationwithin my reach!''

``And now to my boon,'' said the King, ``whichI ask not with one jot the loss confidence, that thouhast refused to acknowledge my lawful sovereignty.I require of thee, as a man of thy word, onpain of being held faithless, man-sworn, and _nidering_,*

* Infamous.

to forgive and receive to thy paternal affectionthe good knight, Wilfred of Ivanhoe. In thisreconciliation thou wilt own I have an interest---the happiness of my friend, and the quelling ofdissension among my faithful people.''

``And this is Wilfred!'' said Cedric, pointing tohis son.

``My father!---my father!'' said Ivanhoe, prostratinghimself at Cedric's feet, ``grant me thy forgiveness!''

``Thou hast it, my son,'' said Cedric, raising himup. ``The son of Hereward knows how to keephis word, even when it has been passed to a Norman.But let me see thee use the dress and costume of thyEnglish ancestry---no short cloaks, no gay bonnets,no fantastic plumage in my decent household. Hethat would be the son of Cedric, must show himselfof English ancestry.---Thou art about to speak,'' headded, sternly, ``and I guess the topic. The LadyRowena must complete two years' mourning, asfor a betrothed husband---all our Saxon ancestorswould disown us were we to treat of a new unionfor her ere the grave of him she should have wedded---him, so much the most worthy of her handby birth and ancestry---is yet closed. The ghostof Athelstane himself would burst his bloody cerementsand stand before us to forbid such dishonourto his memory.''

It seemed as if Cedric's words had raised aspectre; for, scarce had he uttered them ere thedoor flew open, and Athelstane, arrayed in the garmentsof the grave, stood before them, pale, haggard,and like something arisen from the dead! *

* The resuscitation of Athelstane has been much criticised,* as too violent a breach of probability, even for a work of such* fantastic character. It was a _tour-de-force_, to which the author* was compelled to have recourse, by the vehement entreaties of his* friend and printer, who was inconsolable on the Saxon being* conveyed to the tomb.

The effect of this apparition on the persons presentwas utterly appalling. Cedric started back asfar as the wall of the apartment would permit, and,leaning against it as one unable to support himself,gazed on the figure of his friend with eyes thatseemed fixed, and a mouth which he appeared incapableof shutting. Ivanhoe crossed himself, repeatingprayers in Saxon, Latin, or Norman-French,as they occurred to his memory, while Richard alternatelysaid, _Benedicite_, and swore, _Mort de mavie!_

In the meantime, a horrible noise was heard belowstairs, some crying, ``Secure the treacherousmonks!''---others, ``Down with them into the dungeon!''---others, ``Pitch them from the highestbattlements!''

``In the name of God!'' said Cedric, addressingwhat seemed the spectre of his departed friend, ``ifthou art mortal, speak!---if a departed spirit, sayfor what cause thou dost revisit us, or if I can doaught that can set thy spirit at repose.---Living ordead, noble Athelstane, speak to Cedric!''

``I will,'' said the spectre, very composedly,``when I have collected breath, and when you giveme time---Alive, saidst thou?---I am as much aliveas he can be who has fed on bread and water forthree days, which seem three ages---Yes, bread andwater, Father Cedric! By Heaven, and all saints init, better food hath not passed my weasand for threelivelong days, and by God's providence it is that Iam now here to tell it.''

``Why, noble Athelstane,'' said the Black Knight,``I myself saw you struck down by the fierce Templartowards the end of the storm at Torquilstone,and as I thought, and Wamba reported, your skullwas cloven through the teeth.''

``You thought amiss, Sir Knight,'' said Athelstane,``and Wamba lied. My teeth are in goodorder, and that my supper shall presently find---No

thanks to the Templar though, whose sword turnedin his hand, so that the blade struck me flatlings,being averted by the handle of the good mace withwhich I warded the blow; had my steel-cap beenon, I had not valued it a rush, and had dealt himsuch a counter-buff as would have spoilt his retreat.But as it was, down I went, stunned, indeed, butunwounded. Others, of both sides, were beatendown and slaughtered above me, so that I neverrecovered my senses until I found myself in a coffin---(an open one, by good luck)---placed before thealtar of the church of Saint Edmund's. I sneezedrepeatedly---groaned---awakened and would havearisen, when the Sacristan and Abbot, full of terror,came running at the noise, surprised, doubtless,and no way pleased to find the man alive, whoseheirs they had proposed themselves to be. I askedfor wine---they gave me some, but it must havebeen highly medicated, for I slept yet more deeplythan before, and wakened not for many hours. Ifound my arms swathed down---my feet tied so fastthat mine ankles ache at the very remembrance---the place was utterly dark---the oubliette, as I suppose,of their accursed convent, and from the close,stifled, damp smell, I conceive it is also used for aplace of sepulture. I had strange thoughts of whathad befallen me, when the door of my dungeoncreaked, and two villain monks entered. Theywould have persuaded me I was in purgatory, butI knew too well the pursy short-breathed voice ofthe Father Abbot.---Saint Jeremy! how differentfrom that tone with which he used to ask me foranother slice of the haunch!---the dog has feastedwith me from Christmas to Twelfth-night.''

``Have patience, noble Athelstane,'' said theKing, ``take breath---tell your story at leisure---beshrew me but such a tale is as well worth listeningto as a romance.''

``Ay but, by the rood of Bromeholm, there wasno romance in the matter!'' said Athelstane.---``Abarley loaf and a pitcher of water---that _they_ gaveme, the niggardly traitors, whom my father, and Imyself, had enriched, when their best resources

were the flitches of bacon and measures of corn, outof which they wheedled poor serfs and bondsmen,in exchange for their prayers---the nest of foul ungratefulvipers---barley bread and ditch water to,such a patron as I had been! I will smoke themout of their nest, though I be excommunicated!''

``But, in the name of Our Lady, noble Athelstane,''said Cedric, grasping the hand of his friend,``how didst thou escape this imminent danger---did their hearts relent?''

``Did their hearts relent!'' echoed Athelstane.---``Do rocks melt with the sun? I should havebeen there still, had not some stir in the Convent,which I find was their procession hitherward to eatmy funeral feast, when they well knew how andwhere I had been buried alive, summoned theswarm out of their hive. I heard them droning outtheir death-psalms, little judging they were sungin respect for my soul by those who were thusfamishing my body. They went, however, and Iwaited long for food---no wonder---the gouty Sacristanwas even too busy with his own provenderto mind mine. At length down he came, with anunstable step and a strong flavour of wine andspices about his person. Good cheer had openedhis heart, for he left me a nook of pasty and a flaskof wine, instead of my former fare. I ate, drank,and was invigorated; when, to add to my goodluck, the Sacristan, too totty to discharge his dutyof turnkey fitly, locked the door beside the staple,so that it fell ajar. The light, the food, the wine,set my invention to work. The staple to which mychains were fixed, was more rusted than I or thevillain Abbot had supposed. Even iron could notremain without consuming in the damps of thatinfernal dungeon.''

``Take breath, noble Athelstane,' said Richard,``and partake of some refreshment, ere you proceedwith a tale so dreadful.''

``Partake!'' quoth Athelstane; ``I have beenpartaking five times to-day---and yet a morsel of

that savoury ham were not altogether foreign tothe matter; and I pray you, fair sir, to do me reasonin a cup of wine.''

The guests, though still agape with astonishment,pledged their resuscitated landlord, who thusproceeded in his story:---He had indeed now manymore auditors than those to whom it was commenced,for Edith, having given certain necessaryorders for arranging matters within the Castle, hadfollowed the dead-alive up to the stranger's apartmentattended by as many of the guests, male andfemale, as could squeeze into the small room, whileothers, crowding the staircase, caught up an erroneousedition of the story, and transmitted it stillmore inaccurately to those beneath, who again sentit forth to the vulgar without, in a fashion totallyirreconcilable to the real fact. Athelstane, however,went on as follows, with the history of hisescape:---

``Finding myself freed from the staple, I draggedmyself up stairs as well as a man loaded withshackles, and emaciated with fasting, might; andafter much groping about, I was at length directed,by the sound of a jolly roundelay, to the apartmentwhere the worthy Sacristan, an it so pleaseye, was holding a devil's mass with a huge beetle-browed,broad-shouldered brother of the grey-frockand cowl, who looked much more like a thief thana clergyman. I burst in upon them, and the fashionof my grave-clothes, as well as the clanking of mychains, made me more resemble an inhabitant ofthe other world than of this. Both stood aghast;but when I knocked down the Sacristan with myfist, the other fellow, his pot-companion, fetched ablow at me with a huge quarter-staff.''

``This must be our Friar Tuck, for a count's ransom,''said Richard, looking at Ivanhoe.

``He may be the devil, an he will,'' said Athelstane.``Fortunately be missed the aim; and onmy approaching to grapple with him, took to hisheels and ran for it. I failed not to set my own

heels at liberty by means of the fetter-key, whichhung amongst others at the sexton's belt; and Ihad thoughts of beating out the knaves brains withthe bunch of keys, but gratitude for the nook ofpasty and the flask of wine which the rascal hadimparted to my captivity, came over my heart; so,with a brace of hearty kicks, I left him on the floor,pouched some baked meat, and a leathern bottle ofwine, with which the two venerable brethren hadbeen regaling, went to the stable, and found in aprivate stall mine own best palfrey, which, doubtless,had been set apart for the holy Father Abbot'sparticular use. Hither I came with all the speedthe beast could compass---man and mother's sonflying before me wherever I came, taking me for aspectre, the more especially as, to prevent my beingrecognised, I drew the corpse-hood over my face.I had not gained admittance into my own castle, hadI not been supposed to be the attendant of a jugglerwho is making the people in the castle-yardvery merry, considering they are assembled to celebratetheir lord's funeral---I say the sewer thoughtI was dressed to bear a part in the tregetour's mummery,and so I got admission, and did but disclosemyself to my mother, and eat a hasty morsel, ere Icame in quest of you, my noble friend.''

``And you have found me,'' said Cedric, ``readyto resume our brave projects of honour and liberty.I tell thee, never will dawn a morrow so auspiciousas the next, for the deliverance of the noble Saxonrace.''

``Talk not to me of delivering any one,'' saidAthelstane; ``it is well I am delivered myself. Iam more intent on punishing that villain Abbot.He shall hang on the top of this Castle of Coningsburgh,in his cope and stole; and if the stairsbe too strait to admit his fat carcass, I will havehim craned up from without.''

``But, my son,'' said Edith, ``consider his sacredoffice.''

``Consider my three days' fast,'' replied Athelstane;

``I will have their blood every one of them.Front-de-B<oe>uf was burnt alive for a less matter,for he kept a good table for his prisoners, only puttoo much garlic in his last dish of pottage. Butthese hypocritical, ungrateful slaves, so often theself-invited flatterers at my board, who gave meneither pottage nor garlic, more or less, they die,by the soul of Hengist!''

``But the Pope, my noble friend,''---said Cedric---

``But the devil, my noble friend,''---answeredAthelstane; ``they die, and no more of them.Were they the best monks upon earth, the worldwould go on without them.''

``For shame, noble Athelstane,'' said Cedric;``forget such wretches in the career of glory whichlies open before thee. Tell this Norman prince,Richard of Anjou, that, lion-hearted as he is, heshall not hold undisputed the throne of Alfred,while a male descendant of the Holy Confessorlives to dispute it.''

``How!'' said Athelstane, ``is this the nobleKing Richard?''

``It is Richard Plantagenet himself,'' said Cedric;``yet I need not remind thee that, coming hither aguest of free-will, he may neither be injured nordetained prisoner---thou well knowest thy duty tohim as his host.''

``Ay, by my faith!'' said Athelstane; ``and myduty as a subject besides, for I here tender him myallegiance, heart and hand.''

``My son,'' said Edith, ``think on thy royalrights!''

``Think on the freedom of England, degeneratePrince!'' said Cedric.

``Mother and friend,'' said Athelstane, ``a truceto your upbraidings---bread and water and a dungeon

are marvellous mortifiers of ambition, and Irise from the tomb a wiser man than I descendedinto it. One half of those vain follies were puffedinto mine ear by that perfidious Abbot Wolfram,and you may now judge if he is a counsellor to betrusted. Since these plots were set in agitation, Ihave had nothing but hurried journeys, indigestions,blows and bruises, imprisonments and starvation;besides that they can only end in the murderof some thousands of quiet folk. I tell you, Iwill be king in my own domains, and nowhere else;and my first act of dominion shall be to hang theAbbot.''

``And my ward Rowena,'' said Cedric---``I trustyou intend not to desert her?''

``Father Cedric,'' said Athelstane, ``be reasonable.The Lady Rowena cares not for me---sheloves the little finger of my kinsman Wilfred's glovebetter than my whole person. There she standsto avouch it---Nay, blush not, kinswoman, there isno shame in loving a courtly knight better than acountry franklin---and do not laugh neither, Rowena,for grave-clothes and a thin visage are, Godknows, no matter of merriment---Nay, an thou wiltneeds laugh, I will find thee a better jest---Give methy hand, or rather lend it me, for I but ask it inthe way of friendship.---Here, cousin Wilfred ofIvanhoe, in thy favour I renounce and abjure------Hey! by Saint Dunstan, our cousin Wilfred hathvanished!---Yet, unless my eyes are still dazzledwith the fasting I have undergone, I saw him standthere but even now.''

All now looked around and enquired for Ivanhoe,but he had vanished. It was at length discoveredthat a Jew had been to seek him; and that,after very brief conference, he had called for Gurthand his armour, and had left the castle.

``Fair cousin,'' said Athelstane to Rowena,``could I think that this sudden disappearance ofIvanhoe was occasioned by other than the weightiestreason, I would myself resume---''

But he had no sooner let go her hand, on firstobserving that Ivanhoe had disappeared, than Rowena,who had found her situation extremely embarrassing,had taken the first opportunity to escapefrom the apartment.

``Certainly,'' quoth Athelstane, ``women are theleast to be trusted of all animals, monks and abbotsexcepted. I am an infidel, if I expected not thanksfrom her, and perhaps a kiss to boot---These cursedgrave-clothes have surely a spell on them, everyone flies from me.---To you I turn, noble KingRichard, with the vows of allegiance, which, as aliege-subject---''

But King Richard was gone also, and no oneknew whither. At length it was learned that behad hastened to the court-yard, summoned to hispresence the Jew who had spoken with Ivanhoe,and after a moment's speech with him, had calledvehemently to horse, thrown himself upon a steed,compelled the Jew to mount another, and set offat a rate, which, according to Wamba, rendered theold Jew's neck not worth a penny's purchase.

``By my halidome!'' said Athelstane, ``it is certainthat Zernebock hath possessed himself of mycastle in my absence. I return in my grave-clothes,a pledge restored from the very sepulchre, andevery one I speak to vanishes as soon as they hearmy voice!---But it skills not talking of it. Come,my friends---such of you as are left, follow me tothe banquet-hall, lest any more of us disappear---it is, I trust, as yet tolerably furnished, as becomesthe obsequies of an ancient Saxon noble; and shouldwe tarry any longer, who knows but the devil mayfly off with the supper?''

CHAPTER XLIII

Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom,That they may break his foaming courser's back,And throw the rider headlong in the lists,A caitiff recreant! _Richard II_.

Our scene now returns to the exterior of theCastle, or Preceptory, of Templestowe, about thehour when the bloody die was to be cast for thelife or death of Rebecca. It was a scene of bustleand life, as if the whole vicinity had poured forthits inhabitants to a village wake, or rural feast.But the earnest desire to look on blood and death,is not peculiar to those dark ages; though in thegladiatorial exercise of single combat and generaltourney, they were habituated to the bloody spectacleof brave men failing by each other's hands.Even in our own days, when morals are better understood,an execution, a bruising match, a riot, ora meeting of radical reformers, collects, at considerablehazard to themselves, immense crowds ofspectators, otherwise little interested, except to seehow matters are to be conducted, or whether theheroes of the day are, in the heroic language of insurgenttailors, flints or dunghills.

The eyes, therefore, of a very considerable multitude,were bent on the gate of the Preceptory ofTemplestowe, with the purpose of witnessing theprocession; while still greater numbers had alreadysurrounded the tiltyard belonging to that establishment.This enclosure was formed on a pieceof level ground adjoining to the Preceptory, whichhad been levelled with care, for the exercise of militaryand chivalrous sports. It occupied the browof a soft and gentle eminence, was carefully palisadedaround, and, as the Templars willingly invitedspectators to be witnesses of their skill in feats ofchivalry, was amply supplied with galleries andbenches for their use.

On the present occasion, a throne was erectedfor the Grand Master at the east end, surroundedwith seats of distinction for the Preceptors andKnights of the Order. Over these floated the sacred

standard, called _Le Beau-seant_, which was theensign, as its name was the battle-cry, of the Templars.

At the opposite end of the lists was a pile offaggots, so arranged around a stake, deeply fixed inthe ground, as to leave a space for the victim whomthey were destined to consume, to enter within thefatal circle, in order to be chained to the stake bythe fetters which hung ready for that purpose. Besidethis deadly apparatus stood four black slaves,whose colour and African features, then so littleknown in England, appalled the multitude, whogazed on them as on demons employed about theirown diabolical exercises. These men stirred not,excepting now and then, under the direction of onewho seemed their chief, to shift and replace theready fuel. They looked not on the multitude. Infact, they seemed insensible of their presence, andof every thing save the discharge of their own horribleduty. And when, in speech with each other,they expanded their blubber lips, and showed theirwhite fangs, as if they grinned at the thoughts ofthe expected tragedy, the startled commons couldscarcely help believing that they were actually thefamiliar spirits with whom the witch had communed,and who, her time being out, stood ready toassist in her dreadful punishment. They whisperedto each other, and communicated all the featswhich Satan had performed during that busy andunhappy period, not failing, of course, to give thedevil rather more than his due.

``Have you not heard, Father Dennet,'' quothone boor to another advanced in years, ``that thedevil has carried away bodily the great SaxonThane, Athelstane of Coningsburgh?''

``Ay, but he brought him back though, by theblessing of God and Saint Dunstan.''

``How's that?'' said a brisk young fellow, dressedin a green cassock embroidered with gold, andhaving at his heels a stout lad bearing a harp uponhis back, which betrayed his vocation. The Minstrelseemed of no vulgar rank; for, besides the

splendour of his gaily braidered doublet, he worearound his neck a silver chain, by which hung the_wrest_, or key, with which he tuned his harp. Onhis right arm was a silver plate, which, instead ofbearing, as usual, the cognizance or badge of thebaron to whose family he belonged, had barely theword =Sherwood= engraved upon it.---``How meanyou by that?'' said the gay Minstrel, mingling inthe conversation of the peasants; ``I came to seekone subject for my rhyme, and, by'r Lady, I wereglad to find two.''

``It is well avouched,'' said the elder peasant,``that after Athelstane of Coningsburgh had beendead four weeks---''

``That is impossible,'' said the Minstrel; ``I sawhim in life at the Passage of Arms at Ashby-de-la-Zouche.''

``Dead, however, he was, or else translated,''said the younger peasant; ``for I heard the Monksof Saint Edmund's singing the death's hymn forhim; and, moreover, there was a rich death-mealand dole at the Castle of Coningsburgh, as rightwas; and thither had I gone, but for Mabel Parkins,who---''

``Ay, dead was Athelstane,'' said the old man,shaking his head, ``and the more pity it was, forthe old Saxon blood---''

``But, your story, my masters---your story,'' saidthe Minstrel, somewhat impatiently.

``Ay, ay---construe us the story,'' said a burlyFriar, who stood beside them, leaning on a polethat exhibited an appearance between a pilgrim'sstaff and a quarter-staff, and probably acted as eitherwhen occasion served,---``Your story,'' saidthe stalwart churchman; ``burn not daylight aboutit---we have short time to spare.''

``An please your reverence,'' said Dennet, ``adrunken priest came to visit the Sacristan at SaintEdmund's------''

``It does not please my reverence,'' answeredthe churchman, ``that there should be such an animalas a drunken priest, or, if there were, that alayman should so speak him. Be mannerly, myfriend, and conclude the holy man only wrapt inmeditation, which makes the head dizzy and footunsteady, as if the stomach were filled with newwine---I have felt it myself.''

``Well, then,'' answered Father Dennet, ``aholy brother came to visit the Sacristan at SaintEdmund's---a sort of hedge-priest is the visitor,and kills half the deer that are stolen in the forest,who loves the tinkling of a pint-pot better than thesacring-bell, and deems a flitch of bacon worth tenof his breviary; for the rest, a good fellow and amerry, who will flourish a quarter-staff, draw abow, and dance a Cheshire round, with e'er a manin Yorkshire.''

``That last part of thy speech, Dennet,'' said theMinstrel, ``has saved thee a rib or twain.''

``Tush, man, I fear him not,'' said Dennet; ``Iam somewhat old and stiff, but when I fought forthe bell and ram at Doncaster---''

``"But the story---the story, my friend,'' againsaid the Minstrel.

``Why, the tale is but this---Athelstane of Coningsburghwas buried at Saint Edmund's.''

``That's a lie, and a loud one,'' said the Friar,``for I saw him borne to his own Castle of Coningsburgh.''

``Nay, then, e'en tell the story yourself, my masters,''said Dennet, turning sulky at these repeatedcontradictions; and it was with some difficulty thatthe boor could be prevailed on, by the request ofhis comrade and the Minstrel, to renew his tale.---``These two _sober_ friars,'' said he at length, ``sincethis reverend man will needs have them such, hadcontinued drinking good ale, and wine, and what

not, for the best part for a summer's day, when theywere aroused by a deep groan, and a clanking ofchains, and the figure of the deceased Athelstaneentered the apartment, saying, `Ye evil shep-herds!---' ''

``It is false,'' said the Friar, hastily, ``he neverspoke a word.''

``So ho! Friar Tuck,'' said the Minstrel, drawinghim apart from the rustics; ``we have starteda new hare, I find.''

``I tell thee, Allan-a-Dale,'' said the Hermit,``I saw Athelstane of Coningsburgh as much asbodily eyes ever saw a living man. He had hisshroud on, and all about him smelt of the sepulchre---A butt of sack will not wash it out of mymemory.''

``Pshaw!'' answered the Minstrel; ``thou dostbut jest with me!''

``Never believe me,'' said the Friar, ``an I fetchednot a knock at him with my quarter-staff thatwould have felled an ox, and it glided through hisbody as it might through a pillar of smoke!''

``By Saint Hubert,'' said the Minstrel, ``but itis a wondrous tale, and fit to be put in metre to theancient tune, `Sorrow came to the old Friar.' ''

``Laugh, if ye list,'' said Friar Tuck; ``but anye catch me singing on such a theme, may the nextghost or devil carry me off with him headlong! No,no---I instantly formed the purpose of assisting atsome good work, such as the burning of a witch, ajudicial combat, or the like matter of godly service,and therefore am I here.''

As they thus conversed, the heavy bell of thechurch of Saint Michael of Templestowe, a venerablebuilding, situated in a hamlet at some distancefrom the Preceptory, broke short their argument.One by one the sullen sounds fell successively onthe ear, leaving but sufficient space for each to die

away in distant echo, ere the air was again filledby repetition of the iron knell. These sounds, thesignal of the approaching ceremony, chilled withawe the hearts of the assembled multitude, whoseeyes were now turned to the Preceptory, expectingthe approach of the Grand Master, the champion,and the criminal.

At length the drawbridge fell, the gates opened,and a knight, bearing the great standard of theOrder, sallied from the castle, preceded by sixtrumpets, and followed by the Knights Preceptors,two and two, the Grand Master coming last, mountedon a stately horse, whose furniture was of thesimplest kind. Behind him came Brian de Bois-Guilbert,armed cap-a-pie in bright armour, butwithout his lance, shield, and sword, which wereborne by his two esquires behind him. His face,though partly hidden by a long plume which floateddown from his barrel-cap, bore a strong andmingled expression of passion, in which pride seemedto contend with irresolution. He looked ghastlypale, as if he had not slept for several nights, yetreined his pawing war-horse with the habitual easeand grace proper to the best lance of the Order ofthe Temple. His general appearance was grandand commanding; but, looking at him with attention,men read that in his dark features, from whichthey willingly withdrew their eyes.

On either side rode Conrade of Mont-Fitchet,and Albert de Malvoisin, who acted as godfathersto the champion. They were in their robes of peace,the white dress of the Order. Behind them followedother Companions of the Temple, with a longtrain of esquires and pages clad in black, aspirantsto the honour of being one day Knights of the Order.After these neophytes came a guard of warderson foot, in the same sable livery, amidst whosepartisans might be seen the pale form of the accused,moving with a slow but undismayed step towardsthe scene of her fate. She was stript of all her ornaments,lest perchance there should be among themsome of those amulets which Satan was supposedto bestow upon his victims, to deprive them of the

power of confession even when under the torture.A coarse white dress, of the simplest form, had beensubstituted for her Oriental garments; yet therewas such an exquisite mixture of courage and resignationin her look, that even in this garb, and withno other ornament than her long black tresses, eacheye wept that looked upon her, and the most hardenedbigot regretted the fate that had converted acreature so goodly into a vessel of wrath, and awaged slave of the devil.

A crowd of inferior personages belonging to thePreceptory followed the victim, all moving withthe utmost order, with arms folded, and looks bentupon the ground.

This slow procession moved up the gentle eminence,on the summit of which was the tiltyard,and, entering the lists, marched once around themfrom right to left, and when they had completedthe circle, made a halt. There was then a momentarybustle, while the Grand Master and all his attendants,excepting the champion and his godfathers,dismounted from their horses, which wereimmediately removed out of the lists by the esquires,who were in attendance for that purpose.

The unfortunate Rebecca was conducted to theblack chair placed near the pile. On her first glanceat the terrible spot where preparations were makingfor a death alike dismaying to the mind and painfulto the body, she was observed to shudder andshut her eyes, praying internally doubtless, for herlips moved though no speech was heard. In thespace of a minute she opened her eyes, looked fixedlyon the pile as if to familiarize her mind withthe object, and then slowly and naturally turnedaway her head.

Meanwhile, the Grand Master had assumed hisseat; and when the chivalry of his order was placedaround and behind him, each in his due rank, a loudand long flourish of the trumpets announced thatthe Court were seated for judgment. Malvoisin,then, acting as godfather of the champion, stepped

forward, and laid the glove of the Jewess, whichwas the pledge of battle, at the feet of the GrandMaster.

``Valorous Lord, and reverend Father,'' said he,here standeth the good Knight, Brian de Bois-Guilbert,Knight Preceptor of the Order of theTemple, who, by accepting the pledge of battlewhich I now lay at your reverence's feet, hath becomebound to do his devoir in combat this day, tomaintain that this Jewish maiden, by name Rebecca,hath justly deserved the doom passed upon herin a Chapter of this most Holy Order of the Templeof Zion, condemning her to die as a sorceress;---here, I say, he standeth, such battle to do, knightlyand honourable, if such be your noble and sanctifiedpleasure.''

``Hath he made oath,'' said the Grand Master,``that his quarrel is just and honourable? Bringforward the Crucifix and the _Te igitur_.''

``Sir, and most reverend father,'' answered Malvoisin,readily, ``our brother here present hath alreadysworn to the truth of his accusation in thehand of the good Knight Conrade de Mont-Fitchet;and otherwise he ought not to be sworn, seeingthat his adversary is an unbeliever, and may takeno oath.''

This explanation was satisfactory, to Albert'sgreat joy; for the wily knight had foreseen thegreat difficulty, or rather impossibility, of prevailingupon Brian de Bois-Guilbert to take such anoath before the assembly, and had invented this excuseto escape the necessity of his doing so.

The Grand Master, having allowed the apologyof Albert Malvoisin, commanded the herald to standforth and do his devoir. The trumpets then againflourished, and a herald, stepping forward, proclaimedaloud,---``Oyez, oyez, oyez.---Here standeththe good Knight, Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert,ready to do battle with any knight of free blood,who will sustain the quarrel allowed and allotted to

the Jewess Rebecca, to try by champion, in respectof lawful essoine of her own body; and to suchchampion the reverend and valorous Grand Masterhere present allows a fair field, and equal partitionof sun and wind, and whatever else appertains to afair combat.'' The trumpets again sounded, andthere was a dead pause of many minutes.

``No champion appears for the appellant,'' saidthe Grand Master. ``Go, herald, and ask her whethershe expects any one to do battle for her inthis her cause.'' The herald went to the chair inwhich Rebecca was seated, and Bois-Guilbert suddenlyturning his horse's head toward that end ofthe lists, in spite of hints on either side from Malvoisinand Mont-Fitchet, was by the side of Rebecca'schair as soon as the herald.

``Is this regular, and according to the law ofcombat?'' said Malvoisin, looking to the GrandMaster.

``Albert de Malvoisin, it is,'' answered Beaumanoir;``for in this appeal to the judgment of God,we may not prohibit parties from having that communicationwith each other, which may best tend tobring forth the truth of the quarrel.''In the meantime, the herald spoke to Rebecca inthese terms:---``Damsel, the Honourable and Reverendthe Grand Master demands of thee, if thouart prepared with a champion to do battle this dayin thy behalf, or if thou dost yield thee as one justlycondemned to a deserved doom?''

``Say to the Grand Master,'' replied Rebecca,``that I maintain my innocence, and do not yieldme as justly condemned, lest I become guilty of mineown blood. Say to him, that I challenge such delayas his forms will permit, to see if God, whose opportunityis in man's extremity, will raise me up adeliverer; and when such uttermost space is passed,may His holy will be done!'' The herald retiredto carry this answer to the Grand Master.

``God forbid,'' said Lucas Beaumanoir, ``that

Jew or Pagan should impeach us of injustice!---Until the shadows be cast from the west to theeastward, will we wait to see if a champion shallappear for this unfortunate woman. When the dayis so far passed, let her prepare for death.''

The herald communicated the words of the GrandMaster to Rebecca, who bowed her head submissively,folded her arms, and, looking up towardsheaven, seemed to expect that aid from above whichshe could scarce promise herself from man. Duringthis awful pause, the voice of Bois-Guilbert brokeupon her ear---it was but a whisper, yet it startledher more than the summons of the herald had appearedto do.

``Rebecca,'' said the Templar, ``dost thou hearme?''

``I have no portion in thee, cruel, hard-heartedman,'' said the unfortunate maiden.

``Ay, but dost thou understand my words?''said the Templar; ``for the sound of my voice isfrightful in mine own ears. I scarce know on whatground we stand, or for what purpose they havebrought us hither.---This listed space---that chair---these faggots---I know their purpose, and yet itappears to me like something unreal---the fearfulpicture of a vision, which appals my sense withhideous fantasies, but convinces not my reason.''

``My mind and senses keep touch and time,''answered Rebecca, ``and tell me alike that thesefaggots are destined to consume my earthly body,and open a painful but a brief passage to a betterworld.''``Dreams, Rebecca,---dreams,'' answered theTemplar; ``idle visions, rejected by the wisdom ofyour own wiser Sadducees. Hear me, Rebecca,'' hesaid, proceeding with animation; ``a better chancehast thou for life and liberty than yonder knavesand dotard dream of. Mount thee behind me onmy steed---on Zamor, the gallant horse that neverfailed his rider. I won him in single fight from

the Soldan of Trebizond---mount, I say, behind me---in one short hour is pursuit and enquiry far behind---a new world of pleasure opens to thee---tome a new career of fame. Let them speak thedoom which I despise, and erase the name of Bois-Guilbertfrom their list of monastic slaves! I willwash out with blood whatever blot they may dareto cast on my scutcheon.''

``Tempter,'' said Rebecca, ``begone!---Not inthis last extremity canst thou move me one hair's-breadthfrom my resting place---surrounded as I amby foes, I hold thee as my worst and most deadlyenemy---avoid thee, in the name of God!''

Albert Malvoisin, alarmed and impatient at theduration of their conference, now advanced to interruptit.

``Hath the maiden acknowledged her guilt?''he demanded of Bois-Guilbert; ``or is she resolutein her denial?''

``She is indeed resolute,'' said Bois-Guilbert.

``Then,'' said Malvoisin, ``must thou, noblebrother, resume thy place to attend the issue---Theshades are changing on the circle of the dial---Come,brave Bois-Guilbert---come, thou hope of our holyOrder, and soon to be its head.''

As he spoke in this soothing tone, he laid hishand on the knight's bridle, as if to lead him backto his station.

``False villain! what meanest thou by thy handon my rein?'' said Sir Brian, angrily. And shakingoff his companion's grasp, he rode back to theupper end of the lists.

``There is yet spirit in him,'' said Malvoisin apartto Mont-Fitchet, ``were it well directed---but, likethe Greek fire, it burns whatever approaches it.''

The Judges had now been two hours in the lists,

awaiting in vain the appearance of a champion.

``And reason good,'' said Friar Tuck, ``seeingshe is a Jewess---and yet, by mine Order, it is hardthat so young and beautiful a creature should perishwithout one blow being struck in her behalf! Wereshe ten times a witch, provided she were but theleast bit of a Christian, my quarter-staff should ringnoon on the steel cap of yonder fierce Templar, erehe carried the matter off thus.''

It was, however, the general belief that no onecould or would appear for a Jewess, accused of sorcery;and the knights, instigated by Malvoisin,whispered to each other, that it was time to declarethe pledge of Rebecca forfeited. At this instant aknight, urging his horse to speed, appeared on theplain advancing towards the lists. A hundredvoices exclaimed, ``A champion! a champion!''And despite the prepossessions and prejudices ofthe multitude, they shouted unanimously as theknight rode into the tiltyard, The second glance,however, served to destroy the hope that his timelyarrival had excited. His horse, urged for manymiles to its utmost speed, appeared to reel from fatigue,and the rider, however undauntedly he presentedhimself in the lists, either from weakness,weariness, or both, seemed scarce able to supporthimself in the saddle.

To the summons of the herald, who demandedhis rank, his name, and purpose, the stranger knightanswered readily and boldly, ``I am a good knightand noble, come hither to sustain with lance andsword the just and lawful quarrel of this damsel,Rebecca, daughter of Isaac of York; to uphold thedoom pronounced against her to be false and truthless,and to defy Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as atraitor, murderer, and liar; as I will prove in thisfield with my body against his, by the aid of God,of Our Lady, and of Monseigneur Saint George,the good knight.''

``The stranger must first show,'' said Malvoisin,``that he is good knight, and of honourable lineage.

The Temple sendeth not forth her championsagainst nameless men.''

``My name,'' said the Knight, raising his helmet,``is better known, my lineage more pure, Malvoisin,than thine own. I am Wilfred of Ivanhoe.''

``I will not fight with thee at present,'' said theTemplar, in a changed and hollow voice. ``Get thywounds healed, purvey thee a better horse, and itmay be I will hold it worth my while to scourgeout of thee this boyish spirit of bravade.''

``Ha! proud Templar,'' said Ivanhoe, ``hastthou forgotten that twice didst thou fall before thislance? Remember the lists at Acre---remember thePassage of Arms at Ashby---remember thy proudvaunt in the halls of Rotherwood, and the gage ofyour gold chain against my reliquary, that thouwouldst do battle with Wilfred of Ivanhoe, and recoverthe honour thou hadst lost! By that reliquaryand the holy relic it contains, I will proclaim thee,Templar, a coward in every court in Europe---inevery Preceptory of thine Order--unless thou dobattle without farther delay.''

Bois-Guilbert turned his countenance irresolutelytowards Rebecca, and then exclaimed, lookingfiercely at Ivanhoe, ``Dog of a Saxon! take thylance, and prepare for the death thou hast drawnupon thee!''

``Does the Grand Master allow me the combat?''said Ivanhoe.

``I may not deny what thou hast challenged,''said the Grand Master, ``provided the maiden acceptsthee as her champion. Yet I would thou wertin better plight to do battle. An enemy of ourOrder hast thou ever been, yet would I have theehonourably met with.''

``Thus---thus as I am, and not otherwise,'' saidIvanhoe; ``it is the judgment of God---to his keepingI commend myself.---Rebecca,'' said he, riding

up to the fatal chair, ``dost thou accept of me forthy champion?''

``I do,'' she said---``I do,'' fluttered by an emotionwhich the fear of death had been unable toproduce, ``I do accept thee as the champion whomHeaven hath sent me. Yet, no---no---thy woundsare uncured---Meet not that proud man---whyshouldst thou perish also?''

But Ivanhoe was already at his post, and hadclosed his visor, and assumed his lance. Bois-Guilbertdid the same; and his esquire remarked, ashe clasped his visor, that his face, which had, notwithstandingthe variety of emotions by which hehad been agitated, continued during the wholemorning of an ashy paleness, was now become suddenlyvery much flushed.

The herald, then, seeing each champion in hisplace, uplifted his voice, repeating thrice---_Faitesvos devoirs, preux chevaliers!_ After the third cry,he withdrew to one side of the lists, and again proclaimed,that none, on peril of instant death, shoulddare, by word, cry, or action, to interfere with ordisturb this fair field of combat. The Grand Master,who held in his hand the gage of battle, Rebecca'sglove, now threw it into the lists, and pronouncedthe fatal signal words, _Laissez aller_.

The trumpets sounded, and the knights chargedeach other in full career. The wearied horse ofIvanhoe, and its no less exhausted rider, went down,as all had expected, before the well-aimed lance andvigorous steed of the Templar. This issue of thecombat all had foreseen; but although the spear ofIvanhoe did but, in comparison, touch the shield ofBois-Guilbert, that champion, to the astonishmentof all who beheld it reeled in his saddle, lost hisstirrups, and fell in the lists.

Ivanhoe, extricating himself from his fallen horse,was soon on foot, hastening to mend his fortunewith his sword; but his antagonist arose not. Wilfred,placing his foot on his breast, and the sword's

point to his throat, commanded him to yield him,or die on the spot. Bois-Guilbert returned noanswer.

``Slay him not, Sir Knight,'' cried the GrandMaster, ``unshriven and unabsolved---kill not bodyand soul! We allow him vanquished.''

He descended into the lists, and commanded themto unhelm the conquered champion. His eyes wereclosed---the dark red flush was still on his brow.As they looked on him in astonishment, the eyesopened---but they were fixed and glazed. The flushpassed from his brow, and gave way to the pallidhue of death. Unscathed by the lance of his enemy,he had died a victim to the violence of his owncontending passions.

``This is indeed the judgment of God,'' said theGrand Master, looking upwards---``_Fiat voluntas tua!_''

CHAPTER XLIV

So! now 'tis ended, like an old wife's story. _Webster_.

When the first moments of surprise were over,Wilfred of Ivanhoe demanded of the Grand Master,as judge of the field, if he had manfully andrightfully done his duty in the combat?``Manfully and rightfully hath it been done,'' saidthe Grand Master. ``I pronounce the maiden freeand guiltless---The arms and the body of the deceasedknight are at the will of the victor.''

``I will not despoil him of his weapons,'' said theKnight of Ivanhoe, ``nor condemn his corpse toshame---he hath fought for Christendom---God'sarm, no human hand, hath this day struck him down.But let his obsequies be private, as becomes thoseof a man who died in an unjust quarrel.---And for

the maiden---''

He was interrupted by a clattering of horses' feet,advancing in such numbers, and so rapidly, as toshake the ground before them; and the Black Knightgalloped into the lists. He was followed by a numerousband of men-at-arms, and several knightsin complete armour.

``I am too late,'' he said, looking around him. ``Ihad doomed Bois-Guilbert for mine own property.---Ivanhoe, was this well, to take on thee such aventure, and thou scarce able to keep thy saddle?''

``Heaven, my Liege,'' answered Ivanhoe, ``hathtaken this proud man for its victim. He was notto be honoured in dying as your will had designed.''

``Peace be with him,'' said Richard, looking steadfastlyon the corpse, ``if it may be so---he was agallant knight, and has died in his steel harness fullknightly. But we must waste no time---Bohun, dothine office!''

A Knight stepped forward from the King's attendants,and, laying his hand on the shoulder ofAlbert de Malvoisin, said, ``I arrest thee of HighTreason.''

The Grand Master had hitherto stood astonishedat the appearance of so many warriors.---He nowspoke.

``Who dares to arrest a Knight of the Templeof Zion, within the girth of his own Preceptory,and in the presence of the Grand Master? and bywhose authority is this bold outrage offered?''

``I make the arrest,'' replied the Knight---``I,Henry Bohun, Earl of Essex, Lord High Constableof England.''

``And he arrests Malvoisin,'' said the King, raisinghis visor, ``by the order of Richard Plantagenet,here present.---Conrade Mont-Fitchet, it is

well for thee thou art born no subject of mine.---But for thee, Malvoisin, thou diest with thy brotherPhilip, ere the world be a week older.''

``I will resist thy doom,'' said the Grand Master.

``Proud Templar,'' said the King, ``thou canstnot---look up, and behold the Royal Standard ofEngland floats over thy towers instead of thy Templebanner!---Be wise, Beaumanoir, and make nobootless opposition---Thy hand is in the lion'smouth.''

``I will appeal to Rome against thee,'' said theGrand Master, ``for usurpation on the immunitiesand privileges of our Order.''

``Be it so,'' said the King; ``but for thine ownsake tax me not with usurpation now. Dissolvethy Chapter, and depart with thy followers to thynext Preceptory, (if thou canst find one), which hasnot been made the scene of treasonable conspiracyagainst the King of England---Or, if thou wilt, remain,to share our hospitality, and behold our justice.''

``To be a guest in the house where I should command?''said the Templar; ``never!---Chaplains,raise the Psalm, _Quare fremuerunt Genies?_---Knights, squires, and followers of the Holy Temple,prepare to follow the banner of _Beau-seant!_''

The Grand Master spoke with a dignity whichconfronted even that of England's king himself, andinspired courage into his surprised and dismayedfollowers. They gathered around him like thesheep around the watch-dog, when they hear thebaying of the wolf. But they evinced not the timidityof the scared flock---there were dark brows ofdefiance, and looks which menaced the hostilitythey dared not to proffer in words. They drew togetherin a dark line of spears, from which thewhite cloaks of the knights were visible among thedusky garments of their retainers, like the lighter-colourededges of a sable cloud. The multitude,who had raised a clamorous shout of reprobation,

paused and gazed in silence on the formidable andexperienced body to which they had unwarily badedefiance, and shrunk back from their front.

The Earl of Essex, when he beheld them pausein their assembled force, dashed the rowels into hischarger's sides, and galloped backwards and forwardsto array his followers, in opposition to a bandso formidable. Richard alone, as if he loved thedanger his presence had provoked, rode slowly alongthe front of the Templars, calling aloud, ``What,sirs! Among so many gallant knights, will nonedare splinter a spear with Richard?---Sirs of theTemple! your ladies are but sun-burned, if theyare not worth the shiver of a broken lance?''

``The Brethren of the Temple,'' said the GrandMaster, riding forward in advance of their body,``fight not on such idle and profane quarrel---andnot with thee, Richard of England, shall a Templarcross lance in my presence. The Pope andPrinces of Europe shall judge our quarrel, andwhether a Christian prince has done well in buckleringthe cause which thou hast to-day adopted.If unassailed, we depart assailing no one. To thinehonour we refer the armour and household goodsof the Order which we leave behind us, and on thyconscience we lay the scandal and offence thou hastthis day given to Christendom.''

With these words, and without waiting a reply,the Grand Master gave the signal of departure.Their trumpets sounded a wild march, of an Orientalcharacter, which formed the usual signal for theTemplars to advance. They changed their arrayfrom a line to a column of march, and moved off asslowly as their horses could step, as if to show itwas only the will of their Grand Master, and nofear of the opposing and superior force, which compelledthem to withdraw.

``By the splendour of Our Lady's brow!'' saidKing Richard, ``it is pity of their lives that theseTemplars are not so trusty as they are disciplinedand valiant.''

The multitude, like a timid cur which waits tobark till the object of its challenge has turned hisback, raised a feeble shout as the rear of the squadronleft the ground.

During the tumult which attended the retreat ofthe Templars, Rebecca saw and heard nothing---shewas locked in the arms of her aged father, giddy,and almost senseless, with the rapid change of circumstancesaround her. But one word from Isaacat length recalled her scattered feelings.

``Let us go,'' he said, ``my dear daughter, myrecovered treasure---let us go to throw ourselves atthe feet of the good youth.''

``Not so,'' said Rebecca, ``O no---no---no---Imust not at this moment dare to speak to him---Alas! I should say more than---No, my father,let us instantly leave this evil place.''``But, my daughter,'' said Isaac, ``to leave himwho hath come forth like a strong man with hisspear and shield, holding his life as nothing, so hemight redeem thy captivity; and thou, too, thedaughter of a people strange unto him and his---this is service to be thankfully acknowledged.''

``It is---it is---most thankfully---most devoutlyacknowledged,'' said Rebecca---``it shall be still moreso---but not now---for the sake of thy beloved Rachel,father, grant my request---not now!''

``Nay, but,'' said Isaac, insisting, ``they will deemus more thankless than mere dogs!''

``But thou seest, my dear father, that KingRichard is in presence, and that------''

``True, my best---my wisest Rebecca!---Let ushence---let us hence!---Money he will lack, for hehas just returned from Palestine, and, as they say,from prison---and pretext for exacting it, should heneed any, may arise out of my simple traffic withhis brother John. Away, away, let us hence!''

And hurrying his daughter in his turn, he conductedher from the lists, and by means of conveyancewhich he had provided, transported her safelyto the house of the Rabbi Nathan.

The Jewess, whose fortunes had formed the principalinterest of the day, having now retired unobserved,the attention of the populace was transferredto the Black Knight. They now filled the airwith ``Long life to Richard with the Lion's Heart,and down with the usurping Templars!''

``Notwithstanding all this lip-loyalty,'' said Ivanhoeto the Earl of Essex, ``it was well the Kingtook the precaution to bring thee with him, nobleEarl, and so many of thy trusty followers.''

The Earl smiled and shook his head.

``Gallant Ivanhoe,'' said Essex, ``dost thou knowour Master so well, and yet suspect him of takingso wise a precaution! I was drawing towards Yorkhaving heard that Prince John was making headthere, when I met King Richard, like a true knight-errant,galloping hither to achieve in his own personthis adventure of the Templar and the Jewess,with his own single arm. I accompanied him withmy band, almost maugre his consent.''

``And what news from York, brave Earl?'' saidIvanhoe; ``will the rebels bide us there?''

``No more than December's snow will bideJuly's sun,'' said the Earl; ``they are dispersing;and who should come posting to bring us the news,but John himself!''

``The traitor! the ungrateful insolent traitor!''said Ivanhoe; ``did not Richard order him intoconfinement?''

``O! he received him,'' answered the Earl, ``as ifthey had met after a hunting party; and, pointingto me and our men-at-arms, said, `Thou seest, brother,

I have some angry men with me---thou wertbest go to our mother, carry her my duteous affection,and abide with her until men's minds are pacified.' ''

``And this was all he said?'' enquired Ivanhoe;``would not any one say that this Prince invitesmen to treason by his clemency?''

``Just,'' replied the Earl, ``as the man may besaid to invite death, who undertakes to fight a combat,having a dangerous wound unhealed.''

``I forgive thee the jest, Lord Earl,'' said Ivanhoe;``but, remember, I hazarded but my own life---Richard, the welfare of his kingdom.''

``Those,'' replied Essex, ``who are specially carelessof their own welfare, are seldom remarkablyattentive to that of others---But let us haste to thecastle, for Richard meditates punishing some of thesubordinate members of the conspiracy, though hehas pardoned their principal.''

From the judicial investigations which followedon this occasion, and which are given at length inthe Wardour Manuscript, it appears that Mauricede Bracy escaped beyond seas, and went into theservice of Philip of France; while Philip de Malvoisin,and his brother Albert, the Preceptor ofTemplestowe, were executed, although WaldemarFitzurse, the soul of the conspiracy, escaped withbanishment; and Prince John, for whose behoof itwas undertaken, was not even censured by his good-naturedbrother. No one, however, pitied the fateof the two Malvoisins, who only suffered the deathwhich they had both well deserved, by many acts offalsehood, cruelty, and oppression.

Briefly after the judicial combat, Cedric the Saxonwas summoned to the court of Richard, which,for the purpose of quieting the counties that hadbeen disturbed by the ambition of his brother, wasthen held at York. Cedric tushed and pshawedmore than once at the message---but he refusednot obedience. In fact, the return of Richard had

quenched every hope that he had entertained ofrestoring a Saxon dynasty in England; for, whateverhead the Saxons might have made in the eventof a civil war, it was plain that nothing could bedone under the undisputed dominion of Richard,popular as he was by his personal good qualitiesand military fame, although his administration waswilfully careless, now too indulgent, and now alliedto despotism.

But, moreover, it could not escape even Cedric'sreluctant observation, that his project for an absoluteunion among the Saxons, by the marriage ofRowena and Athelstane, was now completely at anend, by the mutual dissent of both parties concerned.This was, indeed, an event which, in his ardourfor the Saxon cause, he could not have anticipated,and even when the disinclination of both was broadlyand plainly manifested, he could scarce bringhimself to believe that two Saxons of royal descentshould scruple, on personal grounds, at an allianceso necessary for the public weal of the nation. Butit was not the less certain: Rowena had alwaysexpressed her repugnance to Athelstane, and nowAthelstane was no less plain and positive in proclaiminghis resolution never to pursue his addressesto the Lady Rowena. Even the natural obstinacyof Cedric sunk beneath these obstacles, wherehe, remaining on the point of junction, had thetask of dragging a reluctant pair up to it, one witheach hand. He made, however, a last vigorousattack on Athelstane, and he found that resuscitatedsprout of Saxon royalty engaged, like countrysquires of our own day, in a furious war with theclergy.

It seems that, after all his deadly menaces againstthe Abbot of Saint Edmund's, Athelstane's spiritof revenge, what between the natural indolent kindnessof his own disposition, what through the prayersof his mother Edith, attached, like most ladies,(of the period,) to the clerical order, had terminatedin his keeping the Abbot and his monks in thedungeons of Coningsburgh for three days on a meagrediet. For this atrocity the Abbot menaced him

with excommunication, and made out a dreadfullist of complaints in the bowels and stomach, sufferedby himself and his monks, in consequence ofthe tyrannical and unjust imprisonment they hadsustained. With this controversy, and with themeans he had adopted to counteract this clericalpersecution, Cedric found the mind of his friendAthelstane so fully occupied, that it had no roomfor another idea. And when Rowena's name wasmentioned the noble Athelstane prayed leave toquaff a full goblet to her health, and that she mightsoon be the bride of his kinsman Wilfred. It wasa desperate case therefore. There was obviouslyno more to be made of Athelstane; or, as Wambaexpressed it, in a phrase which has descended fromSaxon times to ours, he was a cock that would notfight.

There remained betwixt Cedric and the determinationwhich the lovers desired to come to, onlytwo obstacles---his own obstinacy, and his dislikeof the Norman dynasty. The former feeling graduallygave way before the endearments of hisward, and the pride which he could not help nourishingin the fame of his son. Besides, he was notinsensible to the honour of allying his own line tothat of Alfred, when the superior claims of the descendantof Edward the Confessor were abandonedfor ever. Cedric's aversion to the Norman race ofkings was also much undermined,---first, by considerationof the impossibility of ridding England ofthe new dynasty, a feeling which goes far to createloyalty in the subject to the king _de facto_; and, secondly,by the personal attention of King Richard,who delighted in the blunt humour of Cedric, and,to use the language of the Wardour Manuscript,so dealt with the noble Saxon, that, ere he had beena guest at court for seven days, he had given hisconsent to the marriage of his ward Rowena andhis son Wilfred of Ivanhoe.

The nuptials of our hero, thus formally approvedby his father, were celebrated in the most augustof temples, the noble Minster of York. The Kinghimself attended, and from the countenance which

he afforded on this and other occasions to the distressedand hitherto degraded Saxons, gave thema safer and more certain prospect of attaining theirjust rights, than they could reasonably hope fromthe precarious chance of a civil war. The Churchgave her full solemnities, graced with all the splendourwhich she of Rome knows how to apply withsuch brilliant effect.

Gurth, gallantly apparelled, attended as esquireupon his young master whom he had served sofaithfully, and the magnanimous Wamba, decoratedwith a new cap and a most gorgeous set of silverbells. Sharers of Wilfred's dangers and adversity,they remained, as they had a right to expect,the partakers of his more prosperous career.

But besides this domestic retinue, these distinguishednuptials were celebrated by the attendanceof the high-born Normans, as well as Saxons, joinedwith the universal jubilee of the lower orders,that marked the marriage of two individuals as apledge of the future peace and harmony betwixttwo races, which, since that period, have been socompletely mingled, that the distinction has becomewholly invisible. Cedric lived to see this unionapproximate towards its completion; for as the twonations mixed in society and formed intermarriageswith each other, the Normans abated their scorn,and the Saxons were refined from their rusticity.But it was not until the reign of Edward the Thirdthat the mixed language, now termed English, wasspoken at the court of London, and that the hostiledistinction of Norman and Saxon seems entirelyto have disappeared.

It was upon the second morning after this happybridal, that the Lady Rowena was made acquaintedby her handmaid Elgitha, that a damsel desiredadmission to her presence, and solicited that theirparley might be without witness. Rowena wondered,hesitated, became curious, and ended by commandingthe damsel to be admitted, and her attendantsto withdraw.

She entered---a noble and commanding figure, thelong white veil, in which she was shrouded, overshadowingrather than concealing the elegance andmajesty of her shape. Her demeanour was that ofrespect, unmingled by the least shade either of fear,or of a wish to propitiate favour. Rowena wasever ready to acknowledge the claims, and attendto the feelings, of others. She arose, and wouldhave conducted her lovely visitor to a seat; but thestranger looked at Elgitha, and again intimated awish to discourse with the Lady Rowena alone.Elgitha had no sooner retired with unwilling steps,than, to the surprise of the Lady of Ivanhoe, herfair visitant kneeled on one knee, pressed her handsto her forehead, and bending her head to the ground,in spite of Rowena's resistance, kissed the embroideredhem of her tunic.

``What means this, lady?'' said the surprisedbride; ``or why do you offer to me a deference sounusual?''

``Because to you, Lady of Ivanhoe,'' said Rebecca,rising up and resuming the usual quiet dignityof her manner, ``I may lawfully, and withoutrebuke, pay the debt of gratitude which I owe toWilfred of Ivanhoe. I am---forgive the boldnesswhich has offered to you the homage of my country---I am the unhappy Jewess, for whom your husbandhazarded his life against such fearful odds inthe tiltyard of Templestowe.''

``Damsel,'' said Rowena, ``Wilfred of Ivanhoeon that day rendered back but in slight measureyour unceasing charity towards him in his woundsand misfortunes. Speak, is there aught remains inwhich he or I can serve thee?''

``Nothing,'' said Rebecca, calmly, ``unless youwill transmit to him my grateful farewell.''

``You leave England then?'' said Rowena, scarcerecovering the surprise of this extraordinary visit.

``I leave it, lady, ere this moon again changes.

My father had a brother high in favour with MohammedBoabdil, King of Grenada---thither we go,secure of peace and protection, for the payment ofsuch ransom as the Moslem exact from our people.''

``And are you not then as well protected inEngland?'' said Rowena. ``My husband has favourwith the King---the King himself is just andgenerous.''

``Lady,'' said Rebecca, ``I doubt it not---but thepeople of England are a fierce race, quarrellingever with their neighbours or among themselves,and ready to plunge the sword into the bowels ofeach other. Such is no safe abode for the childrenof my people. Ephraim is an heartless dove---Issacharan over-laboured drudge, which stoops betweentwo burdens. Not in a land of war and blood,surrounded by hostile neighbours, and distractedby internal factions, can Israel hope to rest duringher wanderings.''

``But you, maiden,'' said Rowena---``you surelycan have nothing to fear. She who nursed the sick-bedof Ivanhoe,'' she continued, rising with enthusiasm---``she can have nothing to fear in England,where Saxon and Norman will contend who shallmost do her honour.''

``Thy speech is fair, lady,'' said Rebecca, ``andthy purpose fairer; but it may not be---there is agulf betwixt us. Our breeding, our faith, alikeforbid either to pass over it. Farewell---yet, ere Igo indulge me one request. The bridal-veil hangsover thy face; deign to raise it, and let me see thefeatures of which fame speaks so highly.''

``They are scarce worthy of being looked upon,''said Rowena; ``but, expecting the same from myvisitant, I remove the veil.''

She took it off accordingly; and, partly from theconsciousness of beauty, partly from bashfulness,she blushed so intensely, that cheek, brow, neck,and bosom, were suffused with crimson. Rebecca

blushed also, but it was a momentary feeling; and,mastered by higher emotions, past slowly from herfeatures like the crimson cloud, which changes colourwhen the sun sinks beneath the horizon.

``Lady,'' she said, ``the countenance you havedeigned to show me will long dwell in my remembrance.There reigns in it gentleness and goodness;and if a tinge of the world's pride or vanitiesmay mix with an expression so lovely, howshould we chide that which is of earth for bearingsome colour of its original? Long, long will I rememberyour features, and bless God that I leavemy noble deliverer united with---''

She stopped short---her eyes filled with tears.She hastily wiped them, and answered to the anxiousenquiries of Rowena---``I am well, lady---well. But my heart swells when I think of Torquilstoneand the lists of Templestowe.---Farewell.One, the most trifling part of my duty, remains undischarged.Accept this casket---startle not at itscontents.''

Rowena opened the small silver-chased casket,and perceived a carcanet, or neck lace, with ear-jewels,of diamonds, which were obviously of immensevalue.

``It is impossible,'' she said, tendering back thecasket. ``I dare not accept a gift of such consequence.''

``Yet keep it, lady,'' returned Rebecca.---``Youhave power, rank, command, influence; we havewealth, the source both of our strength and weakness;the value of these toys, ten times multiplied,would not influence half so much as your slightestwish. To you, therefore, the gift is of little value,---and to me, what I part with is of much less. Letme not think you deem so wretchedly ill of mynation as your commons believe. Think ye that Iprize these sparkling fragments of stone above myliberty? or that my father values them in comparisonto the honour of his only child? Accept them,lady---to me they are valueless. I will never wear

jewels more.''

``You are then unhappy!'' said Rowena, struckwith the manner in which Rebecca uttered the lastwords. ``O, remain with us---the counsel of holymen will wean you from your erring law, and I willbe a sister to you.''``No, lady,'' answered Rebecca, the same calmmelancholy reigning in her soft voice and beautifulfeatures---``that---may not be. I may not change thefaith of my fathers like a garment unsuited to theclimate in which I seek to dwell, and unhappy, lady,I will not be. He, to whom I dedicate my futurelife, will be my comforter, if I do His will.''

``Have you then convents, to one of which youmean to retire?'' asked Rowena.

``No, lady,'' said the Jewess; ``but among ourpeople, since the time of Abraham downwards, havebeen women who have devoted their thoughts toHeaven, and their actions to works of kindness tomen, tending the sick, feeding the hungry, and relievingthe distressed. Among these will Rebeccabe numbered. Say this to thy lord, should he chanceto enquire after the fate of her whose life he saved.''

There was an involuntary tremour on Rebecca'svoice, and a tenderness of accent, which perhapsbetrayed more than she would willingly have expressed.She hastened to bid Rowena adieu.

``Farewell,'' she said. ``May He, who madeboth Jew and Christian, shower down on you hischoicest blessings! The bark that waits us hencewill be under weigh ere we can reach the port.''

She glided from the apartment, leaving Rowenasurprised as if a vision had passed before her. Thefair Saxon related the singular conference to herhusband, on whose mind it made a deep impression.He lived long and happily with Rowena, for theywere attached to each other by the bonds of earlyaffection, and they loved each other the more, fromthe recollection of the obstacles which had impeded

their union. Yet it would be enquiring too curiouslyto ask, whether the recollection of Rebecca'sbeauty and magnanimity did not recur to his mindmore frequently than the fair descendant of Alfredmight altogether have approved.

Ivanhoe distinguished himself in the service ofRichard, and was graced with farther marks of theroyal favour. He might have risen still higher,but for the premature death of the heroic C<oe>ur-de-Lion,before the Castle of Chaluz, near Limoges.With the life of a generous, but rash and romanticmonarch, perished all the projects which his ambitionand his generosity had formed; to whom maybe applied, with a slight alteration, the lines composedby Johnson for Charles of Sweden---

His fate was destined to a foreign strand,A petty fortress and an ``humble'' hand;He left the name at which the world grew pale,To point a moral, or adorn a =tale=.

NOTE TO CHAPTER I.

Note A.---The Ranger or the Forest, that cuts theforeclaws off our dogs.

A most sensible grievance of those aggrieved times were theForest Laws. These oppressive enactments were the produce ofthe Norman Conquest, for the Saxon laws of the chase weremild and humane; while those of William, enthusiastically attachedto the exercise and its rights, were to the last degreetyrannical. The formation of the New Forest, bears evidenceto his passion for hunting, where he reduced many a happy villageto the condition of that one commemorated by my friend,Mr William Stewart Rose:

``Amongst the ruins of the churchThe midnight raven found a perch, A melancholy place;The ruthless Conqueror cast down,Woe worth the deed, that little town, To lengthen out his chase.''

The disabling dogs, which might be necessary for keepingflocks and herds, from running at the deer, was called _lawing_,and was in general use. The Charter of the Forest designed tolessen those evils, declares that inquisition, or view, for lawingdogs, shall be made every third year, and shall be then done bythe view and testimony of lawful men, not otherwise; and theywhose dogs shall be then found unlawed, shall give three shillingsfor mercy, and for the future no man's ox shall be takenfor lawing. Such lawing also shall be done by the assize commonlyused, and which is, that three claws shall be cut off withoutthe ball of the right foot. See on this subject the HistoricalEssay on the Magna Charta of King John, (a most beautifulvolume), by Richard Thomson.

NOTE TO CHAPTER II.

Note B.---Negro Slaves.

The severe accuracy of some critics has objected to the complexionof the slaves of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as being totallyout of costume and propriety. I remember the same objectionbeing made to a set of sable functionaries, whom my friend, MatLewis, introduced as the guards and mischief-doing satellites ofthe wicked Baron, in his Castle Spectre. Mat treated the objectionwith great contempt, and averred in reply, that he madethe slaves black in order to obtain a striking effect of contrast,and that, could he have derived a similar advantage from makinghis heroine blue, blue she should have been.

I do not pretend to plead the immunities of my order so highlyas this; but neither will I allow that the author of a modernantique romance is obliged to confine himself to the introductionof those manners only which can be proved to have absolutely existedin the times he is depicting, so that he restrain himself tosuch as are plausible and natural, and contain no obvious anachronism.In this point of view, what can be more natural, thanthat the Templars, who, we know, copied closely the luxuries ofthe Asiatic warriors with whom they fought, should use theservice of the enslaved Africans, whom the fate of war transferredto new masters? I am sure, if there are no precise proofsof their having done so, there is nothing, on the other hand,that can entitle us positively to conclude that they never did.Besides, there is an instance in romance.

John of Rampayne, an excellent juggler and minstrel, undertookto effect the escape of one Audulf de Bracy, by presentinghimself in disguise at the court of the king, where he was confined.For this purpose, ``he stained his hair and his wholebody entirely as black as jet, so that nothing was white but histeeth,'' and succeeded in imposing himself on the king, as anEthiopian minstrel. He effected, by stratagem, the escape ofthe prisoner. Negroes, therefore, must have been known inEngland in the dark ages.*

* Dissertation on Romance and Minstrelsy, prefixed to Ritson's Ancient* Metrical Romances, p. clxxxvii.

NOTE TO CHAPTER XVII.

Note, C.---Minstrelsy.

The realm of France, it is well known, was divided betwixtthe Norman and Teutonic race, who spoke the language inwhich the word Yes is pronounced as _oui_, and the inhabitantsof the southern regions, whose speech bearing some affinity tothe Italian, pronounced the same word _oc_. The poets of the formerrace were called _Minstrels_, and their poems _Lays_: those ofthe latter were termed _Troubadours_, and their compositionscalled _sirventes_, and other names. Richard, a professed admirerof the joyous science in all its branches, could imitate eitherthe minstrel or troubadour. It is less likely that he should havebeen able to compose or sing an English ballad; yet so much dowe wish to assimilate Him of the Lion Heart to the band ofwarriors whom he led, that the anachronism, if there be onemay readily be forgiven.

NOTE TO CHAPTER XXI.

Note D.---Battle of Stamford.

A great topographical blunder occurred here in former editions.The bloody battle alluded to in the text, fought and wonby King Harold, over his brother the rebellious Tosti, and anauxiliary force of Danes or Norsemen, was said, in the text, anda corresponding note, to have taken place at Stamford, in Leicestershire,and upon the river Welland. This is a mistake, into

which the author has been led by trusting to his memory,and so confounding two places of the same name. The Stamford,Strangford, or Staneford, at which the battle really wasfought, is a ford upon the river Derwent, at the distance ofabout seven miles from York, and situated in that large andopulent county. A long wooden bridge over the Derwent, thesite of which, with one remaining buttress, is still shown to thecurious traveller, was furiously contested. One Norwegianlong defended it by his single arm, and was at length piercedwith a spear thrust through the planks of the bridge from a boatbeneath.

The neighbourhood of Stamford, on the Derwent, containssome memorials of the battle. Horseshoes, swords, and theheads of halberds, or bills, are often found there ; one place iscalled the ``Danes' well,'' another the ``Battle flats.'' From atradition that the weapon with which the Norwegian championwas slain, resembled a pear, or, as others say, that thetrough or boat in which the soldier floated under the bridge tostrike the blow, had such a shape, the country people usuallybegin a great market, which is held at Stamford, with anentertainment called the Pear-pie feast, which after all may bea corruption of the Spear-pie feast. For more particulars,Drake's History of York may be referred to. The author's mistakewas pointed out to him, in the most obliging manner, byRobert Belt, Esq. of Bossal House. The battle was fought in1066.

NOTE TO CHAPTER XXII.

Note E.---The range of iron bars above that glowingcharcoal.

This horrid species of torture may remind the reader of thatto which the Spaniards subjected Guatimozin, in order to extorta discovery of his concealed wealth. But, in fact, an instanceof similar barbarity is to be found nearer home, and occursin the annals of Queen Mary's time, containing so manyother examples of atrocity. Every reader must recollect, thatafter the fall of the Catholic Church, and the PresbyterianChurch Government had been established by law, the rank, andespecially the wealth, of the Bishops, Abbots, Priors, and soforth, were no longer vested in ecclesiastics, but in lay impropriatorsof the church revenues, or, as the Scottish lawyers called

them, titulars of the temporalities of the benefice, thoughhaving no claim to the spiritual character of their predecessorsin office.

Of these laymen, who were thus invested with ecclesiasticalrevenues, some were men of high birth and rank, like the famousLord James Stewart, the Prior of St Andrews, who didnot fail to keep for their own use the rents, lands, and revenuesof the church. But if, on the other hand, the titulars were menof inferior importance, who had been inducted into the officeby the interest of some powerful person, it was generally understoodthat the new Abbot should grant for his patron's benefitsuch leases and conveyances of the church lands and tithes asmight afford their protector the lion's share of the booty. Thiswas the origin of those who were wittily termed Tulchan*

* A _Tulchan_ is a calfs skin stuffed, and placed before a cow who has* lost its calf, to induce the animal to part with her milk. The resemblance* between such a Tulchan and a Bishop named to transmit the temporalities* of a benefice to some powerful patron, is easily understood.

Bishops, being a sort of imaginary prelate, whose image was setup to enable his patron and principal to plunder the beneficeunder his name.

There were other cases, however, in which men who had gotgrants of these secularised benefices, were desirous of retainingthem for their own use, without having the influence sufficientto establish their purpose ; and these became frequently unableto protect themselves, however unwilling to submit to the exactionsof the feudal tyrant of the district.

Bannatyne, secretary to John Knox, recounts a singularcourse of oppression practised on one of those titulars abbots, bythe Earl of Cassilis in Ayrshire, whose extent of feudal influencewas so wide that he was usually termed the King of Carrick.We give the fact as it occurs in Bannatyne's Journal, only premisingthat the Journalist held his master's opinions, both withrespect to the Earl of Cassilis as an opposer of the king's party,and as being a detester of the practice of granting church revenuesto titulars, instead of their being devoted to pious uses,such as the support of the clergy, expense of schools, and the reliefof the national poor. He mingles in the narrative, therefore,a well deserved feeling of execration against the tyrant who employedthe torture, which a tone of ridicule towards the patient,

as if, after all, it had not been ill bestowed on such an equivocaland amphibious character as a titular abbot. He entitles hisnarrative,

The Earl Of Cassilis' Tyranny against a quick (_i.e._ living) man.

``Master Allan Stewart, friend to Captain James Stewart ofCardonall, by means of the Queen's corrupted court, obtainedthe Abbey of Crossraguel. The said Earl thinking himselfgreater than any king in those quarters, determined to have thatwhole benefice (as he hath divers others) to pay at his pleasure ;and because he could not find sic security as his insatiable appetiterequired, this shift was devised. The said Mr Allan beingin company with the Laird of Bargany, (also a Kennedy,) was,by the Earl and his friends, enticed to leave the safeguard whichhe had with the Laird, and come to make good cheer with thesaid Earl. The simplicity of the imprudent man was suddenlyabused; and so he passed his time with them certain days, whichhe did in Maybole with Thomas Kennedie, uncle to the said Earl:after which the said Mr Allan passed, with quiet company, tovisit the place and bounds of Crossraguel, [his abbacy,] of whichthe said Earl being surely advertised, determined to put in practicethe tyranny which long before he had conceaved. And so,as king of the country, apprehended the said Mr Allan, andcarried him to the house of Denure, where for a season he washonourably treated, (gif a prisoner can think any entertainmentpleasing;) but after that certain days were spent, and that theEarl could not obtain the feus of Crossraguel according to hisawin appetite, he determined to prove gif a collation could workthat which neither dinner nor supper could do for a long time.And so tho said Mr Allan was carried to a secret chamber:with him passed the honourable Earl, his worshipful brother,and such as were appointed to be servants at that banquet. Inthe chamber there was a grit iron chimlay, under it a fire;other grit provision was not seen. The first course was,---`MyLord Abbot,' (said the Earl,) `it will please you confess here,that with your own consent you remain in my company, becauseye durst not commit yourself to the hands of others.' TheAbbot answered, `Would you, my lord, that I should make amanifest lie for your pleasure ? The truth is, my lord, it is againstmy will that I am here; neither yet have I any pleasure in yourcompany.' `But ye shall remain with me, nevertheless, at thistime,' said the Earl. `l am not able to resist your will and pleasure,'said the Abbot, 'in this place.' `Ye must then obey me,'

said the Earl,---and with that were presented unto him certainletters to subscribe, amongst which there was a five years' tack,and a nineteen years' tack, and a charter of feu of all the lands(of Crossraguel, with all the clauses necessary for the Earl tohaste him to hell. For gif adultery, sacrilege, oppression, barbarouscruelty, and theft heaped upon theft, deserve hell, thegreat King of Carrick can no more escape hell for ever, thanthe imprudent Abbot escaped the fire for a season as follows.

``After that the Earl spied repugnance, and saw that he couldnot come to his purpose by fair means, he commanded his cooksto prepare the banquet: and so first they flayed the sheep, thatis, they took off the Abbot's cloathes even to his skin, and nextthey bound him to the chimney---his legs to the one end, and hisarms to the other; and so they began to beet [_i.e._ feed] the firesometimes to his buttocks, sometimes to his legs, sometimes tohis shoulders and arms; and that the roast might not burn, butthat it might rest in soppe, they spared not flambing with oil,(basting as a cook bastes roasted meat); Lord, look thou to siccruelty! And that the crying of the miserable man should notbe heard, they dosed his mouth that the voice might be stopped.It may be suspected that some partisan of the King's [Darnley's]murder was there. In that torment they held the poor man,till that often he cried for God's sake to dispatch him; forhe had as meikle gold in his awin purse as would buy powderenough to shorten his pain. The famous King of Carrick andhis cooks perceiving the roast to be aneuch, commanded it to betane fra the fire, and the Earl himself began the grace in thismanner:---`_Benedicite, Jesus Maria_, you are the most obstinateman that ever I saw; gif I had known that ye had beenso stubborn, I would not for a thousand crowns have handledyou so; I never did so to man before you.' And yet he returnedto the same practice within two days, and ceased not tillthat he obtained his formost purpose, that is, that he had gotall his pieces subscryvit alsweill as ane half-roasted hand coulddo it. The Earl thinking himself sure enough so long as behad the half-roasted Abbot in his awin keeping, and yet beingashamed of his presence by reason of his former cruelty, left theplace of Denure in the hands of certain of his servants, and thehalf-roasted Abbot to be kept there as prisoner. The Laird ofBargany, out of whose company the said Abbot had been enticed,understanding, (not the extremity,) but the retaining of theman, sent to the court, and raised letters of deliverance of theperson of the man according to the order, which being disobeyed,the said Earl for his contempt was denounced rebel, and

put to the horne. But yet hope was there none, neither to theafflicted to be delivered, neither yet to the purchaser [_i.e._ procurer]of the letters to obtain any comfort thereby ; for in thattime God was despised, and the lawful authority was contemnedin Scotland, in hope of the sudden return and regiment of thatcruel murderer of her awin husband, of whose lords the saidEarl was called one; and yet, oftener than once, he was solemnlysworn to the King and to his Regent.''

The Journalist then recites the complaint of the injuredAllan Stewart, Commendator of Crossraguel, to the Regentand Privy Council, averring his having been carried, partly byflattery, partly by force, to the black vault of Denure, a strongfortalice, built on a rock overhanging the Irish channel, whereto execute leases and conveyances of the whole churches andparsonages belonging to the Abbey of Crossraguel, which heutterly refused as an unreasonable demand, and the more sothat he had already conveyed them to John Stewart of Cardonah,by whose interest he had been made Commendator. Thecomplainant proceeds to state, that he was, after many menaces,stript, bound, and his limbs exposed to fire in the manner alreadydescribed, till, compelled by excess of agony, he subscribed thecharter and leases presented to him, of the contents of which hewas totally ignorant. A few days afterwards, being again requiredto execute a ratification of these deeds before a notary andwitnesses, and refusing to do so, he was once more subjected tothe same torture, until his agony was so excessive that he exclaimed,``Fye on you, why do you not strike your whingers intome, or blow me up with a barrel of powder, rather than tortureme thus unmercifully?'' upon which the Earl commandedAlexander Richard, one of his attendants, to stop the patient'smouth with a napkin, which was done accordingly. Thus hewas once more compelled to submit to their tyranny. The petitionconcluded with stating, that the Earl, under pretence ofthe deeds thus iniquitously obtained, had taken possession ofthe whole place and living of Crossraguel, and enjoyed the profitsthereof for three years.

The doom of the Regent and Council shows singularly thetotal interruption of justice at this calamitous period, even in themost clamant cases of oppression. The Council declined interferencewith the course of the ordinary justice of the county,(which was completely under the said Earl of Cassilis' control,)and only enacted, that he should forbear molestation ofthe unfortunate Comendator, under the surety of two thousand

pounds Scots. The Earl was appointed also to keep thepeace towards the celebrated George Buchanan, who had a pensionout of the same Abbacy, to a similar extent, and under thelike penalty.

The consequences are thus described by the Journalist alreadyquoted.

``The said Laird of Bargany perceiving that the ordinerjustice could neither help the oppressed, nor yet the afflicted,applied his mind to the next remedy, and in the end, by his servants,took the house of Denure, where the poor Abbot waskept prisoner. The bruit flew fra Carrick to Galloway, and sosuddenly assembled herd and hyre-man that pertained to theband of the Kennedies; and so within a few hours was the houseof Denure environed again. The master of Cassilis was thefrackast [_i.e._ the readiest or boldest) and would not stay, butin his heat would lay fire to the dungeon, with no small boastingthat all enemies within the house should die.

``He was required and admonished by those that were withinto be more moderate, and not to hazard himself so foolishly. Butno admonition would help, till that the wind of an hacquebuteblasted his shoulder, and then ceased he from further pursuitin fury. The Laird of Bargany had before purchest [obtained]of the authorities, letters, charging all faithfull subjects to theKing's Majesty, to assist him against that cruel tyrant andmansworn traitor, the Earl of Cassilis; which letters, with hisprivate writings, he published, and shortly found sic concurrenceof Kyle and Cunyngbame with his other friends, thatthe Carrick company drew back fra the house: and so the otherapproached, furnished the house with more men, delivered thesaid Mr Allan, and carried him to Ayr, where, publicly at themarket cross of the said town, he declared how cruelly he wasentreated, and how the murdered King suffered not sic tormentas he did, excepting only he escaped the death: and, therefore,publickly did revoke all things that were done in that extremity,and especially he revoked the subscription of the three writings,to wit, of a fyve yeir tack and nineteen year tack, and of acharter of feu. And so the house remained, and remains (tillthis day, the 7th of February, 1571,) in the custody of the saidLaird of Bargany and of his servants. And so cruelty was disappointedof proffeit present, and shall be eternallie punished, unlesshe earnestly repent. And this far for the cruelty committed,to give occasion unto others, and to such as hate the monstrous

dealing of degenerate nobility, to look more diligently upon theirbehaviuours, and to paint them forth unto the world, that theythemselves may be ashamed of their own beastliness, and thatthe world may be advertised and admonished to abhor, detest,and avoid the company of all sic tyrants, who are not worthy ofthe society of men, but ought to be sent suddenly to the devil,with whom they must burn without end, for their contempt ofGod, and cruelty committed against his creatures. Let Cassilisand his brother be the first to be the example unto others.Amen. Amen.''*

* Bannatyne's Journal.

This extract has been somewhat amended or modernized inorthography, to render it more intelligible to the general reader.I have to add, that the Kennedies of Bargany, who interferedin behalf of the oppressed Abbot, were themselves a youngerbranch of the Cassilis family, but held different politics, andwere powerful enough in this, and other instances, to bid themdefiance.

The ultimate issue of this affair does not appear; but as thehouse of Cassilis are still in possession of the greater part of thefeus and leases which belonged to Crossraguel Abbey, it isprobable the talons of the King of Carrick were strong enough,in those disorderly times, to retain the prey which they had somercilessly fixed upon.

I may also add, that it appears by some papers in my possession,that the officers or Country Keepers on the border, wereaccustomed to torment their prisoners by binding them to theiron bars of their chimneys, to extort confession.

NOTE TO CHAPTER XXXI

Note F.---Ulrica's Death song.

It will readily occur to the antiquary, that these verses areintended to imitate the antique poetry of the Scalds---the minstrelsof the old Scandinavians---the race, as the Laureate so happilyterms them,

``Stern to inflict, and stubborn to endure,Who smiled in death.''

The poetry of the Anglo-Saxons, after their civilisation andconversion, was of a different and softer character; but in thecircumstances of Ulrica, she may be not unnaturally supposedto return to the wild strains which animated her forefathersduring the time of Paganism and untamed ferocity.

NOTE TO CHAPTER XXXIINote G.---Richard C<oe>ur-de-Lion.

The interchange of a cuff with the jolly priest is not entirelyout of character with Richard I., if romances read him aright.In the very curious romance on the subject of his adventuresin the Holy Land, and his return from thence, it is recordedhow he exchanged a pugilistic favour of this nature, while aprisoner in Germany. His opponent was the son of his principalwarder, and was so imprudent as to give the challenge tothis barter of buffets. The King stood forth like a true man,and received a blow which staggered him. In requital, havingpreviously waxed his hand, a practice unknown, I believe, tothe gentlemen of the modern fancy, he returned the box on theear with such interest as to kill his antagonist on the spot.---_See,in Ellis's Specimens of English Romance, that of C<oe>ur-de-Lion_.

NOTE TO CHAPTER XXXIII

Note H.---Hedge-Priests.

It is curious to observe, that in every state of society, somesort of ghostly consolation is provided for the members of thecommunity, though assembled for purposes diametrically oppositeto religion. A gang of beggars have their Patrico, andthe banditti of the Apennines have among them persons actingas monks and priests, by whom they are confessed, and whoperform mass before them. Unquestionably, such reverendpersons, in such a society, must accommodate their mannersand their morals to the community in which they live; and ifthey can occasionally obtain a degree of reverence for their supposedspiritual gifts, are, on most occasions, loaded with unmercifulridicule, as possessing a character inconsistent with allaround them.

Hence the fighting parson in the old play of Sir John Oldcastle,

and the famous friar of Robin Hood's band. Nor weresuch characters ideal. There exists a monition of the Bishopof Durham against irregular churchmen of this class, who associatedthemselves with Border robbers, and desecrated theholiest offices of the priestly function, by celebrating them forthe benefit of thieves, robbers, and murderers, amongst ruinsand in caverns of the earth, without regard to canonical form,and with torn and dirty attire, and maimed rites, altogetherimproper for the occasion.

NOTE TO CHAPTER XLI.

Note I.---Castle of Coningsburgh.

When I last saw this interesting ruin of ancient days, oneof the very few remaining examples of Saxon fortification, Iwas strongly impressed with the desire of tracing out a sort oftheory on the subject, which, from some recent acquaintancewith the architecture of the ancient Scandinavians, seemed tome peculiarly interesting. I was, however, obliged by circumstancesto proceed on my journey, without leisure to take morethan a transient view of Coningsburgh. Yet the idea dwells sostrongly in my mind, that I feel considerably tempted to writea page or two in detailing at least the outline of my hypothesis,leaving better antiquaries to correct or refute conclusionswhich are perhaps too hastily drawn.

Those who have visited the Zetland Islands, are familiar withthe description of castles called by the inhabitants Burghs; and bythe Highlanders---for they are also to be found both in the WesternIsles and on the mainland---Duns. Pennant has engraveda view of the famous Dun-Dornadilla in Glenelg; and there aremany others, all of them built after a peculiar mode of architecture,which argues a people in the most primitive state of society.The most perfect specimen is that upon the island of Mousa,near to the mainland of Zetland, which is probably in thesame state as when inhabited.

It is a single round tower, the wall curving in slightly, andthen turning outward again in the form of a dice-box, so thatthe defenders on the top might the better protect the base.It is formed of rough stones, selected with care, and laid incourses or circles, with much compactness, but without cementof any kind. The tower has never, to appearance, had roofing

of any sort; a fire was made in the centre of the space whichit encloses, and originally the building was probably little morethan a wall drawn as a sort of screen around the great councilfire of the tribe. But, although the means or ingenuity ofthe builders did not extend so far as to provide a roof, they suppliedthe want by constructing apartments in the interior ofthe walls of the tower itself. The circumvallation formed adouble enclosure, the inner side of which was, in fact, two feetor three feet distant from the other, and connected by a concentricrange of long flat stones, thus forming a series of concentricrings or stories of various heights, rising to the top of the tower.Each of these stories or galleries has four windows, facingdirectly to the points of the compass, and rising of course regularlyabove each other. These four perpendicular ranges of windowsadmitted air, and, the fire being kindled, heat, or smoke atleast, to each of the galleries. The access from gallery to galleryis equally primitive. A path, on the principle of an inclinedplane, turns round and round the building like a screw, and givesaccess to the different stories, intersecting each of them in itsturn, and thus gradually rising to the top of the wall of thetower. On the outside there are no windows ; and I may add,that an enclosure of a square, or sometimes a round form, gavethe inhabitants of the Burgh an opportunity to secure anysheep or cattle which they might possess.

Such is the general architecture of that very early periodwhen the Northmen swept the seas, and brought to theirrude houses, such as I have described them, the plunder ofpolished nations. In Zetland there are several scores of theseBurghs, occupying in every case, capes, headlands, islets, and similarplaces of advantage singularly well chosen. I rememberthe remains of one upon an island in a small lake near Lerwick,which at high tide communicates with the sea, the access towhich is very ingenious, by means of a causeway or dike,about three or four inches under the surface of the water. Thiscauseway makes a sharp angle in its approach to the Burgh.The inhabitants, doubtless, were well acquainted with this, butstrangers, who might approach in a hostile manner, and wereignorant of the curve of the causeway, would probably plungeinto the lake, which is six or seven feet in depth at the least.This must have been the device of some Vauban or Cohorn ofthose early times.

The style of these buildings evinces that the architect possessedneither the art of using lime or cement of any kind, nor

the skill to throw an arch, construct a roof, or erect a stair ;and yet, with all this ignorance, showed great ingenuity in selectingthe situation of Burghs, and regulating the access tothem, as well as neatness and regularity in the erection, sincethe buildings themselves show a style of advance in the artsscarcely consistent with the ignorance of so many of the principalbranches of architectural knowledge.

I have always thought, that one of the most curious and valuableobjects of antiquaries has been to trace the progress ofsociety, by the efforts made in early ages to improve the rudenessof their first expedients, until they either approach excellence,or, as is more frequently the case, are supplied by new andfundamental discoveries, which supersede both the earlier andruder system, and the improvements which have been ingraftedupon it. For example, if we conceive the recent discoveryof gas to be so much improved and adapted to domestic use, asto supersede all other modes of producing domestic light; wecan already suppose, some centuries afterwards, the heads of awhole Society of Antiquaries half turned by the discovery of apair of patent snuffers, and by the learned theories which wouldbe brought forward to account for the form and purpose of sosingular an implement.

Following some such principle, I am inclined to regard thesingular Castle of Coningsburgh---I mean the Saxon part of it---as a step in advance from the rude architecture, if it deservesthe name, which must have been common to the Saxons as toother Northmen. The builders had attained the art of usingcement, and of roofing a building,---great improvements on theoriginal Burgh. But in the round keep, a shape only seen inthe most ancient castles---the chambers excavated in the thicknessof the walls and buttresses---the difficulty by which accessis gained from one story to those above it, Coningsburgh stillretains the simplicity of its origin, and shows by what slowdegrees man proceeded from occupying such rude and inconvenientlodgings, as were afforded by the galleries of the Castleof Mousa, to the more splendid accommodations of the Normancastles, with all their stern and Gothic graces.

I am ignorant if these remarks are new, or if they will beconfirmed by closer examination ; but I think, that, on a hastyobservation, Coningsburgh offers means of curious study tothose who may wish to trace the history of architecture backto the times preceding the Norman Conquest.

It would be highly desirable that a cork model should betaken of the Castle of Mousa, as it cannot be well understood bya plan.

The Castle of Coningsburgh is thus described:---

``The castle is large, the outer walls standing on a pleasantascent from the river, but much overtopt by a high hill, onwhich the town stands, situated at the head of a rich and magnificentvale, formed by an amphitheatre of woody hills, inwhich flows the gentle Don. Near the castle is a barrow, saidto be Hengist's tomb. The entrance is flanked to the left by around tower, with a sloping base, and there are several similarin the outer wall the entrance has piers of a gate, and on theeast side the ditch and bank are double and very steep. On thetop of the churchyard wall is a tombstone, on which are cut inhigh relief, two ravens, or such-like birds. On the south side ofthe churchyard lies an ancient stone, ridged like a coffin, onwhich is carved a man on horseback; and another man with ashield encountering a vast winged serpent, and a man bearing ashield behind him. It was probably one of the rude crosses notuncommon in churchyards in this county. See it engraved onthe plate of crosses for this volume, plate 14. fig. 1. The nameof Coningsburgh, by which this castle goes in the old editionsof the Britannia, would lead one to suppose it the residence ofthe Saxon kings. It afterwards belonged to King Harold. TheConqueror bestowed it on William de Warren, with all its privilegesand jurisdiction, which are said to have extended over twenty-eighttowns. At the corner of the area, which is of an irregularform, stands the great tower, or keep, placed on a smallhill of its own dimensions, on which lies six vast projecting buttresses,ascending in a steep direction to prop and support thebuilding, and continued upwards up the side as turrets. Thetower within forms a complete circle, twenty-one feet in diameter,the walls fourteen feet thick. The ascent into the toweris by an exceeding deep flight of steep steps, four feet and a halfwide, on the south side leading to a low doorway, over which isa circular arch crossed by a great transom stone. Within thisdoor is the staircase which ascends straight through the thicknessof the wall, not communicating with the room on the firstfloor, in whose centre is the opening to the dungeon. Neitherof these lower rooms is lighted except from a hole in the floor ofthe third story; the room in which, as well as in that above it,is finished with compact smooth stonework, both having chimney-pieces,

with an arch resting on triple clustered pillars. Inthe third story, or guard-chamber, is a small recess with a loop-hole,probably a bedchamber, and in that floor above a niche fora saint or holy-water pot. Mr King imagines this a Saxoncastle of the first ages of the Heptarchy. Mr Watson thusdescribes it. From the first floor to the second story, (thirdfrom the ground,) is a way by a stair in the wall five feet wide.The next staircase is approached by a ladder, and ends at thefourth story from the ground. Two yards from the door, atthe head of this stair, is an opening nearly east, accessible bytreading on the ledge of the wall, which diminishes eight incheseach story ; and this last opening leads into a room or chapelten feet by twelve, and fifteen or sixteen high, arched with free-stone,and supported by small circular columns of the same, thecapitals and arches Saxon. It has an east window, and on eachside in the wall, about four feet from the ground, a stone basinwith a hole and iron pipe to convey the water into or throughthe wall. This chapel is one of the buttresses, but no sign of itwithout, for even the window, though large within, is only along narrow loop-hole, scarcely to be seen without. On the leftside of this chapel is a small oratory, eight by six in the thicknessof the wall, with a niche in the wall, and enlightened by alike loop-hole. The fourth stair from the ground, ten feet westfrom the chapel door, leads to the top of the tower through thethickness of the wall, which at top is but three yards. Eachstory is about fifteen feet high, so that the tower will be seventy-fivefeet from the ground. The inside forms a circle, whosediameter may be about twelve feet. The well at the bottom ofthe dungeon is piled with stones.''---Gough's _Edition Of Camden'sBritannia_. Second Edition, vol. iii. p. 267.

Walter Scott: Ivanhoe===============================a machine-readable transcription

version 1.0: 1993-06-081.1: 1994-02-09 48 errors fixed, most of which were reported by: Michael Larsen (larsen@math.upenn.edu) Michael Hart (HART@vmd.cso.uiuc.edu)

This machine-readable transcription of Ivanhoe is based onthe text printed as volumes 16 and 17 of the Waverley Novels

published by Archibald Constable and Company in 1895.

The order of the files in this distribution is as follows:

introduction dedicatory.epistle chapter.01-09 chapter.10-19 chapter.20-29 chapter.30-39 chapter.40-44 notes

Changes to the text===================

Page-breaks have been removed, along with page numbers andcolumn titles.

End-of-line hyphenations have been removed, and thede-hyphenated word has been brought up to the first of thetwo lines. The text itself has been the main guide forkeeping or removing hyphens; in some cases the CentenaryEdition of the Waverley Novels has been consulted.Small capitals in names have been replaced by lower-caseletters. In those cases small caps are used to denote extraemphasis, they have been marked up accordingly.

Text in (? blackletter) used mainly for song titles hasbeen changed to ordinary text, except in one case -- seemarkup conventions below.

In the text, endnotes appeared immediately after eachchapter. In this edition, all endnotes have been collectedand placed at the end of the 'book'. Also, the pagesreferences of the notes have been replaced by letterreferences, after the same pattern used in the CentenaryEdition.

The following changes have been made to the text:

dedicatory epistle:

p. xliii (footnote): it was written. I mention (missing period)

ch. 2, p. 20: an || athletic figure (althetic)ch. 6, p. 82: the approaching tourney (tournay)ch. 10, p. 159: there is a dead loss too (to)ch. 14, p. 215: House of Anjou (Anjo<u`>)ch. 18, p. 265: John of Anjou (Anjo<u`>)ch. 20, p. 292: hermit,'' replied the knight ('' missing)ch. 20, p. 295: called Cedric the Saxon (Cedric and Saxon)ch. 21, p. 301: ``That concerns thee (`That)ch. 21, p. 325: ``Thy daughter!'' (`Thy)

(add 23 to get 'real' chapter numbers)

ch. 2, p. 33: their || own.'' (own,'')ch. 3, p. 64: Athelstane: ``deal with (missing ``)ch. 3, p. ???: of Anjou confer not (Anjo<u`>)ch. 8, p. 127: my own Trysting-tree (trysting-tree)ch. 8, p. 138: he of the Fetterlock (fetterlock)ch. 8, p. 144: had not gotten to horse (gotton)ch. 10, p. 172: Allan-a-Dale (dale)ch. 11, p. 200: must be met withal.'' (missing '')ch. 15, p. 266: doth deny || the same; (den-)ch. 16, p. 280: to the ocean. The (oceean, The)ch. 17, p. 301: jaws of the brethren (brethern)ch. 17, p. 301: toothache (toothach)ch. 18, p. 338 (notes): irre-||gular form, stands (form. stands)ch. 20, p. 364: Ashby-de-la-Zouche.'' (de-la-Zouch.'')ch. 20, p. 367: Brian de Bois-Guilbert (Brian-de-Bois-Guilbert)ch. 20, p. 373: had ap-||peared to do. (do.'')

Further oddities================

The word Anjou was spelled Anjo<u`> in three places. Couldthe Anjou spelling be a editorial change that wasn't presentin the original text?

In the dedicatory epistle, Scott writes:

My honest and neglected friend, Ingulphus, has furnishedme with many a valuable hint;

There is no obvious indication to what or who Ingulphusrefers to. There is, though, a mention of a purported workby Dr Dryasdust about King Ulphus earlier in the epistle. I

suspect that Ingulphus is a misprint for King Ulphus.

However, the same error (if it indeed is one) occurs in theCentenary Edition, so I have not made any attempts atcorrection.

Markup conventions==================

First line in each paragraph is indented two spaces.

_ _ placed around italicized text

= = placed around extra emphasized text - small caps inthe text

{ } placed around `The Wardour Manuscript', whichaccording to the text should be in `some emphaticmode of printing'.

<ae> the ae ligature<a^> a circumflex<e^> e circumflex<e'> e acute<oe> the oe ligature<*> asterisk used to indicate a major ellipsis in the text. Don't confuse this with the footnote mark

Footnotes

Footnotes in the text were placed at the foot of the page;in this edition they have been placed immediately after theline in which they are referenced. The footnote callout isalways an asterisk,* and the text of the footnote has been

* Like this

placed, slightly indented, between two empty lines, with anasterisk in the left margin as illustrated above. If thefootnote comes at the end of a paragraph, the first line ofthe following paragraph is indented two spaces, as usual.

In chapter 29 an additional note to a footnote was placed atthe end of the chapter. This note-note has been kept whereit occurred, but the reference to the original page has beenreplaced by **. (In the centenary edition both the note-note and the note to which it refers were placed asend-notes.)

The transcription and proofreading was done by AndersThulin, Rydsvagen 288, S-582 50 Linkoping, Sweden. Emailaddress: ath@linkoping.trab.se

I'd be glad to learn of any errors that you may find inthe text.

IVANHOE;

A ROMANCE.

Now fitted the halter, now traversed the cart,And often took leave,----but seemed loath to depart!*

* The motto alludes to the Author returning to the stage repeatedly* after having taken leave.

Prior.

INTRODUCTION

TO

IVANHOE.

The Author of the Waverley Novels had hithertoproceeded in an unabated course of popularity,and might, in his peculiar district ofliterature, have been termed _L'Enfant G<a^>t<e'> of

success. It was plain, however, that frequentpublication must finally wear out the publicfavour, unless some mode could be devised togive an appearance of novelty to subsequentproductions. Scottish manners, Scottish dialect,and Scottish characters of note, beingthose with which the author was most intimately,and familiarly acquainted, were thegroundwork upon which he had hitherto reliedfor giving effect to his narrative. It was,however, obvious, that this kind of interestmust in the end occasion a degree of samenessand repetition, if exclusively resorted to, andthat the reader was likely at length to adoptthe language of Edwin, in Parnell's Tale:---

------`` `Reverse the spell,' he cries,'And let it fairly now suffice,The gambol has been shown.' ''

Nothing can be more dangerous for thefame of a professor of the fine arts, than to permit(if he can possibly prevent it) the characterof a mannerist to be attached to him, orthat he should be supposed capable of successonly in a particular and limited style. Thepublic are, in general, very ready to adopt theopinion, that he who has pleased them in onepeculiar mode of composition, is, by means ofthat very talent, rendered incapable of venturingupon other subjects. The effect of thisdisinclination, on the part of the public, towardsthe artificers of their pleasures, when they attemptto enlarge their means of amusing, maybe seen in the censures usually passed by vulgarcriticism upon actors or artists who ventureto change the character of their efforts,that, in so doing, they may enlarge the scaleof their art.

There is some justice in this opinion, asthere always is in such as attain generalcurrency. It may often happen on the stage,that an actor, by possessing in a preeminentdegree the external qualities necessary to give

effect to comedy, may be deprived of the rightto aspire to tragic excellence; and in paintingor literary composition, an artist or poetmay be master exclusively of modes of thought,and powers of expression, which confine himto a single course of subjects. But much morefrequently the same capacity which carries aman to popularity in one department will obtainfor him success in another, and that mustbe more particularly the case in literary composition,than either in acting or painting, becausethe adventurer in that department is notimpeded in his exertions by any peculiarity offeatures, or conformation of person, proper forparticular parts, or, by any peculiar mechanicalhabits of using the pencil, limited to a particularclass of subjects.

Whether this reasoning be correct or otherwise,the present author felt, that, in confininghimself to subjects purely Scottish, he was notonly likely to weary out the indulgence of hisreaders, but also greatly to limit his own powerof affording them pleasure. In a highly polishedcountry, where so much genius is monthlyemployed in catering for public amusement,a fresh topic, such as he had himself had thehappiness to light upon, is the untasted springof the desert;---

``Men bless their stars and call it luxury.''

But when men and horses, cattle, camels, anddromedaries, have poached the spring intomud, it becomes loathsome to those who at firstdrank of it with rapture; and he who had themerit of discovering it, if he would preserve hisreputation with the tribe, must display his talentby a fresh discovery of untasted fountains.

If the author, who finds himself limited to aparticular class of subjects, endeavours to sustainhis reputation by striving to add a noveltyof attraction to themes of the same characterwhich have been formerly successful under

his management, there are manifest reasonswhy, after a certain point, he is likely to fail.If the mine be not wrought out, the strengthand capacity of the miner become necessarilyexhausted. If he closely imitates the narrativeswhich he has before rendered successful,he is doomed to ``wonder that they please nomore.'' If he struggles to take a different viewof the same class of subjects, he speedily discoversthat what is obvious, graceful, andnatural, has been exhausted; and, in order toobtain the indispensable charm of novelty, heis forced upon caricature, and, to avoid beingtrite, must become extravagant.

It is not, perhaps, necessary to enumerateso many reasons why the author of the ScottishNovels, as they were then exclusively termed,should be desirous to make an experimenton a subject purely English. It was his purpose,at the same time, to have rendered theexperiment as complete as possible, by bringingthe intended work before the public as the effortof a new candidate for their favour, in orderthat no degree of prejudice, whether favourableor the reverse, might attach to it, as a newproduction of the Author of Waverley; butthis intention was afterwards departed from,for reasons to be hereafter mentioned.

The period of the narrative adopted wasthe reign of Richard I., not only as aboundingwith characters whose very names were sureto attract general attention, but as affording astriking contrast betwixt the Saxons, by whomthe soil was cultivated, and the Normans, whostill reigned in it as conquerors, reluctant tomix with the vanquished, or acknowledgethemselves of the same stock. The idea of thiscontrast was taken from the ingenious and unfortunateLogan's tragedy of Runnamede, inwhich, about the same period of history, theauthor had seen the Saxon and Norman baronsopposed to each other on different sides of thestage. He does not recollect that there was

any attempt to contrast the two races in theirhabits and sentiments; and indeed it was obvious,that history was violated by introducingthe Saxons still existing as a high-minded andmartial race of nobles.

They did, however, survive as a people, andsome of the ancient Saxon families possessedwealth and power, although they were exceptionsto the humble condition of the race ingeneral. It seemed to the author, that the existenceof the two races in the same country,the vanquished distinguished by their plain,homely, blunt manners, and the free spiritinfused by their ancient institutions and laws;the victors, by the high spirit of military fame,personal adventure, and whatever could distinguishthem as the Flower of Chivalry, might,intermixed with other characters belonging tothe same time and country, interest the readerby the contrast, if the author should notfail on his part.

Scotland, however, had been of late used soexclusively as the scene of what is called HistoricalRomance, that the preliminary letterof Mr Laurence Templeton became in somemeasure necessary. To this, as to an Introduction,the reader is referred, as expressingauthor's purpose and opinions in undertakingthis species of composition, under thenecessary reservation, that he is far fromthinking he has attained the point at which heaimed.

It is scarcely necessary to add, that therewas no idea or wish to pass off the supposedMr Templeton as a real person. But a kind ofcontinuation of the Tales of my Landlord hadbeen recently attempted by a stranger, and itwas supposed this Dedicatory Epistle mightpass for some imitation of the same kind, andthus putting enquirers upon a false scent, inducethem to believe they had before them thework of some new candidate for their favour.

After a considerable part of the work hadbeen finished and printed, the Publishers, whopretended to discern in it a germ of popularity,remonstrated strenuously against its appearingas an absolutely anonymous production, andcontended that it should have the advantage ofbeing announced as by the Author of Waverley.The author did not make any obstinate opposition,for he began to be of opinion with DrWheeler, in Miss Edgeworth's excellent taleof ``Man<oe>uvring,'' that ``Trick upon Trick''might be too much for the patience of an indulgentpublic, and might be reasonably consideredas trifling with their favour.

The book, therefore, appeared as an avowedcontinuation of the Waverley Novels; and itwould be ungrateful not to acknowledge, that itmet with the same favourable reception as itspredecessors.

Such annotations as may be useful to assistthe reader in comprehending the characters ofthe Jew, the Templar, the Captain of the mercenaries,or Free Companions, as they werecalled, and others proper to the period, areadded, but with a sparing hand, since sufficientinformation on these subjects is to be found ingeneral history.

An incident in the tale, which had the goodfortune to find favour in the eyes of many readers,is more directly borrowed from the storesof old romance. I mean the meeting of theKing with Friar Tuck at the cell of that buxomhermit. The general tone of the story belongsto all ranks and all countries, which emulateeach other in describing the rambles of a disguisedsovereign, who, going in search of informationor amusement, into the lower ranksof life, meets with adventures diverting to thereader or hearer, from the contrast betwixt themonarch's outward appearance, and his realcharacter. The Eastern tale-teller has for his

theme the disguised expeditions of HarounAlraschid with his faithful attendants, Mesrourand Giafar, through the midnight streets ofBagdad; and Scottish tradition dwells uponthe similar exploits of James V., distinguishedduring such excursions by the travelling nameof the Goodman of Ballengeigh, as the Commanderof the Faithful, when he desired to beincognito, was known by that of Il Bondocani.The French minstrels are not silent on so populara theme. There must have been a Normanoriginal of the Scottish metrical romance ofRauf Colziar, in which Charlemagne is introducedas the unknown guest of a charcoal-man.*

* This very curious poem, long a _desideratum_ in Scottish literature,* and given up as irrecoverably lost, was lately brought* to light by the researches of Dr Irvine of the Advocates' Library,* and has been reprinted by Mr David Laing, Edinburgh.

It seems to have been the original ofother poems of the kind.

In merry England there is no end of popularballads on this theme. The poem of Johnthe Reeve, or Steward, mentioned by BishopPercy, in the Reliques of English Poetry,* is

* Vol. ii. p. 167.

said to have turned on such an incident; andwe have besides, the King and the Tanner ofTamworth, the King and the Miller of Mansfield,and others on the same topic. But thepeculiar tale of this nature to which the authorof Ivanhoe has to acknowledge an obligation,is more ancient by two centuries than any ofthese last mentioned.

It was first communicated to the public inthat curious record of ancient literature, whichhas been accumulated by the combined exertionsof Sir Egerton Brydges. and Mr Hazlewood,in the periodical work entitled the BritishBibliographer. From thence it has been

transferred by the Reverend Charles HenryHartsborne, M.A., editor of a very curious volume,entitled ``Ancient Metrical Tales, printedchiefly from original sources, 1829.'' MrHartshorne gives no other authority for thepresent fragment, except the article in theBibliographer, where it is entitled the Kyngand the Hermite. A short abstract of itscontents will show its similarity to the meetingof King Richard and Friar Tuck.

King Edward (we are not told which amongthe monarchs of that name, but, from his temperand habits, we may suppose Edward IV.)sets forth with his court to a gallant hunting-matchin Sherwood Forest, in which, as is notunusual for princes in romance, he falls in witha deer of extraordinary size and swiftness, andpursues it closely, till he has outstripped hiswhole retinue, tired out hounds and horse, andfinds himself alone under the gloom of an extensiveforest, upon which night is descending.Under the apprehensions natural to a situationso uncomfortable, the king recollects that hehas heard how poor men, when apprehensive ofa bad nights lodging, pray to Saint Julian, who,in the Romish calendar, stands Quarter-Master-Generalto all forlorn travellers that renderhim due homage. Edward puts up his orisonsaccordingly, and by the guidance, doubtless, ofthe good Saint, reaches a small path, conductinghim to a chapel in the forest, having a hermit'scell in its close vicinity. The King hearsthe reverend man, with a companion of hissolitude, telling his beads within, and meeklyrequests of him quarters for the night. ``Ihave no accommodation for such a lord as yebe,'' said the Hermit. ``I live here in the wildernessupon roots and rinds, and may not receiveinto my dwelling even the poorest wretchthat lives, unless it were to save his life.'' TheKing enquires the way to the next town, and,understanding it is by a road which he cannotfind without difficulty, even if he had daylightto befriend him, he declares, that with or without

the Hermits consent, he is determined tobe his guest that night. He is admitted accordingly,not without a hint from the Recluse,that were he himself out of his priestly weeds,he would care little for his threats of usingviolence, and that he gives way to him not outof intimidation, but simply to avoid scandal.

The King is admitted into the cell---twobundles of straw are shaken down for his accommodation,and he comforts himself that heis now under shelter, and that

``A night will soon be gone.''

Other wants, however, arise. The guestbecomes clamorous for supper, observing,

``For certainly, as I you say,I ne had never so sorry a day,That I ne had a merry night.''

But this indication of his taste for goodcheer, joined to the annunciation of his beinga follower of the Court, who had lost himselfat the great hunting-match, cannot induce theniggard Hermit to produce better fare thanbread and cheese, for which his guest showedlittle appetite; and ``thin drink,'' which waseven less acceptable. At length the Kingpresses his host on a point to which he hadmore than once alluded, without obtaining asatisfactory reply:

``Then said the King, `by Godys grace,Thou wert in a merry place,To shoot should thou lereWhen the foresters go to rest,Sometyme thou might have of the best,All of the wild deer;I wold hold it for no scathe,Though thou hadst bow and arrows baith,Althoff thou best a Frere.' ''

The Hermit, in return, expresses his apprehension

that his guest means to drag him intosome confession of offence against the forestlaws, which, being betrayed to the King, mightcost him his life. Edward answers by freshassurances of secrecy, and again urges on himthe necessity of procuring some venison. TheHermit replies, by once more insisting on theduties incumbent upon him as a churchman,and continues to affirm himself free from allsuch breaches of order:---

``Many day I have here been,And flesh-meat I eat never,But milk of the kye;Warm thee well, and go to sleep,And I will lap thee with my cope,Softly to lye.''

It would seem that the manuscript is hereimperfect, for we do not find the reasons whichfinally induce the curtal Friar to amend theKing's cheer. But acknowledging his guestto be such a ``good fellow'' as has seldomgraced his board, the holy man at length producesthe best his cell affords. Two candlesare placed on a table, white bread and bakedpasties are displayed by the light, besideschoice of venison, both salt and fresh, fromwhich they select collops. ``I might have eatenmy bread dry,'' said the King, ``had I notpressed thee on the score of archery, but nowhave I dined like a prince---if we had but drinkenow.''

This too is afforded by the hospitable anchorite,who dispatches an assistant to fetch a potof four gallons from a secret corner near hisbed, and the whole three set in to serious drinking.This amusement is superintended by theFriar, according to the recurrence of certainfustian words, to be repeated by every compotatorin turn before he drank---a species ofHigh Jinks, as it were, by which they regulatedtheir potations, as toasts were given inlatter times. The one toper says _fusty bandias_,

to which the other is obliged to reply, _strikepantnere_, and the Friar passes many jests onthe King's want of memory, who sometimesforgets the words of action. The night is spentin this jolly pastime. Before his departurein the morning, the King invites his reverendhost to Court, promises, at least, to requite hishospitality, and expresses himself much pleasedwith his entertainment. The jolly Hermitat length agrees to venture thither, and toenquire for Jack Fletcher, which is the nameassumed by the King. After the Hermit hasshown Edward some feats of archery, the joyouspair separate. The King rides home, andrejoins his retinue. As the romance is imperfect,we are not acquainted how the discoverytakes place; but it is probably muchin the same manner as in other narrativesturning on the same subject, where the host,apprehensive of death for having trespassedon the respect due to his Sovereign, while incognito,is agreeably surprised by receivinghonours and reward.

In Mr Hartshorne's collection, there is aromance on the same foundation, called KingEdward and the Shepherd,* which, considered

* Like the Hermit, the Shepherd makes havock amongst the* King's game; but by means of a sling, not of a bow; like the* Hermit, too, he has his peculiar phrases of compotation, the* sign and countersign being Passelodion and Berafriend. One* can scarce conceive what humour our ancestors found in this* species of gibberish; but

* ``I warrant it proved an excuse for the glass.''

as illustrating manners, is still more curiousthan the King and the Hermit; but it is foreignto the present purpose. The reader has herethe original legend from which the incident inthe romance is derived; and the identifyingthe irregular Eremite with the Friar Tuck ofRobin Hood's story, was an obvious expedient.

The name of Ivanhoe was suggested by anold rhyme. All novelists have had occasionat some time or other to wish with Falstaff, thatthey knew where a commodity of good nameswas to be had. On such an occasion theauthor chanced to call to memory a rhymerecording three names of the manors forfeitedby the ancestor of the celebrated Hampden,for striking the Black Prince a blow with hisracket, when they quarrelled at tennis;---

``Tring, Wing, and Ivanhoe,For striking of a blow,Hampden did forego,And glad he could escape so.''

The word suited the author's purpose in twomaterial respects,---for, first, it had an ancientEnglish sound; and secondly, it conveyed noindication whatever of the nature of the story.He presumes to hold this last quality to be ofno small importance. What is called a takingtitle, serves the direct interest of the bookselleror publisher, who by this means sometimes sellsan edition while it is yet passing the press. Butif the author permits an over degree of attentionto be drawn to his work ere it has appeared,he places himself in the embarrassing conditionof having excited a degree of expectationwhich, if he proves unable to satisfy, is an errorfatal to his literary reputation. Besides, whenwe meet such a title as the Gunpowder Plot, orany other connected with general history, eachreader, before he has seen the book, has formedto himself some particular idea of the sort ofmanner in which the story is to be conducted,and the nature of the amusement which he isto derive from it. In this he is probably disappointed,and in that case may be naturally disposedto visit upon the author or the work, theunpleasant feelings thus excited. In such acase the literary adventurer is censured, notfor having missed the mark at which he himselfaimed, but for not having shot off his shaftin a direction he never thought of.

On the footing of unreserved communicationwhich the Author has established with thereader, he may here add the trifling circumstance,that a roll of Norman warriors, occurringin the Auchinleck Manuscript, gave himthe formidable name of Front-de-B<oe>uf.

Ivanhoe was highly successful upon its appearance,and may be said to have procuredfor its author the freedom of the Rules, sincehe has ever since been permitted to exercisehis powers of fictitious composition in England,as well as Scotland.

The character of the fair Jewess found somuch favour in the eyes of some fair readers,that the writer was censured, because, whenarranging the fates of the characters of thedrama, he had not assigned the hand of Wilfredto Rebecca, rather than the less interestingRowena. But, not to mention that the prejudicesof the age rendered such an union almostimpossible, the author may, in passing,observe, that he thinks a character of a highlyvirtuous and lofty stamp, is degraded ratherthan exalted by an attempt to reward virtuewith temporal prosperity. Such is not the recompensewhich Providence has deemed worthyof suffering merit, and it is a dangerousand fatal doctrine to teach young persons, themost common readers of romance, that rectitudeof conduct and of principle are either naturallyallied with, or adequately rewarded by,the gratification of our passions, or attainmentof our wishes. In a word, if a virtuous and self-deniedcharacter is dismissed with temporalwealth, greatness, rank, or the indulgence ofsuch a rashly formed or ill assorted passion asthat of Rebecca for Ivanhoe, the reader will beapt to say, verily Virtue has had its reward.But a glance on the great picture of life willshow, that the duties of self-denial, and thesacrifice of passion to principle, are seldom thusremunerated; and that the internal consciousness

of their high-minded discharge of duty,produces on their own reflections a more adequaterecompense, in the form of that peacewhich the world cannot give or take away.

Abbotsford,1st September, 1830.

DEDICATORY EPISTLE

TO

THE REV. DR DRYASDUST, F.A.S.

Residing in the Castle-Gate, York.

Much esteemed and dear Sir,

It is scarcely necessary to mention thevarious and concurring reasons which induceme to place your name at the head of the followingwork. Yet the chief of these reasonsmay perhaps be refuted by the imperfectionsof the performance. Could I have hoped torender it worthy of your patronage, the publicwould at once have seen the propriety ofinscribing a work designed to illustrate thedomestic antiquities of England, and particularlyof our Saxon forefathers, to the learnedauthor of the Essays upon the Horn of KingUlphus, and on the Lands bestowed by himupon the patrimony of St Peter. I am conscious,however, that the slight, unsatisfactory,and trivial manner, in which the result of myantiquarian researches has been recorded inthe following pages, takes the work from underthat class which bears the proud motto,_Detur digniori_. On the contrary, I fear I shallincur the censure of presumption in placingthe venerable name of Dr Jonas Dryasdust atthe head of a publication, which the moregrave antiquary will perhaps class with theidle novels and romances of the day. I amanxious to vindicate myself from such a charge;

for although I might trust to your friendshipfor an apology in your eyes, yet I would notwillingly stand conviction in those of the publicof so grave a crime, as my fears lead meto anticipate my being charged with.

I must therefore remind you, that when wefirst talked over together that class of productions,in one of which the private and familyaffairs of your learned northern friend, MrOldbuck of Monkbarns, were so unjustifiablyexposed to the public, some discussion occurredbetween us concerning the cause of thepopularity these works have attained in thisidle age, which, whatever other merit theypossess, must be admitted to be hastily written,and in violation of every rule assigned tothe epopeia. It seemed then to be your opinion,that the charm lay entirely in the art withwhich the unknown author had availed himself,like a second M`Pherson, of the antiquarianstores which lay scattered around him, supplyinghis own indolence or poverty of invention,by the incidents which had actually takenplace in his country at no distant period, byintroducing real characters, and scarcely suppressingreal names. It was not above sixtyor seventy years, you observed, since the wholenorth of Scotland was under a state of governmentnearly as simple and as patriarchalas those of our good allies the Mohawks andIroquois. Admitting that the author cannothimself be supposed to have witnessed thosetimes, he must have lived, you observed, amongpersons who had acted and suffered in them;and even within these thirty years, such an infinitechange has taken place in the mannersof Scotland, that men look back upon the habitsof society proper to their immediate ancestors,as we do on those of the reign of QueenAnne, or even the period of the Revolution.Having thus materials of every kind lyingstrewed around him, there was little, you observed,to embarrass the author, but the difficultyof choice. It was no wonder, therefore,

that, having begun to work a mine so plentiful,he should have derived from his worksfully more credit and profit than the facilityof his labours merited.

Admitting (as I could not deny) the generaltruth of these conclusions, I cannot butthink it strange that no attempt has been madeto excite an interest for the traditions andmanners of Old England, similiar to that whichhas been obtained in behalf of those of our poorerand less celebrated neighbours. The Kendalgreen, though its date is more ancient,ought surely to be as dear to our feelings, asthe variegated tartans of the north. The nameof Robin Hood, if duly conjured with, shouldraise a spirit as soon as that of Rob Roy; andthe patriots of England deserve no less theirrenown in our modern circles, than the Brucesand Wallaces of Caledonia. If the scenery ofthe south be less romantic and sublime thanthat of the northern mountains, it must be allowedto possess in the same proportion superiorsoftness and beauty; and upon the whole,we feel ourselves entitled to exclaim with thepatriotic Syrian---``Are not Pharphar andAbana, rivers of Damascus, better than all therivers of Israel?''

Your objections to such an attempt, my dearDoctor, were, you may remember, two-fold.You insisted upon the advantages which theScotsman possessed, from the very recent existenceof that state of society in which his scenewas to be laid. Many now alive, you remarked,well remembered persons who had not onlyseen the celebrated Roy M`Gregor, but hadfeasted, and even fought with him. All thoseminute circumstances belonging to private lifeand domestic character, all that gives verisimilitudeto a narrative, and individuality to thepersons introduced, is still known and rememberedin Scotland; whereas in England, civilisationhas been so long complete, that ourideas of our ancestors are only to be gleaned

from musty records and chronicles, the authorsof which seem perversely to have conspired tosuppress in their narratives all interesting details,in order to find room for flowers of monkisheloquence, or trite reflections upon morals.To match an English and a Scottish author inthe rival task of embodying and reviving thetraditions of their respective countries, wouldbe, you alleged, in the highest degree unequaland unjust. The Scottish magician, you said,was, like Lucan's witch, at liberty to walk overthe recent field of battle, and to select for thesubject of resuscitation by his sorceries, a bodywhose limbs had recently quivered with existence,and whose throat had but just utteredthe last note of agony. Such a subject eventhe powerful Erictho was compelled to select,as alone capable of being reanimated even by_her_ potent magic---

------gelidas leto scrutata medullas,Pulmonis rigidi stantes sine vulnere fibrasInvenit, et vocem defuncto in corpore qu<ae>rit.

The English author, on the other hand, withoutsupposing him less of a conjuror than theNorthern Warlock, can, you observed, onlyhave the liberty of selecting his subject amidstthe dust of antiquity, where nothing was to befound but dry, sapless, mouldering, and disjointedbones, such as those which filled thevalley of Jehoshaphat. You expressed, besides,your apprehension, that the unpatrioticprejudices of my countrymen would not allowfair play to such a work as that of which I endeavouredto demonstrate the probable success.And this, you said, was not entirely owing to themore general prejudice in favour of that whichis foreign, but that it rested partly upon improbabilities,arising out of the circumstancesin which the English reader is placed. If youdescribe to him a set of wild manners, and astate of primitive society existing in the Highlandsof Scotland, he is much disposed to acquiescein the truth of what is asserted. And

reason good. If he be of the ordinary classof readers, he has either never seen thoseremote districts at all, or he has wanderedthrough those desolate regions in the courseof a summer tour, eating bad dinners, sleepingon truckle beds, stalking from desolation todesolation, and fully prepared to believe thestrangest things that could be told him of apeople, wild and extravagant enough to be attachedto scenery so extraordinary. But thesame worthy person, when placed in his ownsnug parlour, and surrounded by all the comfortsof an Englishman's fireside, is not halfso much disposed to believe that his own ancestorsled a very different life from himself;that the shattered tower, which now forms avista from his window, once held a baron whowould have hung him up at his own door withoutany form of trial; that the hinds, by whomhis little pet-farm is managed, a few centuriesago would have been his slaves; and thatthe complete influence of feudal tyranny onceextended over the neighbouring village, wherethe attorney is now a man of more importancethan the lord of the manor.

While I own the force of these objections,I must confess, at the same time, that they donot appear to me to be altogether insurmountable.The scantiness of materials is indeed aformidable difficulty; but no one knows betterthan Dr Dryasdust, that to those deeplyread in antiquity, hints concerning the privatelife of our ancestors lie scattered through thepages of our various historians, bearing, indeed,a slender proportion to the other mattersof which they treat, but still, when collectedtogether, sufficient to throw considerable lightupon the _vie priv<e'>e_ of our forefathers; indeed,I am convinced, that however I myself mayfail in the ensuing attempt, yet, with more labourin collecting, or more skill in using, thematerials within his reach, illustrated as theyhave been by the labours of Dr Henry, of thelate Mr Strutt, and, above all, of Mr Sharon

Turner, an abler hand would have been successful;and therefore I protest, beforehand,against any argument which may be foundedon the failure of the present experiment.

On the other hand, I have already said, thatif any thing like a true picture of old Englishmanners could be drawn, I would trust to thegood-nature and good sense of my countrymenfor insuring its favourable reception.

Having thus replied, to the best of my power,to the first class of your objections, or at leasthaving shown my resolution to overleap thebarriers which your prudence has raised, Iwill be brief in noticing that which is morepeculiar to myself. It seems to be your opinion,that the very office of an antiquary, employedin grave, and, as the vulgar will sometimesallege, in toilsome and minute research,must be considered as incapacitating him fromsuccessfully compounding a tale of this sort.But permit me to say, my dear Doctor, thatthis objection is rather formal than substantial.It is true, that such slight compositionsmight not suit the severer genius of our friendMr Oldbuck. Yet Horace Walpole wrote agoblin tale which has thrilled through many abosom; and George Ellis could transfer all theplayful fascination of a humour, as delightfulas it was uncommon, into his Abridgement ofthe Ancient Metrical Romances. So that,however I may have occasion to rue my presentaudacity, I have at least the most respectableprecedents in my favour.

Still the severer antiquary may think, that,by thus intermingling fiction with truth, I ampolluting the well of history with modern inventions,and impressing upon the rising generationfalse ideas of the age which I describe.I cannot but in some sense admit the force ofthis reasoning, which I yet hope to traverseby the following considerations.

It is true, that I neither can, nor do pretend,to the observation of complete accuracy,even in matters of outward costume, much lessin the more important points of language andmanners. But the same motive which preventsmy writing the dialogue of the piece inAnglo-Saxon or in Norman-French, and whichprohibits my sending forth to the public thisessay printed with the types of Caxton or Wynkende Worde, prevents my attempting to confinemyself within the limits of the period inwhich my story is laid. It is necessary, forexciting interest of any kind, that the subjectassumed should be, as it were, translated intothe manners, as well as the language, of theage we live in. No fascination has ever beenattached to Oriental literature, equal to thatproduced by Mr Galland's first translation ofthe Arabian Tales; in which, retaining on theone hand the splendour of Eastern costume,and on the other the wildness of Eastern fiction,he mixed these with just so much ordinaryfeeling and expression, as rendered theminteresting and intelligible, while he abridgedthe long-winded narratives, curtailed the monotonousreflections, and rejected the endlessrepetitions of the Arabian original. The tales,therefore, though less purely Oriental than intheir first concoction, were eminently betterfitted for the European market, and obtainedan unrivalled degree of public favour, whichthey certainly would never have gained hadnot the manners and style been in some degreefamiliarized to the feelings and habits ofthe western reader.

In point of justice, therefore, to the multitudeswho will, I trust, devour this book withavidity, I have so far explained our ancientmanners in modern language, and so far detailedthe characters and sentiments of mypersons, that the modern reader will not findhimself, I should hope, much trammelled bythe repulsive dryness of mere antiquity. Inthis, I respectfully contend, I have in no respect

exceeded the fair license due to the authorof a fictitious composition. The late ingeniousMr Strutt, in his romance of Queen-Hoo-Hall,*

* The author had revised this posthumous work of Mr Strutt.* See General Preface to the present edition, Vol I. p. 65.

acted upon another principle; andin distinguishing between what was ancientand modern, forgot, as it appears to me, thatextensive neutral ground, the large proportion,that is, of manners and sentiments which arecommon to us and to our ancestors, havingbeen handed down unaltered from them to us,or which, arising out of the principles of ourcommon nature, must have existed alike ineither state of society. In this manner, a manof talent, and of great antiquarian erudition,limited the popularity of his work, by excludingfrom it every thing which was not sufficientlyobsolete to be altogether forgotten andunintelligible.

The license which I would here vindicate,is so necessary to the execution of my plan,that I will crave your patience while I illustratemy argument a little farther.

He who first opens Chaucer, or any otherancient poet, is so much struck with the obsoletespelling, multiplied consonants, and antiquatedappearance of the language, that heis apt to lay the work down in despair, as encrustedtoo deep with the rust of antiquity, topermit his judging of its merits or tasting itsbeauties. But if some intelligent and accomplishedfriend points out to him, that the difficultiesby which he is startled are more inappearance than reality, if, by reading aloudto him, or by reducing the ordinary words tothe modern orthography, he satisfies his proselytethat only about one-tenth part of thewords employed are in fact obsolete, the novicemay be easily persuaded to approach the ``wellof English undefiled,'' with the certainty that

a slender degree of patience will enable himto enjoy both the humour and the pathos withwhich old Geoffrey delighted the age of Cressyand of Poictiers.

To pursue this a little farther. If our neophyte,strong in the new-born love of antiquity,were to undertake to imitate what he hadlearnt to admire, it must be allowed he wouldact very injudiciously, if he were to selectfrom the Glossary the obsolete words which itcontains, and employ those exclusively of allphrases and vocables retained in modern days.This was the error of the unfortunate Chatterton.In order to give his language the appearanceof antiquity, he rejected every wordthat was modern, and produced a dialect entirelydifferent from any that had ever beenspoken in Great Britain. He who would imitatean ancient language with success, mustattend rather to its grammatical character,turn of expression, and mode of arrangement,than labour to collect extraordinary and antiquatedterms, which, as I have already averred,do not in ancient authors approach the numberof words still in use, though perhaps somewhataltered in sense and spelling, in the proportionof one to ten.

What I have applied to language, is stillmore justly applicable to sentiments and manners.The passions, the sources from whichthese must spring in all their modifications,are generally the same in all ranks and conditions,all countries and ages; and it follows, asa matter of course, that the opinions, habits ofthinking, and actions, however influenced bythe peculiar state of society, must still, uponthe whole, bear a strong resemblance to eachother. Our ancestors were not more distinctfrom us, surely, than Jews are from Christians;they had ``eyes, hands, organs, dimensions,senses, affections, passions;'' were ``fedwith the same food, hurt with the same weapons,subject to the same diseases, warmed and

cooled by the same winter and summer,'' asourselves. The tenor, therefore, of their affectionsand feelings, must have borne the samegeneral proportion to our own.

It follows, therefore, that of the materialswhich an author has to use in a romance, orfictitious composition, such as I have venturedto attempt, he will find that a great proportion,both of language and manners, is asproper to the present time as to those in whichhe has laid his time of action. The freedomof choice which this allows him, is thereforemuch greater, and the difficulty of his taskmuch more diminished, than at first appears.To take an illustration from a sister art, theantiquarian details may be said to representthe peculiar features of a landscape under delineationof the pencil. His feudal tower mustarise in due majesty; the figures which he introducesmust have the costume and characterof their age; the piece must represent the peculiarfeatures of the scene which he has chosenfor his subject, with all its appropriate elevationof rock, or precipitate descent of cataract.His general colouring, too, must be copied fromNature: The sky must be clouded or serene,according to the climate, and the general tintsmust be those which prevail in a natural landscape.So far the painter is bound down bythe rules of his art, to a precise imitation ofthe features of Nature; but it is not requiredthat he should descend to copy all her moreminute features, or represent with absolute exactnessthe very herbs, flowers, and trees, withwhich the spot is decorated. These, as wellas all the more minute points of light and shadow,are attributes proper to scenery in general,natural to each situation, and subject tothe artist's disposal, as his taste or pleasuremay dictate.

It is true, that this license is confined ineither case within legitimate bounds. Thepainter must introduce no ornament inconsistent

with the climate or country of his landscape;he must not plant cypress trees uponInch-Merrin, or Scottish firs among the ruinsof Persepolis; and the author lies under a correspondingrestraint. However far he mayventure in a more full detail of passions andfeelings, than is to be found in the ancientcompositions which he imitates, he must introducenothing inconsistent with the mannersof the age; his knights, squires, grooms, andyeomen, may be more fully drawn than in thehard, dry delineations of an ancient illuminatedmanuscript, but the character and costume ofthe age must remain inviolate; they must bethe same figures, drawn by a better pencil, or,to speak more modestly, executed in an agewhen the principles of art were better understood.His language must not be exclusivelyobsolete and unintelligible; but he should admit,if possible, no word or turn of phraseologybetraying an origin directly modern. It isone thing to make use of the language and sentimentswhich are common to ourselves andour forefathers, and it is another to invest themwith the sentiments and dialect exclusivelyproper to their descendants.

This, my dear friend, I have found the mostdifficult part of my task; and, to speak frankly,I hardly expect to satisfy your less partialjudgment, and more extensive knowledge ofsuch subjects, since I have hardly been able toplease my own.

I am conscious that I shall be found stillmore faulty in the tone of keeping and costume,by those who may be disposed rigidly toexamine my Tale, with reference to the mannersof the exact period in which my actorsflourished: It may be, that I have introducedlittle which can positively be termed modern;but, on the other hand, it is extremely probablethat I may have confused the manners oftwo or three centuries, and introduced, duringthe reign of Richard the First, circumstances

appropriated to a period either considerablyearlier, or a good deal later than that era. Itis my comfort, that errors of this kind willescape the general class of readers, and thatI may share in the ill-deserved applause ofthose architects, who, in their modern Gothic,do not hesitate to introduce, without rule ormethod, ornaments proper to different stylesand to different periods of the art. Thosewhose extensive researches have given themthe means of judging my backslidings withmore severity, will probably be lenient in proportionto their knowledge of the difficulty ofmy task. My honest and neglected friend,Ingulphus, has furnished me with many avaluable hint; but the light afforded by theMonk of Croydon, and Geoffrey de Vinsauff,is dimmed by such a conglomeration of uninterestingand unintelligible matter, that wegladly fly for relief to the delightful pages ofthe gallant Froissart, although he flourished ata period so much more remote from the dateof my history. If, therefore, my dear friend,you have generosity enough to pardon the presumptuousattempt, to frame for myself a minstrelcoronet, partly out of the pearls of pureantiquity, and partly from the Bristol stonesand paste, with which I have endeavoured toimitate them, I am convinced your opinion ofthe difficulty of the task will reconcile you tothe imperfect manner of its execution.

Of my materials I have but little to sayThey may be chiefly found in the singular Anglo-NormanMS., which Sir Arthur Wardourpreserves with such jealous care in the thirddrawer of his oaken cabinet, scarcely allowingany one to touch it, and being himself not ableto read one syllable of its contents. I shouldnever have got his consent, on my visit toScotland, to read in those precious pages forso many hours, had I not promised to designateit by some emphatic mode of printing, as{The Wardour Manuscript}; giving it, thereby,an individuality as important as the Bannatyne

MS., the Auchinleck MS., and any other monumentof the patience of a Gothic scrivener.I have sent, for your private consideration, alist of the contents of this curious piece, whichI shall perhaps subjoin, with your approbation,to the third volume of my Tale, in case theprinter's devil should continue impatient forcopy, when the whole of my narrative has beenimposed.

Adieu, my dear friend; I have said enoughto explain, if not to vindicate, the attemptwhich I have made, and which, in spite ofyour doubts, and my own incapacity, I amstill willing to believe has not been altogethermade in vain.

I hope you are now well recovered fromyour spring fit of the gout, and shall be happyif the advice of your learned physician shouldrecommend a tour to these parts. Severalcuriosities have been lately dug up near thewall, as well as at the ancient station of Habitancum.Talking of the latter, I suppose youhave long since heard the news, that a sulkychurlish boor has destroyed the ancient statue,or rather bas-relief, popularly called Robin ofRedesdale. It seems Robin's fame attractedmore visitants than was consistent with thegrowth of the heather, upon a moor worth ashilling an acre. Reverend as you write yourself,be revengeful for once, and pray with methat he may be visited with such a fit of thestone, as if he had all the fragments of poorRobin in that region of his viscera where thedisease holds its seat. Tell this not in Gath,lest the Scots rejoice that they have at lengthfound a parallel instance among their neighbours,to that barbarous deed which demolishedArthur's Oven. But there is no end tolamentation, when we betake ourselves to suchsubjects. My respectful compliments attendMiss Dryasdust; I endeavoured to match thespectacles agreeable to her commission, duringmy late journey to London, and hope she has

received them safe, and found them satisfactory.I send this by the blind carrier, so thatprobably it may be some time upon its journey.*

* This anticipation proved but too true, as my learned correspondent* did not receive my letter until a twelvemonth after* it was written. I mention this circumstance, that a gentleman* attached to the cause of learning, who now holds the principal* control of the post-office, may consider whether by some mitigation* of the present enormous rates, some favour might not be* shown to the correspondents of the principal Literary and Antiquarian* Societies. I understand, indeed, that this experiment* was once tried, but that the mail-coach having broke down under* the weight of packages addressed to members of the Society* of Antiquaries, it was relinquished as a hazardous experiment.* Surely, however it would be possible to build these vehicles in a* form more substantial, stronger in the perch, and broader in the* wheels, so as to support the weight of Antiquarian learning;* when, if they should be found to travel more slowly, they would* be not the less agreeable to quiet travellers like myself.---L. T.

The last news which I hear from Edinburghis, that the gentleman who fills the situationof Secretary to the Society of Antiquariesof Scotland,* is the best amateur draftsman

* Mr Skene of Rubislaw is here intimated, to whose taste* and skill the author is indebted for a series of etchings, exhibiting* the various localities alluded to in these novels.

in that kingdom, and that much is expectedfrom his skill and zeal in delineatingthose specimens of national antiquity, whichare either mouldering under the slow touch oftime, or swept away by modern taste, withthe same besom of destruction which JohnKnox used at the Reformation. Once more adieu;_vale tandem, non immemor mei_. Believe me to be,

Reverend, and very dear Sir,

Your most faithful humble Servant.

Laurence Templeton.

Toppingwold, near Egremont,Cumberland, Nov. 17, 1817.