Ivanhoe: A Romance
“Child!” replied Isaac, somewhat heated, “thou knowest not what thou
speakest—His neck and limbs are his own, but his horse and armour
belong to—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 the Philistine—Pray, child—pray for the safety of the good
youth,—and of the speedy horse, and the rich armour.—God of my
fathers!” he again exclaimed, “he hath conquered, and the uncircumcised
Philistine hath fallen before his lance,—even as Og the King of Bashan,
and Sihon, King of the Amorites, fell before the sword of our
fathers!—Surely he shall take their gold and their silver, and their
war-horses, and their armour of brass and of steel, for a prey and for
a spoil.”
The same anxiety did the worthy Jew display during every course that
was run, seldom failing to hazard a hasty calculation concerning the
value of the horse and armour which was forfeited to the champion upon
each new success. There had been therefore no small interest taken in
the success of the Disinherited Knight, by those who occupied the part
of the lists before which he now paused.
Whether from indecision, or some other motive of hesitation, the
champion of the day remained stationary for more than a minute, while
the eyes of the silent audience were riveted upon his motions; and
then, gradually and gracefully sinking the point of his lance, he
deposited the coronet which it supported at the feet of the fair
Rowena. The trumpets instantly sounded, while the heralds proclaimed
the Lady Rowena the Queen of Beauty and of Love for the ensuing day,
menacing with suitable penalties those who should be disobedient to her
authority. They then repeated their cry of Largesse, to which Cedric,
in the height of his joy, replied by an ample donative, and to which
Athelstane, though less promptly, added one equally large.
There was some murmuring among the damsels of Norman descent, who were
as much unused to see the preference given to a Saxon beauty, as the
Norman nobles were to sustain defeat in the games of chivalry which
they themselves had introduced. But these sounds of disaffection were
drowned by the 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 race of the
immortal Alfred!”
However unacceptable these sounds might be to Prince John, and to those
around him, he saw himself nevertheless obliged to confirm the
nomination of the victor, and accordingly calling to horse, he left his
throne; and mounting his jennet, accompanied by his train, he again
entered the lists. The Prince paused a moment beneath the gallery of
the Lady Alicia, to whom he paid his compliments, observing, at the
same time, to those around him—“By my halidome, sirs! if the Knight’s
feats in arms have shown that he hath limbs and sinews, his choice hath
no less proved that his eyes are none of the clearest.”
It was on this occasion, as during his whole life, John’s misfortune,
not perfectly to understand the characters of those whom he wished to
conciliate. Waldemar Fitzurse was rather offended than pleased at the
Prince stating thus broadly an opinion, that his daughter had been
slighted.
“I know no right of chivalry,” he said, “more precious or inalienable
than that of each free knight to choose his lady-love by his own
judgment. My daughter courts distinction from no one; and in her own
character, and in her own sphere, will never fail to receive the full
proportion of that which is her due.”
Prince John replied not; but, spurring his horse, as if to give vent to
his vexation, he made the animal bound forward to the gallery where
Rowena was seated, with the crown still at her feet.
“Assume,” he said, “fair lady, the mark of your sovereignty, to which
none vows homage more sincerely than ourself, John of Anjou; and if it
please you to-day, with your noble sire and friends, to grace our
banquet in the Castle of Ashby, we shall learn to know the empress to
whose service we devote to-morrow.”
Rowena remained silent, and Cedric answered for her in his native
Saxon.
“The Lady Rowena,” he said, “possesses not the language in which to
reply to your courtesy, or to sustain her part in your festival. I
also, and the noble Athelstane of Coningsburgh, speak only the
language, and practise only the manners, of our fathers. We therefore
decline with thanks your Highness’s courteous invitation to the
banquet. To-morrow, the Lady Rowena will take upon her the state to
which she has been called by the free election of the victor Knight,
confirmed by the acclamations of the people.”
So saying, he lifted the coronet, and placed it upon Rowena’s head, in
token of her acceptance of the temporary authority assigned to her.
“What says he?” said Prince John, affecting not to understand the Saxon
language, in which, however, he was well skilled. The purport of
Cedric’s speech was repeated to him in French. “It is well,” he said;
“to-morrow we will ourself conduct this mute sovereign to her seat of
dignity.—You, at least, Sir Knight,” he added, turning to the victor,
who had remained near the gallery, “will this day share our banquet?”
The Knight, speaking for the first time, in a low and hurried voice,
excused himself by pleading fatigue, and the necessity of preparing for
to-morrow’s encounter.
“It is well,” said Prince John, haughtily; “although unused to such
refusals, we will endeavour to digest our banquet as we may, though
ungraced by the most successful in arms, and his elected Queen of
Beauty.”
So saying, he prepared to leave the lists with his glittering train,
and his turning his steed for that purpose, was the signal for the
breaking up and dispersion of the spectators.
Yet, with the vindictive memory proper to offended pride, especially
when combined with conscious want of desert, John had hardly proceeded
three paces, ere again, turning around, he fixed an eye of stern
resentment upon the yeoman who had displeased him in the early part of
the day, and issued his commands to the men-at-arms who stood near—“On
your life, suffer not that fellow to escape.”
The yeoman stood the angry glance of the Prince with the same unvaried
steadiness which had marked his former deportment, saying, with a
smile, “I have no intention to leave Ashby until the day after
to-morrow—I must see how Staffordshire and Leicestershire can draw
their bows—the forests of Needwood and Charnwood must rear good
archers.”
“I,” said Prince John to his attendants, but not in direct reply,—“I
will see how he can draw his own; and woe betide him unless his skill
should prove some apology for his insolence!”
“It is full time,” said De Bracy, “that the ‘outrecuidance’ 19 of these
peasants should be restrained by some striking example.”
Waldemar Fitzurse, who probably thought his patron was not taking the
readiest road to popularity, shrugged up his shoulders and was silent.
Prince John resumed his retreat from the lists, and the dispersion of
the multitude became general.
In various routes, according to the different quarters from which they
came, and in groups of various numbers, the spectators were seen
retiring over the plain. By far the most numerous part streamed towards
the town of Ashby, where many of the distinguished persons were lodged
in the castle, and where others found accommodation in the town itself.
Among these were most of the knights who had already appeared in the
tournament, or who proposed to fight there the ensuing day, and who, as
they rode slowly along, talking over the events of the day, were
greeted with loud shouts by the populace. The same acclamations were
bestowed upon Prince John, although he was indebted for them rather to
the splendour of his appearance and train, than to the popularity of
his character.
A more sincere and more general, as well as a better-merited
acclamation, attended the victor of the day, until, anxious to withdraw
himself from popular notice, he accepted the accommodation of one of
those pavilions pitched at the extremities of the lists, the use of
which was courteously tendered him by the marshals of the field. On his
retiring to his tent, many who had lingered in the lists, to look upon
and form conjectures concerning him, also dispersed.
The signs and sounds of a tumultuous concourse of men lately crowded
together in one place, and agitated by the same passing events, were
now exchanged for the distant hum of voices of different groups
retreating in all directions, and these speedily died away in silence.
No other sounds were heard save the voices of the menials who stripped
the galleries of their cushions and tapestry, in order to put them in
safety for the night, and wrangled among themselves for the half-used
bottles of wine and relics of the refreshment which had been served
round to the spectators.
Beyond the precincts of the lists more than one forge was erected; and
these now began to glimmer through the twilight, announcing the toil of
the armourers, which was to continue through the whole night, in order
to repair or alter the suits of armour to be used again on the morrow.
A strong guard of men-at-arms, renewed at intervals, from two hours to
two hours, surrounded the lists, and kept watch during the night.
CHAPTER X
Thus, like the sad presaging raven, that tolls
The sick man’s passport in her hollow beak,
And in the shadow of the silent night
Doth 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 reached his pavilion, than
squires and pages in abundance tendered their services to disarm him,
to bring fresh attire, and to offer him the refreshment of the bath.
Their zeal on this occasion was perhaps sharpened by curiosity, since
every one desired to know who the knight was that had gained so many
laurels, yet had refused, even at the command of Prince John, to lift
his visor or to name his name. But their officious inquisitiveness was
not gratified. The Disinherited Knight refused all other assistance
save that of his own squire, or rather yeoman—a clownish-looking man,
who, wrapt in a cloak of dark-coloured felt, and having his head and
face half-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, this attendant relieved his master from the more burdensome parts
of his armour, and placed food and wine before him, which the exertions
of the day rendered very acceptable.
The Knight had scarcely finished a hasty meal, ere his menial announced
to him that five men, each leading a barbed steed, desired to speak
with him. The Disinherited Knight had exchanged his armour for the long
robe usually worn by those of his condition, which, being furnished
with a hood, concealed the features, when such was the pleasure of the
wearer, almost as completely as the visor of the helmet itself, but the
twilight, which was now fast darkening, would of itself have rendered a
disguise unnecessary, unless to persons to whom the face of an
individual chanced to be particularly well known.
The Disinherited Knight, therefore, stept boldly forth to the front of
his tent, and found in attendance the squires of the challengers, whom
he easily knew by their russet and black dresses, each of whom led his
master’s charger, loaded with the armour in which he had that day
fought.
“According to the laws of chivalry,” said the foremost of these men,
“I, Baldwin de Oyley, squire to the redoubted Knight Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, make offer to you, styling yourself, for the present,