Ivanhoe: A Romance
the Disinherited Knight, of the horse and armour used by the said Brian
de Bois-Guilbert in this day’s Passage of Arms, leaving it with your
nobleness to retain or to ransom the same, according to 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 the Disinherited Knight.
“To you four, sirs,” replied the Knight, addressing those who had last
spoken, “and to your honourable and valiant masters, I have one common
reply. Commend me to the noble knights, your masters, and say, I should
do ill to deprive them of steeds and arms which can never be used by
braver cavaliers.—I would I could here end my message to these gallant
knights; but being, as I term myself, in truth and earnest, the
Disinherited, I must be thus far bound to your masters, that they will,
of their courtesy, be pleased to ransom their steeds and armour, since
that which I wear I can hardly term mine own.”
“We stand commissioned, each of us,” answered the squire of Reginald
Front-de-Bœuf, “to offer a hundred zecchins in ransom of these horses
and suits of armour.”
“It is sufficient,” said the Disinherited Knight. “Half the sum my
present necessities compel me to accept; of the remaining half,
distribute one moiety among yourselves, sir squires, and divide the
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 and generosity not often practised, at least upon a
scale so extensive. The Disinherited Knight then addressed his
discourse to Baldwin, the squire of Brian de Bois-Guilbert. “From your
master,” said he, “I will accept neither arms nor ransom. Say to him in
my name, that our strife is not ended—no, not till we have fought as
well with swords as with lances—as well on foot as on horseback. To
this mortal quarrel he has himself defied me, and I shall not forget
the challenge.—Meantime, let him be assured, that I hold him not as one
of his companions, with whom I can with pleasure exchange courtesies;
but rather as one with whom I stand upon terms of mortal defiance.”
“My master,” answered Baldwin, “knows how to requite scorn with scorn,
and blows with blows, as well as courtesy with courtesy. Since you
disdain to accept from him any share of the ransom at which you have
rated the arms of the other knights, I must leave his armour and his
horse here, being well assured that he will never deign to mount the
one nor wear the other.”
“You have spoken well, good squire,” said the Disinherited Knight,
“well and boldly, as it beseemeth him to speak who answers for an
absent master. Leave not, however, the horse and armour here. Restore
them to thy master; or, if he scorns to accept them, retain them, good
friend, for thine own use. So far as they are mine, I bestow them upon
you freely.”
Baldwin made a deep obeisance, and retired with his companions; and the
Disinherited Knight entered the pavilion.
“Thus far, Gurth,” said he, addressing his attendant, “the reputation
of English chivalry hath not suffered in my hands.”
“And I,” said Gurth, “for a Saxon swineherd, have not ill played the
personage of a Norman squire-at-arms.”
“Yea, but,” answered the Disinherited Knight, “thou hast ever kept me
in anxiety lest thy clownish bearing should discover thee.”
“Tush!” said Gurth, “I fear discovery from none, saving my playfellow,
Wamba the Jester, of whom I could never discover whether he were most
knave or fool. Yet I could scarce choose but laugh, when my old master
passed so near to me, dreaming all the while that Gurth was keeping his
porkers many a mile off, in the thickets and swamps of Rotherwood. If I
am discovered—-”
“Enough,” said the Disinherited Knight, “thou knowest my promise.”
“Nay, for that matter,” said Gurth, “I will never fail my friend for
fear of my skin-cutting. I have a tough hide, that will bear knife or
scourge as well as any boar’s hide in my herd.”
“Trust me, I will requite the risk you run for my love, Gurth,” said
the Knight. “Meanwhile, I pray you to accept these ten pieces of gold.”
“I am richer,” said Gurth, putting them into his pouch, “than ever was
swineherd or bondsman.”
“Take this bag of gold to Ashby,” continued his master, “and find out
Isaac the Jew of York, and let him pay himself for the horse and arms
with which his credit supplied me.”
“Nay, by St Dunstan,” replied Gurth, “that I will not do.”
“How, knave,” replied his master, “wilt thou not obey my commands?”
“So they be honest, reasonable, and Christian commands,” replied Gurth;
“but this is none of these. To suffer the Jew to pay himself would be
dishonest, for it would be cheating my master; and unreasonable, for it
were the part of a fool; and unchristian, since it would be plundering
a believer to enrich an infidel.”
“See him contented, however, thou stubborn varlet,” said the
Disinherited Knight.
“I will do so,” said Gurth, taking the bag under his cloak, and leaving
the apartment; “and it will go hard,” he muttered, “but I content him
with one-half of his own asking.” So saying, he departed, and left the
Disinherited Knight to his own perplexed ruminations; which, upon more
accounts than it is now possible to communicate to the reader, were of
a nature peculiarly agitating and painful.
We must now change the scene to the village of Ashby, or rather to a
country house in its vicinity belonging to a wealthy Israelite, with
whom Isaac, his daughter, and retinue, had taken up their quarters; the
Jews, it is well known, being as liberal in exercising the duties of
hospitality and charity among their own people, as they were alleged to
be reluctant and churlish in extending them to those whom they termed
Gentiles, and whose treatment of them certainly merited little
hospitality at their hand.
In an apartment, small indeed, but richly furnished with decorations of
an Oriental taste, Rebecca was seated on a heap of embroidered
cushions, which, piled along a low platform that surrounded the
chamber, served, like the estrada of the Spaniards, instead of chairs
and stools. She was watching the motions of her father with a look of
anxious and filial affection, while he paced the apartment with a
dejected mien and disordered step; sometimes clasping his hands
together—sometimes casting his eyes to the roof of the apartment, as
one who laboured under great mental tribulation. “O, Jacob!” he
exclaimed—“O, all ye twelve Holy Fathers of our tribe! what a losing
venture is this for one who hath duly kept every jot and tittle of the
law of Moses—Fifty zecchins wrenched from me at one clutch, and by the
talons of a tyrant!”
“But, father,” said Rebecca, “you seemed to give 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 merchandise
to lighten the ship, while she laboured in the tempest—robed the
seething billows in my choice silks—perfumed their briny foam with
myrrh and aloes—enriched their caverns with gold and silver work! And
was not that an hour of unutterable misery, though my own hands made
the sacrifice?”
“But it was a sacrifice which Heaven exacted to save our lives,”
answered Rebecca, “and the God of our fathers has since blessed your
store and your gettings.”
“Ay,” answered Isaac, “but if the tyrant lays hold on them as he did
to-day, and compels me to smile while he is robbing me?—O, daughter,
disinherited and wandering as we are, the worst evil which befalls our
race is, that when we are wronged and plundered, all the world laughs
around, and we are compelled to suppress our sense of injury, and to
smile tamely, when we would revenge bravely.”
“Think not thus of it, my father,” said Rebecca; “we also have
advantages. These Gentiles, cruel and oppressive as they are, are in
some sort dependent on the dispersed children of Zion, whom they
despise and persecute. Without the aid of our wealth, they could
neither furnish forth their hosts in war, nor their triumphs in peace,
and the gold which we lend them returns with increase to our coffers.
We are like the herb which flourisheth most when it is most trampled
on. Even this day’s pageant had not proceeded without the consent of
the despised Jew, who furnished the means.”
“Daughter,” said Isaac, “thou hast harped upon another string of
sorrow. The goodly steed and the rich armour, equal to the full profit
of my adventure with our Kirjath Jairam of Leicester—there is a dead
loss too—ay, a loss which swallows up the gains of a week; ay, of the
space between two Sabbaths—and yet it may end better than I now think,
for ’tis a good youth.”
“Assuredly,” said Rebecca, “you shall not repent you of requiting the
good deed received of the stranger knight.”
“I trust so, daughter,” said Isaac, “and I trust too in the rebuilding
of Zion; but as well do I hope with my own bodily eyes to see the walls
and battlements of the new Temple, as to see a Christian, yea, the very
best of Christians, repay a debt to a Jew, unless under the awe of the
judge and jailor.”
So saying, he resumed his discontented walk through the apartment; and
Rebecca, perceiving that her attempts at consolation only served to
awaken new subjects of complaint, wisely desisted from her unavailing
efforts—a prudential line of conduct, and we recommend to all who set
up for comforters and advisers, to follow it in the like circumstances.
The evening was now becoming dark, when a Jewish servant entered the
apartment, and placed upon the table two silver lamps, fed with
perfumed oil; the richest wines, and the most delicate refreshments,
were at the same time displayed by another Israelitish domestic on a
small ebony table, inlaid with silver; for, in the interior of their
houses, the Jews refused themselves no expensive indulgences. At the
same time the servant informed Isaac, that a Nazarene (so they termed
Christians, while conversing among themselves) desired to speak with
him. He that would live by traffic, must hold himself at the disposal
of every one claiming business with him. Isaac at once replaced on the
table the untasted glass of Greek wine which he had just raised to his
lips, and saying hastily to his daughter, “Rebecca, veil thyself,”
commanded the stranger to be admitted.
Just as Rebecca had dropped over her fine features a screen of silver
gauze which reached to her feet, the door opened, and Gurth entered,
wrapt in the ample folds of his Norman mantle. His appearance was
rather suspicious than prepossessing, especially as, instead of doffing
his bonnet, he pulled it 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 spoken in 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 intercourse with thee?”
“Easily,” answered Gurth; “I, being to pay money, must know that I
deliver it to the right person; thou, who are to receive it, will not,
I think, care very greatly by whose hands it is delivered.”
“O,” said the Jew, “you are come to pay moneys?—Holy Father Abraham!
that altereth our relation to each other. And from whom dost thou bring
it?”
“From the Disinherited Knight,” said Gurth, “victor in this day’s
tournament. It is the price of the armour supplied to him by Kirjath
Jairam of Leicester, on thy recommendation. The steed is restored to
thy stable. I desire to know the amount of the sum which I am to pay
for the armour.”