Ivanhoe: A Romance
Hubert shook his head as he received with reluctance the bounty of the
stranger, and Locksley, anxious to escape further observation, mixed
with the crowd, and was seen no more.
The victorious archer would not perhaps have escaped John’s attention
so easily, had not that Prince had other subjects of anxious and more
important meditation pressing upon his mind at that instant. He called
upon his chamberlain as he gave the signal for retiring from the lists,
and commanded him instantly to gallop to Ashby, and seek out Isaac the
Jew. “Tell the dog,” he said, “to send me, before sun-down, two
thousand crowns. He knows the security; but thou mayst show him this
ring for a token. The rest of the money must be paid at York within six
days. If he neglects, I will have the unbelieving villain’s head. Look
that thou pass him not on the way; for the circumcised slave was
displaying his stolen finery amongst us.”
So saying, the Prince resumed his horse, and returned to Ashby, the
whole crowd breaking up and dispersing upon his retreat.
CHAPTER XIV
In rough magnificence array’d,
When ancient Chivalry display’d
The pomp of her heroic games,
And crested chiefs and tissued dames
Assembled, at the clarion’s call,
In some proud castle’s high arch’d hall.
WARTON
Prince John held his high festival in the Castle of Ashby. This was not
the same building of which the stately ruins still interest the
traveller, and which was erected at a later period by the Lord
Hastings, High Chamberlain of England, one of the first victims of the
tyranny of Richard the Third, and yet better known as one of
Shakespeare’s characters than by his historical fame. The castle and
town of Ashby, at this time, belonged to Roger de Quincy, Earl of
Winchester, who, during the period of our history, was absent in the
Holy Land. Prince John, in the meanwhile, occupied his castle, and
disposed of his domains without scruple; and seeking at present to
dazzle men’s eyes by his hospitality and magnificence, had given orders
for great preparations, in order to render the banquet as splendid as
possible.
The purveyors of the Prince, who exercised on this and other occasions
the full authority of royalty, had swept the country of all that could
be collected which was esteemed fit for their master’s table. Guests
also were invited in great numbers; and in the necessity in which he
then found himself of courting popularity, Prince John had extended his
invitation to a few distinguished Saxon and Danish families, as well as
to the Norman nobility and gentry of the neighbourhood. However
despised and degraded on ordinary occasions, the great numbers of the
Anglo-Saxons must necessarily render them formidable in the civil
commotions which seemed approaching, and it was an obvious point of
policy to secure popularity with their leaders.
It was accordingly the Prince’s intention, which he for some time
maintained, to treat these unwonted guests with a courtesy to which
they had been little accustomed. But although no man with less scruple
made his ordinary habits and feelings bend to his interest, it was the
misfortune of this Prince, that his levity and petulance were
perpetually breaking out, and undoing all that had been gained by his
previous dissimulation.
Of this fickle temper he gave a memorable example in Ireland, when sent
thither by his father, Henry the Second, with the purpose of buying
golden opinions of the inhabitants of that new and important
acquisition to the English crown. Upon this occasion the Irish
chieftains contended which should first offer to the young Prince their
loyal homage and the kiss of peace. But, instead of receiving their
salutations with courtesy, John and his petulant attendants could not
resist the temptation of 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 keep these
inconsistencies of John’s character in view, that the reader may
understand his conduct during the present evening.
In execution of the resolution which he had formed during his cooler
moments, Prince John received Cedric and Athelstane with distinguished
courtesy, and expressed his disappointment, without resentment, when
the indisposition of Rowena was alleged by the former as a reason for
her not attending upon his gracious summons. Cedric and Athelstane were
both dressed in the ancient Saxon garb, which, although not unhandsome
in itself, and in the present instance composed of costly materials,
was so remote in shape and appearance from that of the other guests,
that Prince John took great credit to himself with Waldemar Fitzurse
for refraining from laughter at a sight which the fashion of the day
rendered ridiculous. Yet, in the eye of sober judgment, the short close
tunic and long mantle of the Saxons was a more graceful, as well as a
more convenient dress, than the garb of the Normans, whose under
garment was a long doublet, so loose as to resemble a shirt or
waggoner’s frock, covered by a cloak of scanty dimensions, neither fit
to defend the wearer from cold or from rain, and the only purpose of
which appeared to be to display as much fur, embroidery, and jewellery
work, as the ingenuity of the tailor could contrive to lay upon it. The
Emperor Charlemagne, in whose reign they were first introduced, seems
to have been very sensible of the inconveniences arising from the
fashion of this garment. “In Heaven’s name,” said he, “to what purpose
serve these abridged cloaks? If we are in bed they are no cover, on
horseback they are no protection from the wind and rain, and when
seated, they do not guard our legs from the damp or the frost.”
Nevertheless, spite of this imperial objurgation, the short cloaks
continued in fashion down to the time of which we treat, and
particularly among the princes of the House of Anjou. They were
therefore in universal use among Prince John’s courtiers; and the long
mantle, which formed the upper garment of the Saxons, was held in
proportional derision.
The guests were seated at a table which groaned under the quantity of
good cheer. The numerous cooks who attended on the Prince’s progress,
having exerted all their art in varying the forms in which the ordinary
provisions were served up, had succeeded almost as well as the modern
professors of the culinary art in rendering them perfectly unlike their
natural appearance. Besides these dishes of domestic origin, there were
various delicacies brought from foreign parts, and a quantity of rich
pastry, as well as of the simnel-bread and wastle cakes, which were
only used at the tables of the highest nobility. The banquet was
crowned with the richest wines, both foreign and domestic.
But, though luxurious, the Norman nobles were not generally speaking an
intemperate race. While indulging themselves in the pleasures of the
table, they aimed at delicacy, but avoided excess, and were apt to
attribute gluttony and drunkenness to the vanquished Saxons, as vices
peculiar to their inferior station. Prince John, indeed, and those who
courted his pleasure by imitating his foibles, were apt to indulge to
excess in the pleasures of the trencher and the goblet; and indeed it
is well known that his death was occasioned by a surfeit upon peaches
and new ale. His conduct, however, was an exception to the general
manners of his countrymen.
With sly gravity, interrupted only by private signs to each other, the
Norman knights and nobles beheld the ruder demeanour of Athelstane and
Cedric at a banquet, to the form and fashion of which they were
unaccustomed. And while their manners were thus the subject of
sarcastic observation, the untaught Saxons unwittingly transgressed
several of the arbitrary rules established for the regulation of
society. Now, it is well known, that a man may with more impunity be
guilty of an actual breach either of real good breeding or of good
morals, than appear ignorant of the most minute point of fashionable
etiquette. Thus Cedric, who dried his hands with a towel, instead of
suffering the moisture to exhale by waving them gracefully in the air,
incurred more ridicule than his companion Athelstane, when he swallowed
to his own single share the whole of a large pasty composed of the most
exquisite foreign delicacies, and termed at that time a “Karum-Pie”.
When, however, it was discovered, by a serious cross-examination, that
the Thane of Coningsburgh (or Franklin, as the Normans termed him) had
no idea what he had been devouring, and that he had taken the contents
of the Karum-pie for larks and pigeons, whereas they were in fact
beccaficoes and nightingales, his ignorance brought him in for an ample
share of the ridicule which would have been more justly bestowed on his
gluttony.
The long feast had at length its end; and, while the goblet circulated
freely, men talked of the feats of the preceding tournament,—of the
unknown victor in the archery games, of the Black Knight, whose
self-denial had induced him to withdraw from the honours he had
won,—and of the gallant Ivanhoe, who had so dearly bought the honours
of the day. The topics were treated with military frankness, and the
jest and laugh went round the hall. The brow of Prince John alone was
overclouded during these discussions; some overpowering care seemed
agitating his mind, and it was only when he received occasional hints
from his attendants, that he seemed to take interest in what was
passing around him. On such occasions he would start up, quaff a cup of
wine as if to raise his spirits, and then mingle in the conversation by
some observation made abruptly or at random.
“We drink this beaker,” said he, “to the health of Wilfred of Ivanhoe,
champion of this Passage of Arms, and grieve that his wound renders him
absent from our board—Let all fill to the pledge, and especially Cedric
of Rotherwood, the worthy father of a son so promising.”
“No, my lord,” replied Cedric, standing up, and placing on the table
his untasted cup, “I yield not the name of son to the disobedient
youth, who at once despises my commands, and relinquishes the manners
and customs of his fathers.”
“’Tis impossible,” cried Prince John, with well-feigned astonishment,
“that so gallant a knight should be an unworthy or disobedient son!”
“Yet, my lord,” answered Cedric, “so it is with this Wilfred. He left
my homely dwelling to mingle with the gay nobility of your brother’s
court, where he learned to do those tricks of horsemanship which you
prize so highly. He left it contrary to my wish and command; and in the
days of Alfred that would have been termed disobedience—ay, and a crime
severely punishable.”
“Alas!” replied Prince John, with a deep sigh of affected sympathy,
“since your son was a follower of my unhappy brother, it need not be
enquired where or from whom he learned the lesson of filial
disobedience.”
Thus spake Prince John, wilfully forgetting, that of all the sons of
Henry the Second, though no one was free from the charge, he himself
had been most distinguished for rebellion and ingratitude to his
father.
“I think,” said he, after a moment’s pause, “that my brother proposed
to confer upon his favourite the rich manor of Ivanhoe.”
“He did endow him with it,” answered Cedric; “nor is it my least
quarrel with my son, that he stooped to hold, as a feudal vassal, the
very domains which his fathers possessed in free and independent
right.”
“We shall then have your willing sanction, good Cedric,” said Prince
John, “to confer this fief upon a person whose dignity will not be
diminished by holding land of the British crown.—Sir Reginald