Ivanhoe: A Romance
himself he saw no longer; it seemed as if the fairies had conveyed him
from the spot. Perhaps Oswald (for the Saxons were very superstitious)
might have adopted some such hypothesis, to account for Ivanhoe’s
disappearance, had he not suddenly cast his eye upon a person attired
like a squire, in whom he recognised the features of his fellow-servant
Gurth. Anxious concerning his master’s fate, and in despair at his
sudden disappearance, the translated swineherd was searching for him
everywhere, and had neglected, in doing so, the concealment on which
his own safety depended. Oswald deemed it his duty to secure Gurth, as
a fugitive of whose fate his master was to judge.
Renewing his enquiries concerning the fate of Ivanhoe, the only
information which the cupbearer could collect from the bystanders was,
that the knight had been raised with care by certain well-attired
grooms, and placed in a litter belonging to a lady among the
spectators, which had immediately transported him out of the press.
Oswald, on receiving this intelligence, resolved to return to his
master for farther instructions, carrying along with him Gurth, whom he
considered in some sort as a deserter from the service of Cedric.
The Saxon had been under very intense and agonizing apprehensions
concerning his son; for Nature had asserted her rights, in spite of the
patriotic stoicism which laboured to disown her. But no sooner was he
informed that Ivanhoe was in careful, and probably in friendly hands,
than the paternal anxiety which had been excited by the dubiety of his
fate, gave way anew to the feeling of injured pride and resentment, at
what he termed Wilfred’s filial disobedience.
“Let him wander his way,” said he—“let those leech his wounds for whose
sake he encountered them. He is fitter to do the juggling tricks of the
Norman chivalry than to maintain the fame and honour of his English
ancestry with the glaive and brown-bill, the good old weapons of his
country.”
“If to maintain the honour of ancestry,” said Rowena, who was present,
“it is sufficient to be wise in council and brave in execution—to be
boldest among the bold, and gentlest among the gentle, I know no voice,
save his father’s—-”
“Be silent, Lady Rowena!—on this subject only I hear you not. Prepare
yourself for the Prince’s festival: we have been summoned thither with
unwonted circumstance of honour and of courtesy, such as the haughty
Normans have rarely used to our race since the fatal day of Hastings.
Thither will I go, were it only to show these proud Normans how little
the fate of a son, who could defeat their bravest, can affect a Saxon.”
“Thither,” said Rowena, “do I NOT go; and I pray you to beware, lest
what you mean for courage and constancy, shall be accounted hardness of
heart.”
“Remain at home, then, ungrateful lady,” answered Cedric; “thine is the
hard heart, which can sacrifice the weal of an oppressed people to an
idle and unauthorized attachment. I seek the noble Athelstane, and with
him attend the banquet of John of Anjou.”
He went accordingly to the banquet, of which we have already mentioned
the principal events. Immediately upon retiring from the castle, the
Saxon thanes, with their attendants, took horse; and it was during the
bustle which attended their doing so, that Cedric, for the first time,
cast his eyes upon the deserter Gurth. The noble Saxon had returned
from the banquet, as we have seen, in no very placid humour, and wanted
but a pretext for wreaking his anger upon some one.
“The gyves!” he said, “the gyves!—Oswald—Hundibert!—Dogs and
villains!—why leave ye the knave unfettered?”
Without daring to remonstrate, the companions of Gurth bound him with a
halter, as the readiest cord which occurred. He submitted to the
operation without remonstrance, except that, darting a reproachful look
at his master, he said, “This comes of loving your flesh and blood
better than mine own.”
“To horse, and forward!” said Cedric.
“It is indeed full time,” said the noble Athelstane; “for, if we ride
not the faster, the worthy Abbot Waltheoff’s preparations for a
rere-supper 25 will be altogether spoiled.”
The travellers, however, used such speed as to reach the convent of St
Withold’s before the apprehended evil took place. The Abbot, himself of
ancient Saxon descent, received the noble Saxons with the profuse and
exuberant hospitality of their nation, wherein they indulged to a late,
or rather an early hour; nor did they take leave of their reverend host
the next morning until they had shared 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
most addicted to a superstitious observance of omens, and to whose
opinions can be traced most of those notions upon such subjects, still
to be found among our popular antiquities. For the Normans being a
mixed race, and better informed according to the information of the
times, had lost most of the superstitious prejudices which their
ancestors had brought from Scandinavia, and piqued themselves upon
thinking freely on such topics.
In the present instance, the apprehension of impending evil was
inspired by no less respectable a prophet than a large lean black dog,
which, sitting upright, howled most piteously as the foremost riders
left the gate, and presently afterwards, barking wildly, and jumping to
and fro, seemed bent upon attaching itself to the party.
“I like not that music, father Cedric,” said Athelstane; for by this
title of respect he was accustomed to address him.
“Nor I either, uncle,” said Wamba; “I greatly fear we shall have to pay
the piper.”
“In my mind,” said Athelstane, upon whose memory the Abbot’s good ale
(for Burton was already famous for that genial liquor) had made a
favourable impression,—“in my mind we had better turn back, and abide
with the Abbot until the afternoon. It is unlucky to travel where your
path is crossed by a monk, a hare, or a howling dog, until you have
eaten your next meal.”
“Away!” said Cedric, impatiently; “the day is 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 his stirrups, impatient at
the interruption of his journey, he launched his javelin at poor
Fangs—for Fangs it was, who, having traced his master thus far upon his
stolen expedition, had here lost him, and was now, in his uncouth way,
rejoicing at his reappearance. The javelin inflicted a wound upon the
animal’s shoulder, and narrowly missed pinning him to the earth; and
Fangs fled howling from the presence of the enraged thane. Gurth’s
heart swelled within him; for he felt this meditated slaughter of his
faithful adherent in a degree much deeper than the harsh treatment he
had himself received. Having in vain attempted to raise his hand to his
eyes, he said to Wamba, who, seeing his master’s ill humour had
prudently retreated to the rear, “I pray thee, do me the kindness to
wipe my eyes with the skirt of thy mantle; the dust offends me, and
these bonds will not let me help myself one way or another.”
Wamba did him the service he required, and they rode side by side for
some time, during which Gurth maintained a moody silence. At length he
could repress his feelings no longer.
“Friend Wamba,” said he, “of all those who are fools enough to serve
Cedric, thou alone hast dexterity enough to make thy folly acceptable
to him. Go to him, therefore, and tell him that neither for love nor
fear will Gurth serve him longer. He may strike the head from me—he may
scourge me—he may load me with irons—but henceforth he shall never
compel me either to love or to obey him. Go to him, then, and tell him
that Gurth the son of Beowulph renounces his service.”
“Assuredly,” said Wamba, “fool as I am, I shall not do your fool’s
errand. Cedric hath another javelin stuck into his girdle, and thou
knowest he does not always miss his mark.”
“I care not,” replied Gurth, “how soon he makes a mark of me. Yesterday
he left Wilfred, my young master, in his blood. To-day he has striven
to kill before my face the only other living creature that ever showed
me kindness. By St Edmund, St Dunstan, St Withold, St Edward the
Confessor, and every other Saxon saint in the calendar,” (for Cedric
never swore by any that was not of Saxon lineage, and all his household
had the same limited devotion,) “I will never forgive him!”
“To my thinking now,” said the Jester, who was frequently wont to act
as peace-maker in the family, “our master did not propose to hurt
Fangs, but only to affright him. For, if you observed, he rose in his
stirrups, as thereby meaning to overcast the mark; and so he would have
done, but Fangs happening to bound up at the very moment, received a
scratch, which I will be bound to heal with a penny’s breadth of tar.”
“If I thought so,” said Gurth—“if I could but think so—but no—I saw the
javelin was well aimed—I heard it whizz through the air with all the
wrathful malevolence of him who cast it, and it quivered after it had
pitched in the ground, as if with regret for having missed its mark. By
the hog dear to St Anthony, I renounce him!”
And the indignant swineherd resumed his sullen silence, which no
efforts of the Jester could again induce him to break.
Meanwhile Cedric and Athelstane, the leaders of the troop, conversed
together on the state of the land, on the dissensions of the royal
family, on the feuds and quarrels among the Norman nobles, and on the
chance which there was that the oppressed Saxons might be able to free
themselves from the yoke of the Normans, or at least to elevate
themselves into national consequence and independence, during the civil
convulsions which were likely to ensue. On this subject Cedric was all
animation. The restoration of the independence of his race was the idol
of his heart, to which he had willingly sacrificed domestic happiness
and the interests of his own son. But, in order to achieve this great
revolution in favour of the native English, it was necessary that they
should be united among themselves, and act under an acknowledged head.
The necessity of choosing their chief from the Saxon blood-royal was
not only evident in itself, but had been made a solemn condition by
those whom Cedric had intrusted with his secret plans and hopes.
Athelstane had this quality at least; and though he had few mental
accomplishments or talents to recommend him as a leader, he had still a
goodly person, was no coward, had been accustomed to martial exercises,
and seemed willing to defer to 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 whatever pretensions Athelstane had to
be considered as head of the Saxon confederacy, many of that nation
were disposed to prefer to the title of the Lady Rowena, who drew her
descent from Alfred, and whose father having been a chief renowned for
wisdom, courage, and generosity, his memory was highly honoured by his
oppressed countrymen.
It would have been no difficult thing for Cedric, had he been so
disposed, to have placed himself at the head of a third party, as
formidable at least as any of the others. To counterbalance their royal
descent, he had courage, activity, energy, and, above all, that devoted
attachment to the cause which had procured him the epithet of The
Saxon, and his birth was inferior to none, excepting only that of
Athelstane and his ward. These qualities, however, were unalloyed by
the slightest shade of selfishness; and, instead of dividing yet
farther his weakened nation by forming a faction of his own, it was a