Ivanhoe: A Romance
“It were not fit I should do so,” answered Rebecca, with proud
humility, “where my society might be held a disgrace to my
protectress.”
By this time the change of baggage was hastily achieved; for the single
word “outlaws” rendered every one sufficiently alert, and the approach
of twilight made the sound yet more impressive. Amid the bustle, Gurth
was taken from horseback, in the course of which removal he prevailed
upon the Jester to slack the cord with which his arms were bound. It
was so negligently refastened, perhaps intentionally, on the part of
Wamba, that Gurth found no difficulty in freeing his arms altogether
from bondage, and then, gliding into the thicket, he made his escape
from the party.
The bustle had been considerable, and it was some time before Gurth was
missed; for, as he was to be placed for the rest of the journey behind
a servant, every one supposed that some other of his companions had him
under his custody, and when it began to be whispered among them that
Gurth had actually disappeared, they were under such immediate
expectation of an attack from the outlaws, that it was not held
convenient to pay much attention to the circumstance.
The path upon which the party travelled was now so narrow, as not to
admit, with any sort of convenience, above two riders abreast, and
began to descend into a dingle, traversed by a brook whose banks were
broken, swampy, and overgrown with dwarf willows. Cedric and
Athelstane, who were at the head of their retinue, saw the risk of
being attacked at this pass; but neither of them having had much
practice in war, no better mode of preventing the danger occurred to
them than that they should hasten through the defile as fast as
possible. Advancing, therefore, without much order, they had just
crossed the brook with a part of their followers, when they were
assailed in front, flank, and rear at once, with an impetuosity to
which, in their confused and ill-prepared condition, it was impossible
to offer effectual resistance. The shout of “A white dragon!—a white
dragon!—Saint George for merry England!” war-cries adopted by the
assailants, as belonging to their assumed character of Saxon outlaws,
was heard on every side, and on every side enemies appeared with a
rapidity of advance and attack which seemed to multiply their numbers.
Both the Saxon chiefs were made prisoners at the same moment, and each
under circumstances expressive of his character. Cedric, the instant
that an enemy appeared, launched at him his remaining javelin, which,
taking better effect than that which he had hurled at Fangs, nailed the
man against an oak-tree that happened to be close behind him. Thus far
successful, Cedric spurred his horse against a second, drawing his
sword at the same time, and striking with such inconsiderate fury, that
his weapon encountered a thick branch which hung over him, and he was
disarmed by the violence of his own blow. He was instantly made
prisoner, and pulled from his horse by two or three of the banditti who
crowded around him. Athelstane shared his captivity, his bridle having
been seized, and he himself forcibly dismounted, long before he could
draw his weapon, or assume any posture of effectual defence.
The attendants, embarrassed with baggage, surprised and terrified at
the fate of their masters, fell an easy prey to the assailants; while
the Lady Rowena, in the centre of the cavalcade, and the Jew and his
daughter in the rear, experienced the same misfortune.
Of all the train none escaped except Wamba, who showed upon the
occasion much more courage than those who pretended to greater sense.
He possessed himself of a sword belonging to one of the domestics, who
was just drawing it with a tardy and irresolute hand, laid it about him
like a lion, drove back several who approached him, and made a brave
though ineffectual attempt to succour his master. Finding himself
overpowered, the Jester at length threw himself from his horse, plunged
into the thicket, and, favoured by the general confusion, escaped from
the scene of action. Yet the valiant Jester, as soon as he found
himself safe, hesitated more than once whether he should not turn back
and share the captivity of a master 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 man would teach me what use to make of it
now that I have it.”
As he pronounced these words aloud, a voice very near him called out in
a low and cautious tone, “Wamba!” and, at the same time, a dog, which
he recognised to be Fangs, jumped up and fawned upon him. “Gurth!”
answered Wamba, with the same caution, and the swineherd immediately
stood before him.
“What is the matter?” said he eagerly; “what mean these cries, and that
clashing of swords?”
“Only a trick of the times,” said Wamba; “they are all prisoners.”
“Who are prisoners?” exclaimed Gurth, impatiently.
“My lord, and my lady, and Athelstane, and Hundibert, and Oswald.”
“In the name of God!” said Gurth, “how came they prisoners?—and to
whom?”
“Our master was too ready to fight,” said the Jester; “and Athelstane
was not ready enough, and no other person was ready at all. And they
are prisoners to green cassocks, and black visors. And they lie all
tumbled about on the green, like the 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 of unfeigned sorrow.
Gurth’s countenance kindled—“Wamba,” he said, “thou hast a weapon, and
thy heart was ever stronger than thy brain,—we are only two—but a
sudden attack from men of resolution will do much—follow me!”
“Whither?—and for what purpose?” said the Jester.
“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 person suddenly made his
appearance, and commanded them both to halt. From his dress and arms,
Wamba would have conjectured him to be one of those outlaws who had
just assailed his master; but, besides that he wore no mask, the
glittering baldric across his shoulder, with the rich bugle-horn which
it supported, as well as the calm and commanding expression of his
voice and manner, made him, notwithstanding the twilight, recognise
Locksley the yeoman, who had been victorious, under such
disadvantageous circumstances, in the contest for the prize of archery.
“What is the meaning of all this,” said he, “or who is it that rifle,
and ransom, and make prisoners, in these forests?”
“You may look at their cassocks close by,” said Wamba, “and see whether
they be thy children’s coats or no—for they are as like thine own, as
one green pea-cod is to another.”
“I will learn that presently,” answered Locksley; “and I charge ye, on
peril of your lives, not to stir from the place where ye stand, until I
have returned. Obey me, and it shall be the better for you and your
masters.—Yet stay, I must render myself as like these men as possible.”
So saying he unbuckled his baldric with the bugle, took a feather from
his cap, and gave them to 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 foolish mind, he had all the equipage of a thief too
much in 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 he belong to that party, he must already have
given them the alarm, and it will avail nothing either to fight or fly.
Besides, I have late experience, that errant thieves are not the worst
men in the world to have to deal with.”
The yeoman returned in the course of a few minutes.
“Friend Gurth,” he said, “I have mingled among 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 actual violence against their
prisoners. For three men to attempt 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 when any one approaches. But I trust
soon to gather such 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 friend of the rights of Englishmen. He shall
not want English hands to help him in this extremity. Come then with
me, until I gather more aid.”
So saying, he walked through the wood at a great pace, followed by the
jester and the swineherd. It was not consistent with Wamba’s humour to
travel long in silence.
“I think,” said he, looking at the baldric and bugle which he still
carried, “that I saw the arrow shot which won this gay prize, and that
not so long since as Christmas.”
“And I,” said Gurth, “could take it on my halidome, that I have heard
the voice of the good yeoman who won it, by night as well as by day,
and that the moon is not three days older since I did 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
reason to think me the best friend you have ever had in your lives. And
whether I am known by one name or another—or whether I can draw a bow
as well or better than a cow-keeper, or whether it is my pleasure to
walk in sunshine or by moonlight, are matters, which, as they do not
concern you, so neither 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 we can.”
“Hush—be silent,” said Gurth. “Offend him not by 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 ear
Was 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 the servants of Cedric,
with their mysterious guide, arrived at a small opening in the forest,
in the centre of which grew an oak-tree of enormous magnitude, throwing
its twisted branches in every direction. Beneath this tree four or five
yeomen lay stretched 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 sleepers as suddenly started up and bent their bows.
Six arrows placed on the string were pointed towards the quarter from
which the travellers approached, when their guide, being recognised,
was welcomed with every token of respect and attachment, and all signs
and fears of a rough reception at once subsided.
“Where is the Miller?” was his first question.
“On the road towards Rotherham.”
“With how many?” demanded the leader, for such he seemed to be.
“With six men, and good hope of booty, if it please St Nicholas.”
“Devoutly spoken,” said Locksley; “and where is Allan-a-Dale?”
“Walked up towards the Watling-street, to watch 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. “Disperse and seek your companions.
Collect what force you can, for there’s game afoot that must be hunted
hard, and will turn to bay. Meet me here by daybreak.—And stay,” he
added, “I have forgotten what is most necessary of the whole—Two of you
take the road quickly towards Torquilstone, the Castle of