Ivanhoe: A Romance
chivalry from every Christian clime—these are dedicated to ends of
which our pious founders little dreamed, and which are equally
concealed from such weak spirits as embrace our Order on the ancient
principles, and whose superstition makes them our passive tools. But I
will not further withdraw the veil of our mysteries. That bugle-sound
announces something which may require my presence. Think on what I have
said.—Farewell!—I do not say forgive me the violence I have threatened,
for it was necessary to the display of thy character. Gold can be only
known by the application of the touchstone. I will soon return, and
hold further conference with thee.”
He re-entered the turret-chamber, and descended the stair, leaving
Rebecca scarcely more terrified at the prospect of the death to which
she had been so lately exposed, than at the furious ambition of the
bold bad man in whose power she found herself so unhappily placed. When
she entered the turret-chamber, her first duty was to return thanks to
the God of Jacob for the protection which he had afforded her, and to
implore its continuance for her and for her father. Another name glided
into her petition—it was that of the wounded Christian, whom fate had
placed in the hands of bloodthirsty men, his avowed enemies. Her heart
indeed checked her, as if, even in communing with the Deity in prayer,
she mingled in her devotions the recollection of one with whose fate
hers could have no alliance—a Nazarene, and an enemy to her faith. But
the petition was already breathed, nor could all the narrow prejudices
of her sect induce Rebecca to wish it recalled.
CHAPTER XXV
A damn’d cramp piece of penmanship as ever I saw in my life!
SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER
When the Templar reached the hall of the castle, he found De Bracy
already there. “Your love-suit,” said De Bracy, “hath, I suppose, been
disturbed, like mine, by this obstreperous summons. But you have come
later and more reluctantly, and therefore I presume your interview has
proved more agreeable than mine.”
“Has your suit, then, been unsuccessfully paid to the Saxon heiress?”
said the Templar.
“By the bones of Thomas a Becket,” answered De Bracy, “the Lady Rowena
must have heard that I cannot endure the sight of women’s tears.”
“Away!” said the Templar; “thou a leader of a Free Company, and regard
a woman’s tears! A few drops sprinkled on the torch of love, make the
flame blaze the brighter.”
“Gramercy for the few drops of thy sprinkling,” replied De Bracy; “but
this damsel hath wept enough to extinguish a beacon-light. Never was
such wringing of hands and such overflowing of eyes, since the days of
St Niobe, of whom Prior Aymer told us. 30 A water-fiend hath possessed
the fair Saxon.”
“A legion of fiends have occupied the bosom of the Jewess,” replied the
Templar; “for, I think no single one, not even Apollyon himself, could
have inspired such indomitable pride and resolution.—But where is
Front-de-Bœuf? That horn is sounded more and more clamorously.”
“He is negotiating with the Jew, I suppose,” replied De Bracy, coolly;
“probably the howls of Isaac have drowned the blast of the bugle. Thou
mayst know, by experience, Sir Brian, that a Jew parting with his
treasures on such terms as our friend Front-de-Bœuf is like to offer,
will raise a clamour loud enough to be heard over twenty horns and
trumpets to boot. But we will make the vassals call him.”
They were soon after joined by Front-de-Bœuf, who had been disturbed in
his tyrannic cruelty in the manner with which the reader is acquainted,
and had only tarried to give some necessary directions.
“Let us see the cause of this cursed clamour,” said Front-de-Bœuf—“here
is a letter, and, if I mistake not, it is in Saxon.”
He looked at it, turning it round and round as if he had had really
some hopes of coming at the meaning by inverting the position of the
paper, and then handed it to De Bracy.
“It may be magic spells for aught I know,” said De Bracy, who possessed
his full proportion of the ignorance which characterised the chivalry
of the period. “Our chaplain attempted to teach me to write,” he said,
“but all my letters were formed like spear-heads and sword-blades, and
so the old shaveling gave up the task.”
“Give it me,” said the Templar. “We have that of the priestly
character, that we have some knowledge to enlighten our valour.”
“Let us profit by your most reverend knowledge, then,” said De Bracy;
“what says the scroll?”
“It is a formal letter of defiance,” answered the Templar; “but, by our
Lady of Bethlehem, if it be not a foolish jest, it is the most
extraordinary cartel that ever was sent across the drawbridge of a
baronial castle.”
“Jest!” said Front-de-Bœuf, “I would gladly know who dares jest with me
in such a matter!—Read it, Sir Brian.”
The Templar accordingly read it as follows:—“I, Wamba, the son of
Witless, Jester to a noble and free-born man, Cedric of Rotherwood,
called the Saxon,—And I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph, the swineherd—-”
“Thou art mad,” said Front-de-Bœuf, interrupting the reader.
“By St Luke, it is so set down,” answered the Templar. Then resuming
his task, he went on,—“I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph, swineherd unto
the said Cedric, with the assistance of our allies and confederates,
who make common cause with us in this our feud, namely, the good
knight, called for the present ‘Le Noir Faineant’, and the stout
yeoman, Robert Locksley, called Cleave-the-Wand. Do you, Reginald Front
de-Bœuf, and your allies and accomplices whomsoever, to wit, that
whereas you have, without cause given or feud declared, wrongfully and
by mastery seized upon the person of our lord and master the said
Cedric; also upon the person of a noble and freeborn damsel, the Lady
Rowena of Hargottstandstede; also upon the person of a noble and
freeborn man, Athelstane of Coningsburgh; also upon the persons of
certain freeborn men, their ‘cnichts’; also upon certain serfs, their
born bondsmen; also upon a certain Jew, named Isaac of York, together
with his daughter, a Jewess, and certain horses and mules: Which noble
persons, with their ‘cnichts’ and slaves, and also with the horses and
mules, Jew and Jewess beforesaid, were all in peace with his majesty,
and travelling as liege subjects upon the king’s highway; therefore we
require and demand that the said noble persons, namely, Cedric of
Rotherwood, Rowena of Hargottstandstede, Athelstane of Coningsburgh,
with their servants, ‘cnichts’, and followers, also the horses and
mules, Jew and Jewess aforesaid, together with all goods and chattels
to them pertaining, be, within an hour after the delivery hereof,
delivered to us, or to those whom we shall appoint to receive the same,
and that untouched and unharmed in body and goods. Failing of which, we
do pronounce to you, that we hold ye as robbers and traitors, and will
wager our bodies against ye in battle, siege, or otherwise, and do our
utmost to your annoyance and destruction. Wherefore may God have you in
his keeping.—Signed by us upon the eve of St Withold’s day, under the
great trysting oak in the Hart-hill Walk, the above being written by a
holy man, Clerk to God, our Lady, and St Dunstan, in the Chapel of
Copmanhurst.”
At the bottom of this document was scrawled, in the first place, a rude
sketch of a cock’s head and comb, with a legend expressing this
hieroglyphic to be the sign-manual of Wamba, son of Witless. Under this
respectable emblem stood a cross, stated to be the mark of Gurth, the
son of Beowulph. Then was written, in rough bold characters, the words,
“Le Noir Faineant”. And, to conclude the whole, an arrow, neatly enough
drawn, was described as the mark of the yeoman Locksley.
The knights heard this uncommon document read from end to end, and then
gazed upon each other in silent amazement, as being utterly at a loss
to know what it could portend. De Bracy was the first to break silence
by an uncontrollable fit of laughter, wherein he was joined, though
with more moderation, by the Templar. Front-de-Bœuf, on the contrary,
seemed impatient of their ill-timed jocularity.
“I give you plain warning,” he said, “fair sirs, that you had better
consult how to bear yourselves under these circumstances, than give way
to such misplaced merriment.”
“Front-de-Bœuf has not recovered his temper since his late overthrow,”
said De Bracy to the Templar; “he is cowed at the very idea of a
cartel, though it come but from a fool and a swineherd.”
“By St Michael,” answered Front-de-Bœuf, “I would thou couldst stand
the whole brunt of this adventure thyself, De Bracy. These fellows
dared not have acted with such inconceivable impudence, had they not
been supported by some strong bands. There are enough of outlaws in
this forest to resent my protecting the deer. I did but tie one fellow,
who was taken redhanded and in the fact, to the horns of a wild stag,
which gored him to death in five minutes, and I had as many arrows shot
at me as there were launched against yonder target at Ashby.—Here,
fellow,” he added, to one of his attendants, “hast thou sent out to see
by what force this precious challenge is to be supported?”
“There are at least two hundred men assembled in the woods,” answered a
squire who was in attendance.
“Here is a proper matter!” said Front-de-Bœuf, “this comes of lending
you the use of my castle, that cannot manage your undertaking quietly,
but you must bring this nest of hornets about my ears!”
“Of hornets?” said De Bracy; “of stingless drones rather; a band of
lazy knaves, who take to the wood, and destroy the venison rather than
labour for their maintenance.”
“Stingless!” replied Front-de-Bœuf; “fork-headed shafts of a cloth-yard
in length, and these shot within the breadth of a French crown, are
sting enough.”
“For shame, Sir Knight!” said the Templar. “Let us summon our people,
and sally forth upon them. One knight—ay, one man-at-arms, were enough
for twenty such peasants.”
“Enough, and too much,” said De Bracy; “I should only be ashamed to
couch lance against them.”
“True,” answered Front-de-Bœuf; “were they black Turks or Moors, Sir
Templar, or the craven peasants of France, most valiant De Bracy; but
these are English yeomen, over whom we shall have no advantage, save
what we may derive from our arms and horses, which will avail us little
in the glades of the forest. Sally, saidst thou? we have scarce men
enough to defend the castle. The best of mine are at York; so is all
your band, De Bracy; and we have scarcely twenty, besides the handful
that were engaged in this mad business.”
“Thou dost not fear,” said the Templar, “that they can assemble in
force sufficient to attempt the castle?”
“Not so, Sir Brian,” answered Front-de-Bœuf. “These outlaws have indeed
a daring captain; but without machines, scaling ladders, and
experienced leaders, my castle may defy them.”
“Send to thy neighbours,” said the Templar, “let them assemble their
people, and come to the rescue of three knights, besieged by a jester
and a swineherd in the baronial castle of Reginald Front-de-Bœuf!”
“You jest, Sir Knight,” answered the baron; “but to whom should I
send?—Malvoisin is by this time at York with his retainers, and so are
my other allies; and so should I have been, but for this infernal
enterprise.”
“Then send to York, and recall our people,” said De Bracy. “If they
abide the shaking of my standard, or the sight of my Free Companions, I
will give them credit for the boldest outlaws ever bent bow in
green-wood.”
“And who shall bear such a message?” said Front-de-Bœuf; “they will
beset every path, and rip the errand out of his bosom.—I have it,” he
added, after pausing for a moment—“Sir Templar, thou canst write as