Ivanhoe: A Romance
passages and stairs which led to the various bartisans and points of
defence. The voices of the knights were heard, animating their
followers, or directing means of defence, while their commands were
often drowned in the clashing of armour, or the clamorous shouts of
those whom they addressed. Tremendous as these sounds were, and yet
more terrible from the awful event which they presaged, there was a
sublimity mixed with them, which Rebecca’s high-toned mind could feel
even in that moment of terror. Her eye kindled, although the blood fled
from her cheeks; and there was a strong mixture of fear, and of a
thrilling sense of the sublime, as she repeated, half whispering to
herself, half speaking to her companion, the sacred text,—“The quiver
rattleth—the glittering spear and the shield—the noise of the captains
and the shouting!”
But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime passage, glowing
with impatience at his inactivity, and with his ardent desire to mingle
in the affray of which these sounds were the introduction. “If I could
but drag myself,” he said, “to yonder window, that I might see how this
brave game is like to go—If I had but bow to shoot a shaft, or
battle-axe to strike were it but a single blow for our deliverance!—It
is in vain—it is in vain—I am alike nerveless and weaponless!”
“Fret not thyself, noble knight,” answered Rebecca, “the sounds have
ceased of a sudden—it may be they join not battle.”
“Thou knowest nought of it,” said Wilfred, impatiently; “this dead
pause only shows that the men are at their posts on the walls, and
expecting an instant attack; what we have heard was but the instant
muttering of the storm—it will burst anon in all its fury.—Could I but
reach yonder window!”
“Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt, noble knight,” replied
his attendant. Observing his extreme solicitude, she firmly added, “I
myself will stand at the lattice, and describe to you as I can what
passes without.”
“You must not—you shall not!” exclaimed Ivanhoe; “each lattice, each
aperture, will be soon a mark for the archers; some random shaft—”
“It shall be welcome!” murmured Rebecca, as with firm pace she ascended
two or three steps, which led to the window of which they spoke.
“Rebecca, dear Rebecca!” exclaimed Ivanhoe, “this is no maiden’s
pastime—do not expose thyself to wounds and death, and render me for
ever miserable for having given the occasion; at least, cover thyself
with yonder ancient buckler, and show as little of your person at the
lattice as may be.”
Following with wonderful promptitude the directions of Ivanhoe, and
availing herself of the protection of the large ancient shield, which
she placed against the lower part of the window, Rebecca, with
tolerable security to herself, could witness part of what was passing
without the castle, and report to Ivanhoe the preparations which the
assailants were making for the storm. Indeed the situation which she
thus obtained was peculiarly favourable for this purpose, because,
being placed on an angle of the main building, Rebecca could not only
see what passed beyond the precincts of the castle, but also commanded
a view of the outwork likely to be the first object of the meditated
assault. It was an exterior fortification of no great height or
strength, intended to protect the postern-gate, through which Cedric
had been recently dismissed by Front-de-Bœuf. The castle moat divided
this species of barbican from the rest of the fortress, so that, in
case of its being taken, it was easy to cut off the communication with
the main building, by withdrawing the temporary bridge. In the outwork
was a sallyport corresponding to the postern of the castle, and the
whole was surrounded by a strong palisade. Rebecca could observe, from
the number of men placed for the defence of this post, that the
besieged entertained apprehensions for its safety; and from the
mustering of the assailants in a direction nearly opposite to the
outwork, it seemed no less plain that it had been selected as a
vulnerable point of attack.
These appearances she hastily communicated to Ivanhoe, and added, “The
skirts of the wood seem lined with archers, although only a few are
advanced from its dark shadow.”
“Under what banner?” asked Ivanhoe.
“Under no ensign of war which I can observe,” answered Rebecca.
“A singular novelty,” muttered the knight, “to advance to storm such a
castle without pennon or banner displayed!—Seest thou who they be that
act as leaders?”
“A knight, clad in sable armour, is the most conspicuous,” said the
Jewess; “he alone is armed from head to heel, and seems to assume the
direction of all around him.”
“What device does he bear on his shield?” replied Ivanhoe.
“Something resembling a bar of iron, and a padlock painted blue on the
black shield.” 35
“A fetterlock and shacklebolt azure,” said Ivanhoe; “I know not who may
bear the device, but well I ween it might now be mine own. Canst thou
not see the motto?”
“Scarce the device itself at this distance,” replied Rebecca; “but when
the sun glances fair upon his shield, it shows as I tell you.”
“Seem there no other leaders?” exclaimed the anxious enquirer.
“None of mark and distinction that I can behold from this station,”
said Rebecca; “but, doubtless, the other side of the castle is also
assailed. They appear even now preparing to advance—God of Zion,
protect us!—What a dreadful sight!—Those who advance first bear huge
shields and defences made of plank; the others follow, bending their
bows as they come on.—They raise their bows!—God of Moses, forgive the
creatures thou hast made!”
Her description was here suddenly interrupted by the signal for
assault, which was given by the blast of a shrill bugle, and at once
answered by a flourish of the Norman trumpets from the battlements,
which, mingled with the deep and hollow clang of the nakers, (a species
of kettle-drum,) retorted in notes of defiance the challenge of the
enemy. The shouts of both parties augmented the fearful din, the
assailants crying, “Saint George for merry England!” and the Normans
answering them with loud cries of “En avant De Bracy!—Beau-seant!
Beau-seant!—Front-de-Bœuf a la rescousse!” according to the war-cries
of their different commanders.
It was not, however, by clamour that the contest was to be decided, and
the desperate efforts of the assailants were met by an equally vigorous
defence on the part of the besieged. The archers, trained by their
woodland pastimes to the most effective use of the long-bow, shot, to
use the appropriate phrase of the time, so “wholly together,” that no
point at which a defender could show the least part of his person,
escaped their cloth-yard shafts. By this heavy discharge, which
continued as thick and sharp as hail, while, notwithstanding, every
arrow had its individual aim, and flew by scores together against each
embrasure and opening in the parapets, as well as at every window where
a defender either occasionally had post, or might be suspected to be
stationed,—by this sustained discharge, two or three of the garrison
were slain, and several others wounded. But, confident in their armour
of proof, and in the cover which their situation afforded, the
followers of Front-de-Bœuf, and his allies, showed an obstinacy in
defence proportioned to the fury of the attack and replied with the
discharge of their large cross-bows, as well as with their long-bows,
slings, and other missile weapons, to the close and continued shower of
arrows; and, as the assailants were necessarily but indifferently
protected, did considerably more damage than they received at their
hand. The whizzing of shafts and of missiles, on both sides, was only
interrupted by the shouts which arose when either side inflicted or
sustained some notable loss.
“And I must lie here like a bedridden monk,” exclaimed Ivanhoe, “while
the game that gives me freedom or death is played out by the hand of
others!—Look from the window once again, kind maiden, but beware that
you are not marked by the archers beneath—Look out once more, and tell
me if they yet advance to the storm.”
With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which she had
employed in mental devotion, Rebecca again took post at the lattice,
sheltering herself, however, so as not to be visible from beneath.
“What dost thou see, Rebecca?” again demanded the wounded knight.
“Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle mine
eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot them.”
“That cannot endure,” said Ivanhoe; “if they press not right on to
carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but
little against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the Knight of the
Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how he bears himself; for as the
leader is, so will his followers be.”
“I see him not,” said Rebecca.
“Foul craven!” exclaimed Ivanhoe; “does he blench from the helm when
the wind blows highest?”
“He blenches not! he blenches not!” said Rebecca, “I see him now; he
leads a body of men close under the outer barrier of the barbican. 36
—They pull down the piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers
with axes.—His high black plume floats abroad over the throng, like a
raven over the field of the slain.—They have made a breach in the
barriers—they rush in—they are thrust back!—Front-de-Bœuf heads the
defenders; I see his gigantic form above the press. They throng again
to the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand, and man to man.
God of Jacob! it is the meeting of two fierce tides—the conflict of two
oceans moved by adverse winds!”
She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer to endure a
sight so terrible.
“Look forth again, Rebecca,” said Ivanhoe, mistaking the cause of her
retiring; “the archery must in some degree have ceased, since they are
now fighting hand to hand.—Look again, there is now less danger.”
Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately exclaimed, “Holy
prophets of the law! Front-de-Bœuf and the Black Knight fight hand to
hand on the breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch the
progress of the strife—Heaven strike with the cause of the oppressed
and of the captive!” She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed, “He
is down!—he is down!”
“Who is down?” cried Ivanhoe; “for our dear Lady’s sake, tell me which
has fallen?”
“The Black Knight,” answered Rebecca, faintly; then instantly again
shouted with joyful eagerness—“But no—but no!—the name of the Lord of
Hosts be blessed!—he is on foot again, and fights as if there were
twenty men’s strength in his single arm—His sword is broken—he snatches
an axe from a yeoman—he presses Front-de-Bœuf with blow on blow—The
giant stoops and totters like an oak under the steel of the woodman—he
falls—he falls!”
“Front-de-Bœuf?” exclaimed Ivanhoe.
“Front-de-Bœuf!” answered the Jewess; “his men rush to the rescue,
headed by the haughty Templar—their united force compels the champion
to pause—They drag Front-de-Bœuf within the walls.”
“The assailants have won the barriers, have they not?” said Ivanhoe.
“They have—they have!” exclaimed Rebecca—“and they press the besieged
hard upon the outer wall; some plant ladders, some swarm like bees, and
endeavour to ascend upon the shoulders of each other—down go stones,
beams, and trunks of trees upon their heads, and as fast as they bear
the wounded to the rear, fresh men supply their places in the
assault—Great God! hast thou given men thine own image, that it should
be thus cruelly defaced by the hands of their brethren!”
“Think not of that,” said Ivanhoe; “this is no time for such
thoughts—Who yield?—who push their way?”
“The ladders are thrown down,” replied Rebecca, shuddering; “the