Ivanhoe: A Romance
name of Front-de-Bœuf!—Think of my wrongs, Front-de-Bœuf, and answer me
if I speak not truth. Thou hast been my evil angel, and I will be
thine—I will dog thee till the very instant of dissolution!”
“Detestable fury!” exclaimed Front-de-Bœuf, “that moment shalt thou
never witness—Ho! Giles, Clement, and Eustace! Saint Maur, and Stephen!
seize this damned witch, and hurl her from the battlements headlong—she
has betrayed us to the Saxon!—Ho! Saint Maur! Clement! false-hearted,
knaves, where tarry ye?”
“Call on them again, valiant Baron,” said the hag, with a smile of
grisly mockery; “summon thy vassals around thee, doom them that loiter
to the scourge and the dungeon—But know, mighty chief,” she continued,
suddenly changing her tone, “thou shalt have neither answer, nor aid,
nor obedience at their hands.—Listen to these horrid sounds,” for the
din of the recommenced assault and defence now rung fearfully loud from
the battlements of the castle; “in that war-cry is the downfall of thy
house—The blood-cemented fabric of Front-de-Bœuf’s power totters to the
foundation, and before the foes he most despised!—The Saxon,
Reginald!—the scorned Saxon assails thy walls!—Why liest thou here,
like a worn-out hind, when the Saxon storms thy place of strength?”
“Gods and fiends!” exclaimed the wounded knight; “O, for one moment’s
strength, to drag myself to the ‘melee’, and perish as becomes my
name!”
“Think not of it, valiant warrior!” replied she; “thou shalt die no
soldier’s death, but perish like the fox in his den, when the peasants
have set fire to the cover around it.”
“Hateful hag! thou liest!” exclaimed Front-de-Bœuf; “my followers bear
them bravely—my walls are strong and high—my comrades in arms fear not
a whole host of Saxons, were they headed by Hengist and Horsa!—The
war-cry of the Templar and of the Free Companions rises high over the
conflict! And by mine honour, when we kindle the blazing beacon, for
joy of our defence, it shall consume thee, body and bones; and I shall
live to hear thou art gone from earthly fires to those of that hell,
which never sent forth an incarnate fiend more utterly diabolical!”
“Hold thy belief,” replied Ulrica, “till the proof reach thee—But, no!”
she said, interrupting herself, “thou shalt know, even now, the doom,
which all thy power, strength, and courage, is unable to avoid, though
it is prepared for thee by this feeble band. Markest thou the
smouldering and suffocating vapour which already eddies in sable folds
through the chamber?—Didst thou think it was but the darkening of thy
bursting eyes—the difficulty of thy cumbered breathing?—No!
Front-de-Bœuf, there is another cause—Rememberest thou the magazine of
fuel that is stored beneath these apartments?”
“Woman!” he exclaimed with fury, “thou hast not set fire to it?—By
heaven, thou hast, and the castle is in flames!”
“They are fast rising at least,” said Ulrica, with frightful composure;
“and a signal shall soon wave to warn the besiegers to press hard upon
those who would extinguish them.—Farewell, Front-de-Bœuf!—May Mista,
Skogula, and Zernebock, gods of the ancient Saxons—fiends, as the
priests now call them—supply the place of comforters at your dying bed,
which Ulrica now relinquishes!—But know, if it will give thee comfort
to know it, that Ulrica is bound to the same dark coast with thyself,
the companion of thy punishment as the companion of thy guilt.—And now,
parricide, farewell for ever!—May each stone of this vaulted roof find
a tongue to echo that title into thine ear!”
So saying, she left the apartment; and Front-de-Bœuf could hear the
crash of the ponderous key, as she locked and double-locked the door
behind her, thus cutting off the most slender chance of escape. In the
extremity of agony he shouted upon his servants and allies—“Stephen and
Saint Maur!—Clement and Giles!—I burn here unaided!—To the rescue—to
the rescue, brave Bois-Guilbert, valiant De Bracy!—It is Front-de-Bœuf
who calls!—It is your master, ye traitor squires!—Your ally—your
brother in arms, ye perjured and faithless knights!—all the curses due
to traitors upon your recreant heads, do you abandon me to perish thus
miserably!—They hear me not—they cannot hear me—my voice is lost in the
din of battle.—The smoke rolls thicker and thicker—the fire has caught
upon the floor below—O, for one drought of the air of heaven, were it
to be purchased by instant annihilation!” And in the mad frenzy of
despair, the wretch now shouted with the shouts of the fighters, now
muttered curses on himself, on mankind, and on Heaven itself.—“The red
fire flashes through the thick smoke!” he exclaimed; “the demon marches
against me under the banner of his own element—Foul spirit, avoid!—I go
not with thee without my comrades—all, all are thine, that garrison
these walls—Thinkest thou Front-de-Bœuf will be singled out to go
alone?—No—the infidel Templar—the licentious De Bracy—Ulrica, the foul
murdering strumpet—the men who aided my enterprises—the dog Saxons and
accursed Jews, who are my prisoners—all, all shall attend me—a goodly
fellowship as ever took the downward road—Ha, ha, ha!” and he laughed
in his frenzy till the vaulted roof rang again. “Who laughed there?”
exclaimed Front-de-Bœuf, in altered mood, for the noise of the conflict
did not prevent the echoes of his own mad laughter from returning upon
his ear—“who laughed there?—Ulrica, was it thou?—Speak, witch, and I
forgive thee—for, only thou or the fiend of hell himself could have
laughed at such a moment. Avaunt—avaunt!—-”
But it were impious to trace any farther the picture of the blasphemer
and parricide’s deathbed.
CHAPTER XXXI
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,
Or, close the wall up with our English dead.
———And you, good yeomen,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture—let us swear
That you are worth your breeding.
KING HENRY V
Cedric, although not greatly confident in Ulrica’s message, omitted not
to communicate her promise to the Black Knight and Locksley. They were
well pleased to find they had a friend within the place, who might, in
the moment of need, be able to facilitate their entrance, and readily
agreed with the Saxon that a storm, under whatever disadvantages, ought
to be attempted, as the only means of liberating the prisoners now in
the hands of the cruel Front-de-Bœuf.
“The royal blood of Alfred is endangered,” said Cedric.
“The honour of a noble lady is in peril,” said the Black Knight.
“And, by the Saint Christopher at my baldric,” said the good yeoman,
“were there no other cause than the safety of that poor faithful knave,
Wamba, I would jeopard a joint ere a hair of his head were hurt.”
“And so would I,” said the Friar; “what, sirs! I trust well that a
fool—I mean, d’ye see me, sirs, a fool that is free of his guild and
master of his craft, and can give as much relish and flavour to a cup
of wine as ever a flitch of bacon can—I say, brethren, such a fool
shall never want a wise clerk to pray for or fight for him at a strait,
while I can say a mass or flourish a partisan.” And with that he made
his heavy halberd to play around his head as a shepherd boy flourishes
his light crook.
“True, Holy Clerk,” said the Black Knight, “true as if Saint Dunstan
himself had said it.—And now, good Locksley, were it not well that
noble Cedric should assume the direction of this assault?”
“Not a jot I,” returned Cedric; “I have never been wont to study either
how to take or how to hold out those abodes of tyrannic power, which
the Normans have erected in this groaning land. I will fight among the
foremost; but my honest neighbours well know I am not a trained soldier
in the discipline of wars, or the attack of strongholds.”
“Since it stands thus with noble Cedric,” said Locksley, “I am most
willing to take on me the direction of the archery; and ye shall hang
me up on my own Trysting-tree, an the defenders be permitted to show
themselves over the walls without being stuck with as many shafts as
there are cloves in a gammon of bacon at Christmas.”
“Well said, stout yeoman,” answered the Black Knight; “and if I be
thought worthy to have a charge in these matters, and can find among
these brave men as many as are willing to follow a true English knight,
for so I may surely call myself, I am ready, with such skill as my
experience has taught me, to lead them to the attack of these walls.”
The parts being thus distributed to the leaders, they commenced the
first assault, of which the reader has already heard the issue.
When the barbican was carried, the Sable Knight sent notice of the
happy event to Locksley, requesting him at the same time, to keep such
a strict observation on the castle as might prevent the defenders from
combining their force for a sudden sally, and recovering the outwork
which they had lost. This the knight was chiefly desirous of avoiding,
conscious that the men whom he led, being hasty and untrained
volunteers, imperfectly armed and unaccustomed to discipline, must,
upon any sudden attack, fight at great disadvantage with the veteran
soldiers of the Norman knights, who were well provided with arms both
defensive and offensive; and who, to match the zeal and high spirit of
the besiegers, had all the confidence which arises from perfect
discipline and the habitual use of weapons.
The knight employed the interval in causing to be constructed a sort of
floating bridge, or long raft, by means of which he hoped to cross the
moat in despite of the resistance of the enemy. This was a work of some
time, which the leaders the less regretted, as it gave Ulrica leisure
to execute her plan of diversion in their favour, whatever that might
be.
When the raft was completed, the Black Knight addressed the
besiegers:—“It avails not waiting here longer, my friends; the sun is
descending to the west—and I have that upon my hands which will not
permit me to tarry with you another day. Besides, it will be a marvel
if the horsemen come not upon us from York, unless we speedily
accomplish our purpose. Wherefore, one of ye go to Locksley, and bid
him commence a discharge of arrows on the opposite side of the castle,
and move forward as if about to assault it; and you, true English
hearts, stand by me, and be ready to thrust the raft endlong over the
moat whenever the postern on our side is thrown open. Follow me boldly
across, and aid me to burst yon sallyport in the main wall of the
castle. As many of you as like not this service, or are but ill armed
to meet it, do you man the top of the outwork, draw your bow-strings to
your ears, and mind you quell with your shot whatever shall appear to
man the rampart—Noble Cedric, wilt thou take the direction of those
which remain?”
“Not so, by the soul of Hereward!” said the Saxon; “lead I cannot; but
may posterity curse me in my grave, if I follow not with the foremost
wherever thou shalt point the way—The quarrel is mine, and well it
becomes me to be in the van of the battle.”
“Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon,” said the knight, “thou hast neither
hauberk, nor corslet, nor aught but that light helmet, target, and
sword.”
“The better!” answered Cedric; “I shall be the lighter to climb these
walls. And,—forgive the boast, Sir Knight,—thou shalt this day see the
naked breast of a Saxon as boldly presented to the battle as ever ye
beheld the steel corslet of a Norman.”
“In the name of God, then,” said the knight, “fling open the door, and
launch the floating bridge.”
The portal, which led from the inner-wall of the barbican to the moat,
and which corresponded with a sallyport in the main wall of the castle,
was now suddenly opened; the temporary bridge was then thrust forward,