Ivanhoe: A Romance
fashion of the day, was ornamented with silver bells. In his seat he
had nothing of the awkwardness of the convent, but displayed the easy
and habitual grace of a well-trained horseman. Indeed, it seemed that
so humble a conveyance as a mule, in however good case, and however
well broken to a pleasant and accommodating amble, was only used by the
gallant monk for travelling on the road. A lay brother, one of those
who followed in the train, had, for his use on other occasions, one of
the most handsome Spanish jennets ever bred at Andalusia, which
merchants used at that time to import, with great trouble and risk, for
the use of persons of wealth and distinction. The saddle and housings
of this superb palfrey were covered by a long foot-cloth, which reached
nearly to the ground, and on which were richly embroidered, mitres,
crosses, and other ecclesiastical emblems. Another lay brother led a
sumpter mule, loaded probably with his superior’s baggage; and two
monks of his own order, of inferior station, rode together in the rear,
laughing and conversing with each other, without taking much notice of
the other members of the cavalcade.
The companion of the church dignitary was a man past forty, thin,
strong, tall, and muscular; an athletic figure, which long fatigue and
constant exercise seemed to have left none of the softer part of the
human form, having reduced the whole to brawn, bones, and sinews, which
had sustained a thousand toils, and were ready to dare a thousand more.
His head was covered with a scarlet cap, faced with fur—of that kind
which the French call “mortier”, from its resemblance to the shape of
an inverted mortar. His countenance was therefore fully displayed, and
its expression was calculated to impress a degree of awe, if not of
fear, upon strangers. High features, naturally strong and powerfully
expressive, had been burnt almost into Negro blackness by constant
exposure to the tropical sun, and might, in their ordinary state, be
said to slumber after the storm of passion had passed away; but the
projection of the veins of the forehead, the readiness with which the
upper lip and its thick black moustaches quivered upon the slightest
emotion, plainly intimated that the tempest might be again and easily
awakened. His keen, piercing, dark eyes, told in every glance a history
of difficulties subdued, and dangers dared, and seemed to challenge
opposition to his wishes, for the pleasure of sweeping it from his road
by a determined exertion of courage and of will; a deep scar on his
brow gave additional sternness to his countenance, and a sinister
expression to one of his eyes, which had been slightly injured on the
same occasion, and of which the vision, though perfect, was in a slight
and partial degree distorted.
The upper dress of this personage resembled that of his companion in
shape, being a long monastic mantle; but the colour, being scarlet,
showed that he did not belong to any of the four regular orders of
monks. On the right shoulder of the mantle there was cut, in white
cloth, a cross of a peculiar form. This upper robe concealed what at
first view seemed rather inconsistent with its form, a shirt, namely,
of linked mail, with sleeves and gloves of the same, curiously plaited
and interwoven, as flexible to the body as those which are now wrought
in the stocking-loom, out of less obdurate materials. The fore-part of
his thighs, where the folds of his mantle permitted them to be seen,
were also covered with linked mail; the knees and feet were defended by
splints, or thin plates of steel, ingeniously jointed upon each other;
and mail hose, reaching from the ankle to the knee, effectually
protected the legs, and completed the rider’s defensive armour. In his
girdle he wore a long and double-edged dagger, which was the only
offensive weapon about his person.
He rode, not a mule, like his companion, but a strong hackney for the
road, to save his gallant war-horse, which a squire led behind, fully
accoutred for battle, with a chamfron or plaited head-piece upon his
head, having a short spike projecting from the front. On one side of
the saddle hung a short battle-axe, richly inlaid with Damascene
carving; on the other the rider’s plumed head-piece and hood of mail,
with a long two-handed sword, used by the chivalry of the period. A
second squire held aloft his master’s lance, from the extremity of
which fluttered a small banderole, or streamer, bearing a cross of the
same form with that embroidered upon his cloak. He also carried his
small triangular shield, broad enough at the top to protect the breast,
and from thence diminishing to a point. It was covered with a scarlet
cloth, which prevented the device from being seen.
These two squires were followed by two attendants, whose dark visages,
white turbans, and the Oriental form of their garments, showed them to
be natives of some distant Eastern country. 9
The whole appearance of this warrior and his retinue was wild and
outlandish; the dress of his squires was gorgeous, and his Eastern
attendants wore silver collars round their throats, and bracelets of
the same metal upon their swarthy arms and legs, of which the former
were naked from the elbow, and the latter from mid-leg to ankle. Silk
and embroidery distinguished their dresses, and marked the wealth and
importance of their master; forming, at the same time, a striking
contrast with the martial simplicity of his own attire. They were armed
with crooked sabres, having the hilt and baldric inlaid with gold, and
matched with Turkish daggers of yet more costly workmanship. Each of
them bore at his saddle-bow a bundle of darts or javelins, about four
feet in length, having sharp steel heads, a weapon much in use among
the Saracens, and of which the memory is yet preserved in the martial
exercise called “El Jerrid”, still practised in the Eastern countries.
The steeds of these attendants were in appearance as foreign as their
riders. They were of Saracen origin, and consequently of Arabian
descent; and their fine slender limbs, small fetlocks, thin manes, and
easy springy motion, formed a marked contrast with the large-jointed,
heavy horses, of which the race was cultivated in Flanders and in
Normandy, for mounting the men-at-arms of the period in all the panoply
of plate and mail; and which, placed by the side of those Eastern
coursers, might have passed for a personification of substance and of
shadow.
The singular appearance of this cavalcade not only attracted the
curiosity of Wamba, but excited even that of his less volatile
companion. The monk he instantly knew to be the Prior of Jorvaulx
Abbey, well known for many miles around as a lover of the chase, of the
banquet, and, if fame did him not wrong, of other worldly pleasures
still more inconsistent with his monastic vows.
Yet so loose were the ideas of the times respecting the conduct of the
clergy, whether secular or regular, that the Prior Aymer maintained a
fair character in the neighbourhood of his abbey. His free and jovial
temper, and the readiness with which he granted absolution from all
ordinary delinquencies, rendered him a favourite among the nobility and
principal gentry, to several of whom he was allied by birth, being of a
distinguished Norman family. The ladies, in particular, were not
disposed to scan too nicely the morals of a man who was a professed
admirer of their sex, and who possessed many means of dispelling the
ennui which was too apt to intrude upon the halls and bowers of an
ancient feudal castle. The Prior mingled in the sports of the field
with more than due eagerness, and was allowed to possess the
best-trained hawks, and the fleetest greyhounds in the North Riding;
circumstances which strongly recommended him to the youthful gentry.
With the old, he had another part to play, which, when needful, he
could sustain with great decorum. His knowledge of books, however
superficial, was sufficient to impress upon their ignorance respect for
his supposed learning; and the gravity of his deportment and language,
with the high tone which he exerted in setting forth the authority of
the church and of the priesthood, impressed them no less with an
opinion of his sanctity. Even the common people, the severest critics
of the conduct of their betters, had commiseration with the follies of
Prior Aymer. He was generous; and charity, as it is well known,
covereth a multitude of sins, in another sense than that in which it is
said to do so in Scripture. The revenues of the monastery, of which a
large part was at his disposal, while they gave him the means of
supplying his own very considerable expenses, afforded also those
largesses which he bestowed among the peasantry, and with which he
frequently relieved the distresses of the oppressed. If Prior Aymer
rode hard in the chase, or remained long at the banquet,—if Prior Aymer
was seen, at the early peep of dawn, to enter the postern of the abbey,
as he glided home from some rendezvous which had occupied the hours of
darkness, men only shrugged up their shoulders, and reconciled
themselves to his irregularities, by recollecting that the same were
practised by many of his brethren who had no redeeming qualities
whatsoever to atone for them. Prior Aymer, therefore, and his
character, were well known to our Saxon serfs, who made their rude
obeisance, and received his “benedicite, mes filz,” in return.
But the singular appearance of his companion and his attendants,
arrested their attention and excited their wonder, and they could
scarcely attend to the Prior of Jorvaulx’ question, when he demanded if
they knew of any place of harbourage in the vicinity; so much were they
surprised at the half monastic, half military appearance of the swarthy
stranger, and at the uncouth dress and arms of his Eastern attendants.
It is probable, too, that the language in which the benediction was
conferred, and the information asked, sounded ungracious, though not
probably unintelligible, in the ears of the Saxon peasants.
“I asked you, my children,” said the Prior, raising his voice, and
using the lingua Franca, or mixed language, in which the Norman and
Saxon races conversed with each other, “if there be in this
neighbourhood any good man, who, for the love of God, and devotion to
Mother Church, will give two of her humblest servants, with their
train, a night’s hospitality and refreshment?”
This he spoke with a tone of conscious importance, which formed a
strong contrast to the modest terms which he thought it proper to
employ.
“Two of the humblest servants of Mother Church!” repeated Wamba to
himself,—but, fool as he was, taking care not to make his observation
audible; “I should like to see her seneschals, her chief butlers, and
other principal domestics!”
After this internal commentary on the Prior’s speech, he raised his
eyes, and replied to the question which had been put.
“If the reverend fathers,” he said, “loved good cheer and soft lodging,
few miles of riding would carry them to the Priory of Brinxworth, where
their quality could not but secure them the most honourable reception;
or if they preferred spending a penitential evening, they might turn
down yonder wild glade, which would bring them to the hermitage of
Copmanhurst, where a pious anchoret would make them sharers for the
night of the shelter of his roof and the benefit of his prayers.”
The Prior shook his head at both proposals.
“Mine honest friend,” said he, “if the jangling of thy bells had not
dizzied thine understanding, thou mightst know “Clericus clericum non
decimat”; that is to say, we churchmen do not exhaust each other’s
hospitality, but rather require that of the laity, giving them thus an
opportunity to serve God in honouring and relieving his appointed
servants.”