Ivanhoe: A Romance
he could save himself from degradation and disgrace.
CHAPTER XL
Shadows avaunt!—Richard’s himself again.
RICHARD III
When the Black Knight—for it becomes necessary to resume the train of
his adventures—left the Trysting-tree of the generous Outlaw, he held
his way straight to a neighbouring religious house, of small extent and
revenue, called the Priory of Saint Botolph, to which the wounded
Ivanhoe had been removed when the castle was taken, under the guidance
of the faithful Gurth, and the magnanimous Wamba. It is unnecessary at
present to mention what took place in the interim betwixt Wilfred and
his deliverer; suffice it to say, that after long and grave
communication, messengers were dispatched by the Prior in several
directions, and that on the succeeding morning the Black Knight was
about to set forth on his journey, accompanied by the jester Wamba, who
attended as his guide.
“We will meet,” he said to Ivanhoe, “at Coningsburgh, the castle of the
deceased Athelstane, since there thy father Cedric holds the funeral
feast for his noble relation. I would see your Saxon kindred together,
Sir Wilfred, and become better acquainted with them than heretofore.
Thou also wilt meet me; and it shall be my task to reconcile thee to
thy father.”
So saying, he took an affectionate farewell of Ivanhoe, who expressed
an anxious desire to attend upon his deliverer. But the Black Knight
would not listen to the proposal.
“Rest this day; thou wilt have scarce strength enough to travel on the
next. I will have no guide with me but honest Wamba, who can play
priest or fool as I shall be most in the humour.”
“And I,” said Wamba, “will attend you with all my heart. I would fain
see the feasting at the funeral of Athelstane; for, if it be not full
and frequent, he will rise from the dead to rebuke cook, sewer, and
cupbearer; and that were a sight worth seeing. Always, Sir Knight, I
will trust your valour with making my excuse to my master Cedric, in
case mine own wit should fail.”
“And how should my poor valour succeed, Sir Jester, when thy light wit
halts?—resolve me that.”
“Wit, Sir Knight,” replied the Jester, “may do much. He is a quick,
apprehensive knave, who sees his neighbours blind side, and knows how
to keep the lee-gage when his passions are blowing high. But valour is
a sturdy fellow, that makes all split. He rows against both wind and
tide, and makes way notwithstanding; and, therefore, good Sir Knight,
while I take advantage of the fair weather in our noble master’s
temper, I will expect you to bestir yourself when it grows rough.”
“Sir Knight of the Fetterlock, since it is your pleasure so to be
distinguished,” said Ivanhoe, “I fear me you have chosen a talkative
and a troublesome fool to be your guide. But he knows every path and
alley in the woods as well as e’er a hunter who frequents them; and the
poor knave, as thou hast partly seen, is as faithful as steel.”
“Nay,” said the Knight, “an he have the gift of showing my road, I
shall not grumble with him that he desires to make it pleasant.—Fare
thee well, kind Wilfred—I charge thee not to attempt to travel till
to-morrow at earliest.”
So saying, he extended his hand to Ivanhoe, who pressed it to his lips,
took leave of the Prior, mounted his horse, and departed, with Wamba
for his companion. Ivanhoe followed them with his eyes, until they were
lost in the shades of the surrounding forest, and then returned into
the convent.
But shortly after matin-song, he requested to see the Prior. The old
man came in haste, and enquired anxiously after the state of his
health.
“It is better,” he said, “than my fondest hope could have anticipated;
either my wound has been slighter than the effusion of blood led me to
suppose, or this balsam hath wrought a wonderful cure upon it. I feel
already as if I could bear my corslet; and so much the better, for
thoughts pass in my mind which render me unwilling to remain here
longer in inactivity.”
“Now, the saints forbid,” said the Prior, “that the son of the Saxon
Cedric should leave our convent ere his wounds were healed! It were
shame to our profession were we to suffer it.”
“Nor would I desire to leave your hospitable roof, venerable father,”
said Ivanhoe, “did I not feel myself able to endure the journey, and
compelled to undertake it.”
“And what can have urged you to so sudden a departure?” said the Prior.
“Have you never, holy father,” answered the Knight, “felt an
apprehension of approaching evil, for which you in vain attempted to
assign a cause?—Have you never found your mind darkened, like the sunny
landscape, by the sudden cloud, which augurs a coming tempest?—And
thinkest thou not that such impulses are deserving of attention, as
being the hints of our guardian spirits, that danger is impending?”
“I may not deny,” said the Prior, crossing himself, “that such things
have been, and have been of Heaven; but then such communications have
had a visibly useful scope and tendency. But thou, wounded as thou art,
what avails it thou shouldst follow the steps of him whom thou couldst
not aid, were he to be assaulted?”
“Prior,” said Ivanhoe, “thou dost mistake—I am stout enough to exchange
buffets with any who will challenge me to such a traffic—But were it
otherwise, may I not aid him were he in danger, by other means than by
force of arms? It is but too well known that the Saxons love not the
Norman race, and who knows what may be the issue, if he break in upon
them when their hearts are irritated by the death of Athelstane, and
their heads heated by the carousal in which they will indulge
themselves? I hold his entrance among them at such a moment most
perilous, and I am resolved to share or avert the danger; which, that I
may the better do, I would crave of thee the use of some palfrey whose
pace may be softer than that of my ‘destrier’.” 56
“Surely,” said the worthy churchman; “you shall have mine own ambling
jennet, and I would it ambled as easy for your sake as that of the
Abbot of Saint Albans. Yet this will I say for Malkin, for so I call
her, that unless you were to borrow a ride on the juggler’s steed that
paces a hornpipe amongst the eggs, you could not go a journey on a
creature so gentle and smooth-paced. I have composed many a homily on
her back, to the edification of my brethren of the convent, and many
poor Christian souls.”
“I pray you, reverend father,” said Ivanhoe, “let Malkin be got ready
instantly, and bid Gurth attend me with mine arms.”
“Nay, but fair sir,” said the Prior, “I pray you to remember that
Malkin hath as little skill in arms as her master, and that I warrant
not her enduring the sight or weight of your full panoply. O, Malkin, I
promise you, is a beast of judgment, and will contend against any undue
weight—I did but borrow the ‘Fructus Temporum’ from the priest of Saint
Bees, and I promise you she would not stir from the gate until I had
exchanged the huge volume for my little breviary.”
“Trust me, holy father,” said Ivanhoe, “I will not distress her with
too much weight; and if she calls a combat with me, it is odds but she
has the worst.”
This reply was made while Gurth was buckling on the Knight’s heels a
pair of large gilded spurs, capable of convincing any restive horse
that his best safety lay in being conformable to the will of his rider.
The deep and sharp rowels with which Ivanhoe’s heels were now armed,
began to make the worthy Prior repent of his courtesy, and
ejaculate,—“Nay, but fair sir, now I bethink me, my Malkin abideth not
the spur—Better it were that you tarry for the mare of our manciple
down at the Grange, which may be had in little more than an hour, and
cannot but be tractable, in respect that she draweth much of our winter
fire-wood, and eateth no corn.”
“I thank you, reverend father, but will abide by your first offer, as I
see Malkin is already led forth to the gate. Gurth shall carry mine
armour; and for the rest, rely on it, that as I will not overload
Malkin’s back, she shall not overcome my patience. And now, farewell!”
Ivanhoe now descended the stairs more hastily and easily than his wound
promised, and threw himself upon the jennet, eager to escape the
importunity of the Prior, who stuck as closely to his side as his age
and fatness would permit, now singing the praises of Malkin, now
recommending caution to the Knight in managing her.
“She is at the most dangerous period for maidens as well as mares,”
said the old man, laughing at his own jest, “being barely in her
fifteenth year.”
Ivanhoe, who had other web to weave than to stand canvassing a
palfrey’s paces with its owner, lent but a deaf ear to the Prior’s
grave advices and facetious jests, and having leapt on his mare, and
commanded his squire (for such Gurth now called himself) to keep close
by his side, he followed the track of the Black Knight into the forest,
while the Prior stood at the gate of the convent looking after him, and
ejaculating,—“Saint Mary! how prompt and fiery be these men of war! I
would I had not trusted Malkin to his keeping, for, crippled as I am
with the cold rheum, I am undone if aught but good befalls her. And
yet,” said he, recollecting himself, “as I would not spare my own old
and disabled limbs in the good cause of Old England, so Malkin must
e’en run her hazard on the same venture; and it may be they will think
our poor house worthy of some munificent guerdon—or, it may be, they
will send the old Prior a pacing nag. And if they do none of these, as
great men will forget little men’s service, truly I shall hold me well
repaid in having done that which is right. And it is now well-nigh the
fitting time to summon the brethren to breakfast in the refectory—Ah! I
doubt they obey that call more cheerily than the bells for primes and
matins.”
So the Prior of Saint Botolph’s hobbled back again into the refectory,
to preside over the stockfish and ale, which was just serving out for
the friars’ breakfast. Busy and important, he sat him down at the
table, and many a dark word he threw out, of benefits to be expected to
the convent, and high deeds of service done by himself, which, at
another season, would have attracted observation. But as the stockfish
was highly salted, and the ale reasonably powerful, the jaws of the
brethren were too anxiously employed to admit of their making much use
of their ears; nor do we read of any of the fraternity, who was tempted
to speculate upon the mysterious hints of their Superior, except Father
Diggory, who was severely afflicted by the toothache, so that he could
only eat on one side of his jaws.
In the meantime, the Black Champion and his guide were pacing at their
leisure through the recesses of the forest; the good Knight whiles
humming to himself the lay of some enamoured troubadour, sometimes
encouraging by questions the prating disposition of his attendant, so
that their dialogue formed a whimsical mixture of song and jest, of
which we would fain give our readers some idea. You are then to imagine
this Knight, such as we have already described him, strong of person,
tall, broad-shouldered, and large of bone, mounted on his mighty black
charger, which seemed made on purpose to bear his weight, so easily he
paced forward under it, having the visor of his helmet raised, in order
to admit freedom of breath, yet keeping the beaver, or under part,
closed, so that his features could be but imperfectly distinguished.
But his ruddy embrowned cheek-bones could be plainly seen, and the
large and bright blue eyes, that flashed from under the dark shade of
the raised visor; and the whole gesture and look of the champion
expressed careless gaiety and fearless confidence—a mind which was
unapt to apprehend danger, and prompt to defy it when most imminent—yet