Ivanhoe: A Romance
his ease and near shelter, his curiosity began to awake, and he
demanded of the guide who and what he was.
“A Palmer, just returned from the Holy Land,” was the answer.
“You had better have tarried there to fight for the recovery of the
Holy Sepulchre,” said the Templar.
“True, Reverend Sir Knight,” answered the Palmer, to whom the
appearance of the Templar seemed perfectly familiar; “but when those
who are under oath to recover the holy city, are found travelling at
such a distance from the scene of their duties, can you wonder that a
peaceful peasant like me should decline the task which they have
abandoned?”
The Templar would have made an angry reply, but was interrupted by the
Prior, who again expressed his astonishment, that their guide, after
such long absence, should be so perfectly acquainted with the passes of
the forest.
“I was born a native of these parts,” answered their guide, and as he
made the reply they stood before the mansion of Cedric;—a low irregular
building, containing several court-yards or enclosures, extending over
a considerable space of ground, and which, though its size argued the
inhabitant to be a person of wealth, differed entirely from the tall,
turretted, and castellated buildings in which the Norman nobility
resided, and which had become the universal style of architecture
throughout England.
Rotherwood was not, however, without defences; no habitation, in that
disturbed period, could have been so, without the risk of being
plundered and burnt before the next morning. A deep fosse, or ditch,
was drawn round the whole building, and filled with water from a
neighbouring stream. A double stockade, or palisade, composed of
pointed beams, which the adjacent forest supplied, defended the outer
and inner bank of the trench. There was an entrance from the west
through the outer stockade, which communicated by a drawbridge, with a
similar opening in the interior defences. Some precautions had been
taken to place those entrances under the protection of projecting
angles, by which they might be flanked in case of need by archers or
slingers.
Before this entrance the Templar wound his horn loudly; for the rain,
which had long threatened, began now to descend with great violence.
CHAPTER III
Then (sad relief!) from the bleak coast that hears
The German Ocean roar, deep-blooming, strong,
And yellow hair’d, the blue-eyed Saxon came.
THOMSON’S LIBERTY
In a hall, the height of which was greatly disproportioned to its
extreme length and width, a long oaken table, formed of planks
rough-hewn from the forest, and which had scarcely received any polish,
stood ready prepared for the evening meal of Cedric the Saxon. The
roof, composed of beams and rafters, had nothing to divide the
apartment from the sky excepting the planking and thatch; there was a
huge fireplace at either end of the hall, but as the chimneys were
constructed in a very clumsy manner, at least as much of the smoke
found its way into the apartment as escaped by the proper vent. The
constant vapour which this occasioned, had polished the rafters and
beams of the low-browed hall, by encrusting them with a black varnish
of soot. On the sides of the apartment hung implements of war and of
the chase, and there were at each corner folding doors, which gave
access to other parts of the extensive building.
The other appointments of the mansion partook of the rude simplicity of
the Saxon period, which Cedric piqued himself upon maintaining. The
floor was composed of earth mixed with lime, trodden into a hard
substance, such as is often employed in flooring our modern barns. For
about one quarter of the length of the apartment, the floor was raised
by a step, and this space, which was called the dais, was occupied only
by the principal members of the family, and visitors of distinction.
For this purpose, a table richly covered with scarlet cloth was placed
transversely across the platform, from the middle of which ran the
longer and lower board, at which the domestics and inferior persons
fed, down towards the bottom of the hall. The whole resembled the form
of the letter T, or some of those ancient dinner-tables, which,
arranged on the same principles, may be still seen in the antique
Colleges of Oxford or Cambridge. Massive chairs and settles of carved
oak were placed upon the dais, and over these seats and the more
elevated table was fastened a canopy of cloth, which served in some
degree to protect the dignitaries who occupied that distinguished
station from the weather, and especially from the rain, which in some
places found its way through the ill-constructed roof.
The walls of this upper end of the hall, as far as the dais extended,
were covered with hangings or curtains, and upon the floor there was a
carpet, both of which were adorned with some attempts at tapestry, or
embroidery, executed with brilliant or rather gaudy colouring. Over the
lower range of table, the roof, as we have noticed, had no covering;
the rough plastered walls were left bare, and the rude earthen floor
was uncarpeted; the board was uncovered by a cloth, and rude massive
benches supplied the place of chairs.
In the centre of the upper table, were placed two chairs more elevated
than the rest, for the master and mistress of the family, who presided
over the scene of hospitality, and from doing so derived their Saxon
title of honour, which signifies “the Dividers of Bread.”
To each of these chairs was added a footstool, curiously carved and
inlaid with ivory, which mark of distinction was peculiar to them. One
of these seats was at present occupied by Cedric the Saxon, who, though
but in rank a thane, or, as the Normans called him, a Franklin, felt,
at the delay of his evening meal, an irritable impatience, which might
have become an alderman, whether of ancient or of modern times.
It appeared, indeed, from the countenance of this proprietor, that he
was of a frank, but hasty and choleric temper. He was not above the
middle stature, but broad-shouldered, long-armed, and powerfully made,
like one accustomed to endure the fatigue of war or of the chase; his
face was broad, with large blue eyes, open and frank features, fine
teeth, and a well formed head, altogether expressive of that sort of
good-humour which often lodges with a sudden and hasty temper. Pride
and jealousy there was in his eye, for his life had been spent in
asserting rights which were constantly liable to invasion; and the
prompt, fiery, and resolute disposition of the man, had been kept
constantly upon the alert by the circumstances of his situation. His
long yellow hair was equally divided on the top of his head and upon
his brow, and combed down on each side to the length of his shoulders;
it had but little tendency to grey, although Cedric was approaching to
his sixtieth year.
His dress was a tunic of forest green, furred at the throat and cuffs
with what was called minever; a kind of fur inferior in quality to
ermine, and formed, it is believed, of the skin of the grey squirrel.
This doublet hung unbuttoned over a close dress of scarlet which sat
tight to his body; he had breeches of the same, but they did not reach
below the lower part of the thigh, leaving the knee exposed. His feet
had sandals of the same fashion with the peasants, but of finer
materials, and secured in the front with golden clasps. He had
bracelets of gold upon his arms, and a broad collar of the same
precious metal around his neck. About his waist he wore a
richly-studded belt, in which was stuck a short straight two-edged
sword, with a sharp point, so disposed as to hang almost
perpendicularly by his side. Behind his seat was hung a scarlet cloth
cloak lined with fur, and a cap of the same materials richly
embroidered, which completed the dress of the opulent landholder when
he chose to go forth. A short boar-spear, with a broad and bright steel
head, also reclined against the back of his chair, which served him,
when he walked abroad, for the purposes of a staff or of a weapon, as
chance might require.
Several domestics, whose dress held various proportions betwixt the
richness of their master’s, and the coarse and simple attire of Gurth
the swine-herd, watched the looks and waited the commands of the Saxon
dignitary. Two or three servants of a superior order stood behind their
master upon the dais; the rest occupied the lower part of the hall.
Other attendants there were of a different description; two or three
large and shaggy greyhounds, such as were then employed in hunting the
stag and wolf; as many slow-hounds of a large bony breed, with thick
necks, large heads, and long ears; and one or two of the smaller dogs,
now called terriers, which waited with impatience the arrival of the
supper; but, with the sagacious knowledge of physiognomy peculiar to
their race, forbore to intrude upon the moody silence of their master,
apprehensive probably of a small white truncheon which lay by Cedric’s
trencher, for the purpose of repelling the advances of his four-legged
dependants. One grisly old wolf-dog alone, with the liberty of an
indulged favourite, had planted himself close by the chair of state,
and occasionally ventured to solicit notice by putting his large hairy
head upon his master’s knee, or pushing his nose into his hand. Even he
was repelled by the stern command, “Down, Balder, down! I am not in the
humour for foolery.”
In fact, Cedric, as we have observed, was in no very placid state of
mind. The Lady Rowena, who had been absent to attend an evening mass at
a distant church, had but just returned, and was changing her garments,
which had been wetted by the storm. There were as yet no tidings of
Gurth and his charge, which should long since have been driven home
from the forest and such was the insecurity of the period, as to render
it probable that the delay might be explained by some depreciation of
the outlaws, with whom the adjacent forest abounded, or by the violence
of some neighbouring baron, whose consciousness of strength made him
equally negligent of the laws of property. The matter was of
consequence, for great part of the domestic wealth of the Saxon
proprietors consisted in numerous herds of swine, especially in
forest-land, where those animals easily found their food.
Besides these subjects of anxiety, the Saxon thane was impatient for
the presence of his favourite clown Wamba, whose jests, such as they
were, served for a sort of seasoning to his evening meal, and to the
deep draughts of ale and wine with which he was in the habit of
accompanying it. Add to all this, Cedric had fasted since noon, and his
usual supper hour was long past, a cause of irritation common to
country squires, both in ancient and modern times. His displeasure was
expressed in broken sentences, partly muttered to himself, partly
addressed to the domestics who stood around; and particularly to his
cupbearer, who offered him from time to time, as a sedative, a silver
goblet filled with wine—“Why tarries the Lady Rowena?”
“She is but changing her head-gear,” replied a female attendant, with
as much confidence as the favourite lady’s-maid usually answers the
master of a modern family; “you would not wish her to sit down to the
banquet in her hood and kirtle? and no lady within the shire can be
quicker in arraying herself than my mistress.”
This undeniable argument produced a sort of acquiescent umph! on the
part of the Saxon, with the addition, “I wish her devotion may choose
fair weather for the next visit to St John’s Kirk;—but what, in the
name of ten devils,” continued he, turning to the cupbearer, and
raising his voice as if happy to have found a channel into which he
might divert his indignation without fear or control—“what, in the name