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IVANHOE.
CHAPTER I.
Thus communed these; while to their lowly dome,
The full-fed swine return'd with evening home;
Compell'd, reluctant, to the several sties,
With din obstreperous, and ungrateful cries.
Pope's _Odyssey_.
In that pleasant district of merry England which
is watered by the river Don, there extended in ancient
times a large forest, covering the greater part
of the beautiful hills and valleys which lie between
Sheffield and the pleasant town of Doncaster. The
remains of this extensive wood are still to be seen
at the noble seats of Wentworth, of Warncliffe
Park, and around Rotherham. Here haunted of
yore the fabulous Dragon of Wantley; here were
fought many of the most desperate battles during
the Civil Wars of the Roses; and here also flourished
in ancient times those bands of gallant outlaws,
whose deeds have been rendered so popular
in English song.
Such being our chief scene, the date of our story
refers to a period towards the end of the reign of
Richard I., when his return from his long captivity
had become an event rather wished than hoped
for by his despairing subjects, who were in the
meantime subjected to every species of subordinate
oppression. The nobles, whose power had become
exorbitant during the reign of Stephen, and whom
the prudence of Henry the Second had scarce reduced
to some degree of subjection to the crown,
had now resumed their ancient license in its utmost
extent; despising the feeble interference of the
English Council of State, fortifying their castles,
increasing the number of their dependants, reducing
all around them to a state of vassalage, and
striving by every means in their power, to place
themselves each at the head of such forces as might
enable him to make a figure in the national convulsions
which appeared to be impending.
The situation of the inferior gentry, or Franklins,
as they were called, who, by the law and spirit
of the English constitution, were entitled to hold
themselves independent of feudal tyranny, became
now unusually precarious. If, as was most generally
the case, they placed themselves under the
protection of any of the petty kings in their vicinity,
accepted of feudal offices in his household, or
bound themselves by mutual treaties of alliance
and protection, to support him in his enterprises,
they might indeed purchase temporary repose; but
it must be with the sacrifice of that independence
which was so dear to every English bosom, and at
the certain hazard of being involved as a party in
whatever rash expedition the ambition of their protector
might lead him to undertake. On the other
hand, such and so multiplied were the means of
vexation and oppression possessed by the great
Barons, that they never wanted the pretext, and
seldom the will, to harass and pursue, even to the
very edge of destruction, any of their less powerful
neighbours, who attempted to separate themselves
from their authority, and to trust for their protection,
during the dangers of the times, to their own
inoffensive conduct, and to the laws of the land.
A circumstance which greatly tended to enhance
the tyranny of the nobility, and the sufferings of
the inferior classes, arose from the consequences
of the Conquest by Duke William of Normandy.
Four generations had not sufficed to blend the hostile
blood of the Normans and Anglo-Saxons, or to
unite, by common language and mutual interests,
two hostile races, one of which still felt the elation
of triumph, while the other groaned under all the
consequences of defeat. The power bad been completely
placed in the hands of the Norman nobility,
by the event of the battle of Hastings, and it had
been used, as our histories assure us, with no moderate
hand. The whole race of Saxon princes and
nobles had been extirpated or disinherited, with
few or no exceptions; nor were the numbers great
who possessed land in the country of their fathers,
even as proprietors of the second, or of yet inferior
classes. The royal policy had long been to weaken,
by every means, legal or illegal, the strength of a
part of the population which was justly considered
as nourishing the most inveterate antipathy to their
victor. All the monarchs of the Norman race had
shown the most marked predilection for their Norman
subjects; the laws of the chase, and many
others equally unknown to the milder and more
free spirit of the Saxon constitution, had been fixed
upon the necks of the subjugated inhabitants, to add
weight, as it were, to the feudal chains with which
they were loaded. At court, and in the castles of
the great nobles, where the pomp and state of a court
was emulated, Norman-French was the only language
employed; in courts of law, the pleadings
and judgments were delivered in the same tongue.
In short, French was the language of honour, of
chivalry, and even of justice, while the far more
manly and expressive Anglo-Saxon was abandoned
to the use of rustics and hinds, who knew no other.
Still, however, the necessary intercourse between
the lords of the soil, and those oppressed inferior
beings by whom that soil was cultivated, occasioned
the gradual formation of a dialect, compounded
betwixt the French and the Anglo-Saxon, in which
they could render themselves mutually intelligible
to each other; and from this necessity arose by
degrees the structure of our present English language,
in which the speech of the victors and the
vanquished have been so happily blended together;
and which has since been so richly improved by
importations from the classical languages, and from
those spoken by the southern nations of Europe.
This state of things I have thought it necessary
to premise for the information of the general reader,
who might be apt to forget, that, although no great
historical events, such as war or insurrection, mark
the existence of the Anglo-Saxons as a separate
people subsequent to the reign of William the Second;
yet the great national distinctions betwixt
them and their conquerors, the recollection of what
they had formerly been, and to what they were
now reduced, continued down to the reign of Edward
the Third, to keep open the wounds which
the Conquest had inflicted, and to maintain a line
of separation betwixt the descendants of the victor
Normans and the vanquished Saxons.
--
The sun was setting upon one of the rich grassy
glades of that forest, which we have mentioned in
the beginning of the chapter. Hundreds of broad-headed,
short-stemmed, wide-branched oaks, which
had witnessed perhaps the stately march of the Roman
soldiery, flung their gnarled arms over a thick
carpet of the most delicious green sward; in some
places they were intermingled with beeches, hollies,
and copsewood of various descriptions, so closely
as totally to intercept the level beams of the sinking
sun; in others they receded from each other,
forming those long sweeping vistas, in the intricacy
of which the eye delights to lose itself, while imagination
considers them as the paths to yet wilder
scenes of silvan solitude. Here the red rays of
the sun shot a broken and discoloured light, that
partially hung upon the shattered boughs and mossy
trunks of the trees, and there they illuminated in
brilliant patches the portions of turf to which they
made their way. A considerable open space, in the
midst of this glade, seemed formerly to have been
dedicated to the rites of Druidical superstition;
for, on the summit of a hillock, so regular as to
seem artificial, there still remained part of a circle
of rough unhewn stones, of large dimensions. Seven
stood upright; the rest had been dislodged from
their places, probably by the zeal of some convert
to Christianity, and lay, some prostrate near their
former site, and others on the side of the hill. One
large stone only had found its way to the bottom,
and in stopping the course of a small brook, which
glided smoothly round the foot of the eminence,
gave, by its opposition, a feeble voice of murmur
to the placid and elsewhere silent streamlet.
The human figures which completed this landscape,
were in number two, partaking, in their dress
and appearance, of that wild and rustic character,
which belonged to the woodlands of the West-Riding
of Yorkshire at that early period. The
eldest of these men had a stern, savage, and wild
aspect. His garment was of the simplest form
imaginable, being a close jacket with sleeves, composed
of the tanned skin of some animal, on which
the hair had been originally left, but which had
been worn of in so many places, that it would
have been difficult to distinguish from the patches
that remained, to what creature the fur had belonged.
This primeval vestment reached from the
throat to the knees, and served at once all the
usual purposes of body-clothing; there was no wider
opening at the collar, than was necessary to
admit the passage of the head, from which it may
be inferred, that it was put on by slipping it over
the head and shoulders, in the manner of a modern
shirt, or ancient hauberk. Sandals, bound with
thongs made of boars' hide, protected the feet, and
a roll of thin leather was twined artificially round
the legs, and, ascending above the calf, left the
knees bare, like those of a Scottish Highlander.
To make the jacket sit yet more close to the body,
it was gathered at the middle by a broad leathern
belt, secured by a brass buckle; to one side of
which was attached a sort of scrip, and to the other
a ram's horn, accoutred with a mouthpiece, for the
purpose of blowing. In the same belt was stuck
one of those long, broad, sharp-pointed, and two-edged
knives, with a buck's-horn handle, which
were fabricated in the neigbbourhood, and bore
even at this early period the name of a Sheffield
whittle. The man had no covering upon his head,
which was only defended by his own thick hair,
matted and twisted together, and scorched by the
influence of the sun into a rusty dark-red colour,
forming a contrast with the overgrown beard upon
his cheeks, which was rather of a yellow or amber
hue. One part of his dress only remains, but it is
too remarkable to be suppressed; it was a brass
ring, resembling a dog's collar, but without any
opening, and soldered fast round his neck, so loose
as to form no impediment to his breathing, yet so
tight as to be incapable of being removed, excepting
by the use of the file. On this singular gorget
was engraved, in Saxon characters, an inscription
of the following purport:---``Gurth, the son of
Beowulph, is the born thrall of Cedric of Rotherwood.''
Beside the swine-herd, for such was Gurth's occupation,
was seated, upon one of the fallen Druidical
monuments, a person about ten years younger
in appearance, and whose dress, though resembling
his companion's in form, was of better materials,
and of a more fantastic appearance. His jacket
had been stained of a bright purple hue, upon
which there had been some attempt to paint grotesque
ornaments in different colours. To the
jacket he added a short cloak, which scarcely reached
half way down his thigh; it was of crimson
cloth, though a good deal soiled, lined with bright
yellow; and as he could transfer it from one shoulder
to the other, or at his pleasure draw it all
around him, its width, contrasted with its want of
longitude, formed a fantastic piece of drapery. He
had thin silver bracelets upon his arms, and on his
neck a collar of the same metal bearing the inscription,
``Wamba, the son of Witless, is the thrall of
Cedric of Rotherwood.'' This personage had the
same sort of sandals with his companion, but instead
of the roll of leather thong, his legs were
cased in a sort of gaiters, of which one was red
and the other yellow. He was provided also with
a cap, having around it more than one bell, about
the size of those attached to hawks, which jingled
as he turned his head to one side or other; and as
he seldom remained a minute in the same posture,
the sound might be considered as incessant. Around
the edge of this cap was a stiff bandeau of leather,
cut at the top into open work, resembling a coronet,
while a prolonged bag arose from within it,
and fell down on one shoulder like an old-fashioned
nightcap, or a jelly-bag, or the head-gear of a
modern hussar. It was to this part of the cap that
the bells were attached; which circumstance, as
well as the shape of his head-dress, and his own
half-crazed, half-cunning expression of countenance,
sufficiently pointed him out as belonging to
the race of domestic clowns or jesters, maintained
in the houses of the wealthy, to help away the
tedium of those lingering hours which they were
obliged to spend within doors. He bore, like his
companion, a scrip, attached to his belt, but had
neither horn nor knife, being probably considered
as belonging to a class whom it is esteemed dangerous
to intrust with edge-tools. In place of these,
he was equipped with a sword of lath, resembling
that with which Harlequin operates his wonders
upon the modern stage.
The outward appearance of these two men formed
scarce a stronger contrast than their look and
demeanour. That of the serf, or bondsman, was
sad and sullen; his aspect was bent on the ground
with an appearance of deep dejection, which might
be almost construed into apathy, had not the fire
which occasionally sparkled in his red eye manifested
that there slumbered, under the appearance of
sullen despondency, a sense of oppression, and a disposition
to resistance. The looks of Wamba, on
the other hand, indicated, as usual with his class,
a sort of vacant curiosity, and fidgetty impatience
of any posture of repose, together with the utmost
self-satisfaction respecting his own situation, and
the appearance which he made. The dialogue which
they maintained between them, was carried on in
Anglo-Saxon, which, as we said before, was universally
spoken by the inferior classes, excepting
the Norman soldiers, and the immediate personal
dependants of the great feudal nobles. But to give
their conversation in the original would convey but
little information to the modern reader, for whose
benefit we beg to offer the following translation:
``The curse of St Withold upon these infernal
porkers!'' said the swine-herd, after blowing his
horn obstreperously, to collect together the scattered
herd of swine, which, answering his call with
notes equally melodious, made, however, no haste
to remove themselves from the luxurious banquet
of beech-mast and acorns on which they had fattened,
or to forsake the marshy banks of the rivulet,
where several of them, half plunged in mud,
lay stretched at their ease, altogether regardless of
the voice of their keeper. ``The curse of St Withold
upon them and upon me!'' said Gurth; ``if the two-legged
wolf snap not up some of them ere nightfall,
I am no true man. Here, Fangs! Fangs!'' he
ejaculated at the top of his voice to a ragged wolfish-looking
dog, a sort of lurcher, half mastiff, half
greyhound, which ran limping about as if with the
purpose of seconding his master in collecting the
refractory grunters; but which, in fact, from misapprehension
of the swine-herd's signals, ignorance
of his own duty, or malice prepense, only drove
them hither and thither, and increased the evil which
he seemed to design to remedy. ``A devil draw
the teeth of him,'' said Gurth, ``and the mother of
mischief confound the Ranger of the forest, that cuts
the foreclaws off our dogs, and makes them unfit
for their trade!* Wamba, up and help me an thou
* Note A. The Ranger of the Forest, that cuts the fore-claws
* off our dogs.
beest a man; take a turn round the back o' the
hill to gain the wind on them; and when thous't
got the weather-gage, thou mayst drive them before
thee as gently as so many innocent lambs.''
``Truly,'' said Wamba, without stirring from the
spot, ``I have consulted my legs upon this matter,
and they are altogether of opinion, that to carry
my gay garments through these sloughs, would be
an act of unfriendship to my sovereign person and
royal wardrobe; wherefore, Gurth, I advise thee
to call off Fangs, and leave the herd to their destiny,
which, whether they meet with bands of travelling
soldiers, or of outlaws, or of wandering
pilgrims, can be little else than to be converted into
Normans before morning, to thy no small ease
and comfort.''
``The swine turned Normans to my comfort!''
quoth Gurth; ``expound that to me, Wamba, for
my brain is too dull, and my mind too vexed, to
read riddles.''
``Why, how call you those grunting brutes running
about on their four legs?'' demanded Wamba.
``Swine, fool, swine,'' said the herd, ``every fool
knows that.''
``And swine is good Saxon,'' said the Jester;
``but how call you the sow when she is flayed, and
drawn, and quartered, and hung up by the heels,
like a traitor?''
``Pork,'' answered the swine-herd.
``I am very glad every fool knows that too,'' said
Wamba, ``and pork, I think, is good Norman-French;
and so when the brute lives, and is in the
charge of a Saxon slave, she goes by her Saxon
name; but becomes a Norman, and is called pork,
when she is carried to the Castle-hall to feast among
the nobles what dost thou think of this, friend
Gurth, ha?''
``It is but too true doctrine, friend Wamba, however
it got into thy fool's pate.''
``Nay, I can tell you more,'' said Wamba, in the
same tone; ``there is old Alderman Ox continues
to hold his Saxon epithet, while he is under the
charge of serfs and bondsmen such as thou, but becomes
Beef, a fiery French gallant, when he arrives
before the worshipful jaws that are destined to
consume him. Mynheer Calf, too, becomes Monsieur
de Veau in the like manner; he is Saxon when
he requires tendance, and takes a Norman name
when he becomes matter of enjoyment.''
``By St Dunstan,'' answered Gurth, ``thou speakest
but sad truths; little is left to us but the air
we breathe, and that appears to have been reserved
with much hesitation, solely for the purpose of
enabling us to endure the tasks they lay upon our
shoulders. The finest and the fattest is for their
board; the loveliest is for their couch; the best
and bravest supply their foreign masters with soldiers,
and whiten distant lands with their bones,
leaving few here who have either will or the power
to protect the unfortunate Saxon. God's blessing
on our master Cedric, he hath done the work of a
man in standing in the gap; but Reginald Front-de-Buf
is coming down to this country in person,
and we shall soon see how little Cedric's trouble
will avail him.---Here, here,'' he exclaimed again,
raising his voice, ``So ho! so ho! well done, Fangs!
thou hast them all before thee now, and bring'st
them on bravely, lad.''
``Gurth,'' said the Jester, ``I know thou thinkest
me a fool, or thou wouldst not be so rash in
putting thy head into my mouth. One word to
Reginald Front-de-Buf, or Philip de Malvoisin,
that thou hast spoken treason against the Norman,
---and thou art but a cast-away swineherd,---thou
wouldst waver on one of these trees as a terror to
all evil speakers against dignities.''
``Dog, thou wouldst not betray me,'' said Gurth,
``after having led me on to speak so much at disadvantage?''
``Betray thee!'' answered the Jester; ``no, that
were the trick of a wise man; a fool cannot half so
well help himself---but soft, whom have we here?''
he said, listening to the trampling of several horses
which became then audible.
``Never mind whom,'' answered Gurth, who had
now got his herd before him, and, with the aid of
Fangs, was driving them down one of the long dim
vistas which we have endeavoured to describe.
``Nay, but I must see the riders,'' answered
Wamba; ``perhaps they are come from Fairy-land
with a message from King Oberon.''
``A murrain take thee,'' rejoined the swine-herd;
``wilt thou talk of such things, while a terrible
storm of thunder and lightning is raging within a
few miles of us? Hark, how the thunder rumbles!
and for summer rain, I never saw such broad downright
flat drops fall out of the clouds; the oaks, too,
notwithstanding the calm weather, sob and creak
with their great boughs as if announcing a tempest.
Thou canst play the rational if thou wilt; credit
me for once, and let us home ere the storm begins
to rage, for the night will be fearful.''
Wamba seemed to feel the force of this appeal,
and accompanied his companion, who began his
journey after catching up a long quarter-staff which
lay upon the grass beside him. This second Eumus
strode hastily down the forest glade, driving
before him, with the assistance of Fangs, the whole
herd of his inharmonious charge.
CHAPTER II.
A Monk there was, a fayre for the maistrie,
An outrider that loved venerie;
A manly man, to be an Abbot able,
Full many a daintie horse had he in stable:
And whan he rode, men might his bridle hear
Gingeling in a whistling wind as dear,
And eke as loud, as doth the chapell bell,
There as this lord was keeper of the cen.
Chaucer.
Notwithstanding the occasional exhortation
and chiding of his companion, the noise of the
horsemen's feet continuing to approach, Wamba
could not be prevented from lingering occasionally
on the road, upon every pretence which occurred;
now catching from the hazel a cluster of half-ripe
nuts, and now turning his head to leer after a cottage
maiden who crossed their path. The horsemen,
therefore, soon overtook them on the road.
Their numbers amounted to ten men, of whom
the two who rode foremost seemed to be persons
of considerable importance, and the others their
attendants. It was not difficult to ascertain the
condition and character of one of these personages.
He was obviously an ecclesiastic of high rank; his
dress was that of a Cistercian Monk, but composed
of materials much finer than those which the
rule of that order admitted. His mantle and hood
were of the best Flanders cloth, and fell in ample,
and not ungraceful folds, around a handsome,
though somewhat corpulent person. His countenance
bore as little the marks of self-denial, as his
habit indicated contempt of worldly splendour. His
features might have been called good, had there not
lurked under the pent-house of his eye, that sly
epicurean twinkle which indicates the cautious voluptuary.
In other respects, his profession and situation
had taught him a ready command over his
countenance, which he could contract at pleasure into
solemnity, although its natural expression was
that of good-humoured social indulgence. In defiance
of conventual rules, and the edicts of popes
and councils, the sleeves of this dignitary were lined
and turned up with rich furs, his mantle secured at
the throat with a golden clasp, and the whole dress
proper to his order as much refined upon and ornamented,
as that of a quaker beauty of the present
day, who, while she retains the garb and costume
of her sect continues to give to its simplicity, by
the choice of materials and the mode of disposing
them, a certain air of coquettish attraction, savouring
but too much of the vanities of the world.
This worthy churchman rode upon a well-fed
ambling mule, whose furniture was highly decorated,
and whose bridle, according to the 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 chamfrom or plaited head-piece
upon his bead, 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.* The
* Note B. Negro Slaves.
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, be 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 bad 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.''
``It is true,'' replied Wamba, ``that I, being but
an ass, am, nevertheless, honoured to hear the bells
as well as your reverence's mule; notwithstanding,
I did conceive that the charity of Mother Church
and her servants might be said, with other charity,
to begin at home.''
``A truce to thine insolence, fellow,'' said the
armed rider, breaking in on his prattle with a high
and stern voice, ``and tell us, if thou canst, the road
to---How call'd you your Franklin, Prior Aymer?''
``Cedric,'' answered the Prior; ``Cedric the Saxon.
---Tell me, good fellow, are we near his dwelling,
and can you show us the road?''
``The road will be uneasy to find,'' answered
Gurth, who broke silence for the first time, d`` and
the family of Cedric retire early to rest.''
``Tush, tell not me, fellow,'' said the military
rider; ``'tis easy for them to arise and supply the
wants of travellers such as we are, who will not
stoop to beg the hospitality which we have a right
to command.''
``I know not,'' said Gurth, sullenly, ``if I should
show the way to my master's house, to those who
demand as a right, the shelter which most are fain
to ask as a favour.''
``Do you dispute with me, slave!'' said the soldier;
and, setting spurs to his horse, he caused him
make a demivolte across the path, raising at the
same time the riding rod which he held in his hand,
with a purpose of chastising what he considered as
the insolence of the peasant.
Gurth darted at him a savage and revengeful
scowl, and with a fierce, yet hesitating motion, laid
his hand on the haft of his knife; but the interference
of Prior Aymer, who pushed his mule betwixt
his companion and the swineherd, prevented
the meditated violence.
``Nay, by St Mary, brother Brian, you must
not think you are now in Palestine, predominating
over heathen Turks and infidel Saracens; we islanders
love not blows, save those of holy Church, who
chasteneth whom she loveth.---Tell me, good fellow,''
said he to Wamba, and seconded his speech
by a small piece of silver coin, ``the way to Cedric
the Saxon's; you cannot be ignorant of it, and it
is your duty to direct the wanderer even when his
character is less sanctified than ours.''
``In truth, venerable father,'' answered the Jester,
``the Saracen head of your right reverend companion
has frightened out of mine the way home---I
am not sure I shall get there to-night myself.''
``Tush,'' said the Abbot, ``thou canst tell us if
thou wilt. This reverend brother has been all his
life engaged in fighting among the Saracens for the
recovery of the Holy Sepulchre; he is of the order
of Knights Templars, whom you may have heard
of; he is half a monk, half a soldier.''
``If he is but half a monk,'' said the Jester, ``he
should not be wholly unreasonable with those whom
he meets upon the road, even if they should be in
no hurry to answer questions that no way concern
them.''
``I forgive thy wit,'' replied the Abbot, ``on
condition thou wilt show me the way to Cedric's
mansion.''
``Well, then,'' answered Wamba, ``your reverences
must hold on this path till you come to a
sunken cross, of which scarce a cubit's length remains
above ground; then take the path to the left,
for there are four which meet at Sunken Cross, and
I trust your reverences will obtain shelter before
the storm comes on.''
The Abbot thanked his sage adviser; and the
cavalcade, setting spurs to their horses, rode on as
men do who wish to reach their inn before the
bursting of a night-storm. As their horses' hoofs
died away, Gurth said to his companion, ``If they
follow thy wise direction, the reverend fathers will
hardly reach Rotherwood this night.''
``No,'' said the Jester, grinning, ``but they may
reach Sheffield if they have good luck, and that is
as fit a place for them. I am not so bad a woodsman
as to show the dog where the deer lies, if I
have no mind he should chase him.''
``Thou art right,'' said Gurth; ``it were ill that
Aymer saw the Lady Rowena; and it were worse,
it may be, for Cedric to quarrel, as is most likely
he would, with this military monk. But, like good
servants let us hear and see, and say nothing.''
We return to the riders, who had soon left the
bondsmen far behind them, and who maintained the
following conversation in the Norman-French language,
usually employed by the superior classes,
with the exception of the few who were still inclined
to boast their Saxon descent.
``What mean these fellows by their capricious
insolence?'' said the Templar to the Benedictine,
``and why did you prevent me from chastising it?''
``Marry, brother Brian,'' replied the Prior,
``touching the one of them, it were hard for me
to render a reason for a fool speaking according
to his folly; and the other churl is of that savage,
fierce, intractable race, some of whom, as I have
often told you, are still to be found among the descendants
of the conquered Saxons, and whose supreme
pleasure it is to testify, by all means in their
power, their aversion to their conquerors.''
``I would soon have beat him into courtesy,''
observed Brian; ``I am accustomed to deal with
such spirits: Our Turkish captives are as fierce
and intractable as Odin himself could have been;
yet two months in my household, under the management
of my master of the slaves, has made
them humble, submissive, serviceable, and observant
of your will. Marry, sir, you must beware
of the poison and the dagger; for they use either
with free will when you give them the slightest
opportunity.''
``Ay, but,'' answered Prior Aymer, ``every land
has its own manners and fashions; and, besides
that beating this fellow could procure us no information
respecting the road to Cedric's house, it
would have been sure to have established a quarrel
betwixt you and him had we found our way
thither. Remember what I told you; this wealthy
Franklin is proud, fierce, jealous, and irritable; a
withstander of the nobility, and even of his neighbours,
Reginald Front-de-Buf, and Philip Malvoisin,
who are no babes to strive with. He stands
up so sternly for the privileges of his race, and is
so proud of his uninterrupted descent from Hereward,
a renowned champion of the Heptarchy,
that he is universally called Cedric the Saxon; and
makes a boast of his belonging to a people from
whom many others endeavour to hide their descent,
lest they should encounter a share of the _vae victis_,
or severities imposed upon the vanquished.''
``Prior Aymer,'' said the Templar, ``you are a
man of gallantry, learned in the study of beauty,
and as expert as a troubadour in all matters concerning
the arrets of love; but I shall expect much
beauty in this celebrated Rowena, to counterbalance
the self-denial and forbearance which I must exert,
if I am to court the favour of such a seditious churl
as you have described her father Cedric.''
``Cedric is not her father,'' replied the Prior,
``and is but of remote relation; she is descended
from higher blood than even he pretends to, and is
but distantly connected with him by birth. Her
guardian, however, he is, self-constitued as I believe;
but his ward is as dear to him as if she were
his own child. Of her beauty you shall soon be
judge; and if the purity of her complexion, and
the majestic, yet soft expression of a mild blue eye,
do not chase from your memory the black-tressed
girls of Palestine, ay, or the houris of old Mahound's
paradise, I am an infidel, and no true son
of the church.''
``Should your boasted beauty,'' said the Templar,
``be weighed in the balance and found wanting,
you know our wager?''
``My gold collar,'' answered the Prior, ``against
ten buts of Chian wine;---they are mine as securely
as if they were already in the convent vaults,
under the key of old Dennis the cellarer.''
``And I am myself to be judge,'' said the Templar,
``and am only to be convicted on my own
admission, that I have seen no maiden so beautiful
since Pentecost was a twelvemonth. Ran it not
so?---Prior, your collar is in danger; I will wear
it over my gorget in the lists of Ashby-de-la-Zouche.''
``Win it fairly,'' said the Prior, ``and wear it
as ye will; I will trust your giving true response,
on your word as a knight and as a churchman.
Yet, brother, take my advice, and file your tongue
to a little more courtesy than your habits of predominating
over infidel captives and Eastern bondsmen
have accustomed you. Cedric the Saxon, if
offended,---and he is noway slack in taking offence,
---is a man who, without respect to your knighthood,
my high office, or the sanctity of either,
would clear his house of us, and send us to lodge
with the larks, though the hour were midnight.
And be careful how you look on Rowena, whom
he cherishes with the most jealous care; an he take
the least alarm in that quarter we are but lost men.
It is said he banished his only son from his family
for lifting his eyes in the way of affection towards
this beauty, who may be worshipped, it seems, at
a distance, but is not to be approached with other
thoughts than such as we bring to the shrine of the
Blessed Virgin.''
``Well, you have said enough,'' answered the
Templar; ``I will for a night put on the needful
restraint, and deport me as meekly as a maiden;
but as for the fear of his expelling us by violence,
myself and squires, with Hamet and Abdalla, will
warrant you against that disgrace. Doubt not
that we shall be strong enough to make good our
quarters.''
``We must not let it come so far,'' answered the
Prior; ``but here is the clown's sunken cross, and
the night is so dark that we can hardly see which
of the roads we are to follow. He bid us turn, I
think to the left.''
``To the right,'' said Brian, ``to the best of my
remembrance.''
``To the left, certainly, the left; I remember his
pointing with his wooden sword.''
``Ay, but he held his sword in his left hand,
and so pointed across his body with it,'' said the
Templar.
Each maintained his opinion with sufficient obstinacy,
as is usual in all such cases; the attendants
were appealed to, but they had not been near
enough to hear Wamba's directions. At length
Brian remarked, what had at first escaped him in
the twilight; ``Here is some one either asleep, or
lying dead at the foot of this cross---Hugo, stir him
with the but-end of thy lance.''
This was no sooner done than the figure arose,
exclaiming in good French, ``Whosoever thou art,
it is discourteous in you to disturb my thoughts.''
``We did but wish to ask you,'' said the Prior,
``the road to Rotherwood, the abode of Cedric the
Saxon.''
``I myself am bound thither,'' replied the stranger;
``and if I had a horse, I would be your guide,
for the way is somewhat intricate, though perfectly
well known to me.''
``Thou shalt have both thanks and reward, my
friend,'' said the Prior, ``if thou wilt bring us to
Cedric's in safety.''
And he caused one of his attendants to mount
his own led horse, and give that upon which he had
hitherto ridden to the stranger, who was to serve
for a guide.
Their conductor pursued an opposite road from
that which Wamba had recommended, for the purpose
of misleading them. The path soon led deeper
into the woodland, and crossed more than one brook,
the approach to which was rendered perilous by
the marshes through which it flowed; but the stranger
seemed to know, as if by instinct, the soundest
ground and the safest points of passage; and by
dint of caution and attention, brought the party
safely into a wilder avenue than any they had yet
seen; and, pointing to a large low irregular building
at the upper extremity, he said to the Prior,
``Yonder is Rotherwood, the dwelling of Cedric
the Saxon.''
This was a joyful intimation to Aymer, whose
nerves were none of the strongest, and who had
suffered such agitation and alarm in the course of
passing through the dangerous bogs, that he had
not yet had the curiosity to ask his guide a single
question. Finding himself now at 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 mixe 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 sate 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 beads, 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 stem
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 of ten devils, keeps
Gurth so long afield? I suppose we shall have an
evil account of the herd; he was wont to be a faithful
and cautious drudge, and I had destined him
for something better; perchance I might even have
made him one of my warders.''*
* The original has _Cnichts_, by which the Saxons seem to
* have designated a class of military attendants, sometimes free,
* sometimes bondsmen, but always ranking above an ordinary
* domestic, whether in the royal household or in those of the
* aldermen and thanes. But the term cnicht, now spelt knight,
* having been received into the English language as equivalent
* to the Norman word chevalier, I have avoided using it in its
* more ancient sense, to prevent confusion. L. T.
Oswald the cupbearer modestly suggested, ``that
it was scarce an hour since the tolling of the curfew;''
an ill-chosen apology, since it turned upon
a topic so harsh to Saxon ears.
``The foul fiend,'' exclaimed Cedric, ``take the
curfew-bell, and the tyrannical bastard by whom it
was devised, and the heartless slave who names it
with a Saxon tongue to a Saxon ear! The curfew!''
he added, pausing, ``ay, the curfew; which compels
true men to extinguish their lights, that thieves
and robbers may work their deeds in darkness!---
Ay, the curfew;---Reginald Front-de-Buf and
Philip de Malvoisin know the use of the curfew as
well as William the Bastard himself, or e'er a Norman
adventurer that fought at Hastings. I shall
hear, I guess, that my property has been swept off
to save from starving the hungry banditti, whom
they cannot support but by theft and robbery. My
faithful slave is murdered, and my goods are taken
for a prey---and Wamba---where is Wamba? Said
not some one he had gone forth with Gurth?''
Oswald replied in the affirmative.
`` Ay? why this is better and better! he is carried
off too, the Saxon fool, to serve the Norman
lord. Fools are we all indeed that serve them, and
fitter subjects for their scorn and laughter, than if
we were born with but half our wits. But I will
be avenged,'' he added, starting from his char in
impatience at the supposed injury, and catching
hold of his boar-spear; ``I will go with my complaint
to the great council; I have friends, I have
followers---man to man will I appeal the Norman
to the lists; let him come in his plate and his mail,
and all that can render cowardice bold; I have sent
such a javelin as this through a stronger fence than
three of their war shields!---Haply they think me
old; but they shall find, alone and childless as I
am, the blood of Hereward is in the veins of Cedric.
---Ah, Wilfred, Wilfred!'' he exclaimed in a lower
tone, ``couldst thou have ruled thine unreasonable
passion, thy father had not been left in his age like
the solitary oak that throws out its shattered and
unprotected branches against the full sweep of the
tempest!'' The reflection seemed to conjure into
sadness his irritated feelings. Replacing his javelin,
he resumed his seat, bent his looks downward,
and appeared to be absorbed in melancholy reflection.
From his musing, Cedric was suddenly awakened
by the blast of a born, which was replied to by
the clamorous yells and barking of all the dogs in
the hall, and some twenty or thirty which were
quartered in other parts of the building. It cost
some exercise of the white truncheon, well seconded
by the exertions of the domestics, to silence this
canine clamour.
``To the gate, knaves!'' said the Saxon, hastily,
as soon as the tumult was so much appeased that
the dependants could hear his voice. ``See what
tidings that horn tells us of---to announce, I ween,
some hership* and robbery which has been done
* Pillage.
upon my lands.''
Returning in less than three minutes, a warder
announced ``that the Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx,
and the good knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert, commander
of the valiant and venerable order of Knights
Templars, with a small retinue, requested hospitality
and lodging for the night, being on their way
to a tournament which was to be held not far from
Ashby-de-la-Zouche, on the second day from the
present.''
``Aymer, the Prior Aymer? Brian de Bois-Guilbert?''
---muttered Cedric; ``Normans both;---
but Norman or Saxon, the hospitality of Rotherwood
must not be impeached; they are welcome,
since they have chosen to halt---more welcome
would they have been to have ridden further on
their way---But it were unworthy to murmur for
a night's lodging and a night's food; in the quality
of guests, at least, even Normans must suppress
their insolence.---Go, Hundebert,'' he added, to a
sort of major-domo who stood behind him with a
white wand; ``take six of the attendants, and introduce
the strangers to the guests' lodging. Look
after their horses and mules, and see their train lack
nothing. Let them have change of vestments if
they require it, and fire, and water to wash, and
wine and ale; and bid the cooks add what they
hastily can to our evening meal; and let it be put
on the board when those strangers are ready to
share it. Say to them, Hundebert, that Cedric
would himself bid them welcome, but he is under a
vow never to step more than three steps from the
dais of his own hall to meet any who shares not the
blood of Saxon royalty. Begone! see them carefully
tended; let them not say in their pride, the
Saxon churl has shown at once his poverty and his
avarice.''
The major-domo departed with several attendants,
to execute his master's commands. ``The
Prior Aymer!'' repeated Cedric, looking to Oswald,
``the brother, if I mistake not, of Giles de
Mauleverer, now lord of Middleham?''
Oswald made a respectful sign of assent. ``His
brother sits in the seat, and usurps the patrimony,
of a better race, the race of Ulfgar of Middleham;
but what Norman lord doth not the same? This
Prior is, they say, a free and jovial priest, who
loves the wine-cup and the bugle-horn better than
bell and book: Good; let him come, he shall be
welcome. How named ye the Templar?''
``Brian de Bois-Guilbert.''
``Bois-Guilbert,'' said Cedric, still in the musing,
half-arguing tone, which the habit of living among
dependants had accustomed him to employ, and
which resembled a man who talks to himself rather
than to those around him---``Bois-Guilbert? that
name has been spread wide both for good and evil.
They say he is valiant as the bravest of his order;
but stained with their usual vices, pride, arrogance,
cruelty, and voluptuousness; a hard-hearted
man, who knows neither fear of earth, nor awe
of heaven. So say the few warriors who have returned
from Palestine.---Well; it is but for one
night; he shall be welcome too.---Oswald, broach
the oldest wine-cask; place the best mead, the
mightiest ale, the richest morat, the most sparkling
cider, the most odoriferous pigments, upon the
board; fill the largest horns*---Templars and Abbots
* These were drinks used by the Saxons, as we are informed
* by Mr Turner: Morat was made of honey flavoured with the
* juice of mulberries; Pigment was a sweet and rich liquor, composed
* of wine highly spiced, and sweetened also with honey;
* the other liquors need no explanation. L. T.
love good wines and good measure.---Elgitha,
let thy Lady Rowena, know we shall not this night
expect her in the hall, unless such be her especial
pleasure.''
``But it will be her especial pleasure,'' answered
Elgitha, with great readiness, ``for she is ever desirous
to hear the latest news from Palestine.''
Cedric darted at the forward damsel a glance of
hasty resentment; but Rowena, and whatever belonged
to her, were privileged and secure from his
anger. He only replied, ``Silence, maiden; thy
tongue outruns thy discretion. Say my message
to thy mistress, and let her do her pleasure. Here,
at least, the descendant of Alfred still reigns a
princess.'' Elgitha left the apartment.
``Palestine!'' repeated the Saxon; ``Palestine!
how many ears are turned to the tales which dissolute
crusaders, or hypocritical pilgrims, bring from
that fatal land! I too might ask---I too might enquire---
I too might listen with a beating heart to
fables which the wily strollers devise to cheat us
into hospitality---but no---The son who has disobeyed
me is no longer mine; nor will I concern
myself more for his fate than for that of the most
worthless among the millions that ever shaped the
cross on their shoulder, rushed into excess and
blood-guiltiness, and called it an accomplishment
of the will of God.''
He knit his brows, and fixed his eyes for an instant
on the ground; as he raised them, the folding
doors at the bottom of the hall were cast wide,
and, preceded by the major-domo with his wand,
and four domestics bearing blazing torches, the
guests of the evening entered the apartment.
CHAPTER IV.
With sheep and shaggy goats the porkers bled,
And the proud steer was on the marble spread;
With fire prepared, they deal the morsels round,
Wine rosy bright the brimming goblets crown'd.
- - - - - - -
Disposed apart, Ulysses shares the treat;
A trivet table and ignobler seat,
The Prince assigns---
_Odyssey, Book_ 21.
The Prior Aymer had taken the opportunity
afforded him, of changing his riding robe for one
of yet more costly materials, over which he wore a
cope curiously embroidered. Besides the massive
golden signet ring, which marked his ecclesiastical
dignity, his fingers, though contrary to the canon,
were loaded with precious gems; his sandals were
of the finest leather which was imported from
Spain; his beard trimmed to as small dimensions
as his order would possibly permit, and his shaven
crown concealed by a scarlet cap richly embroidered.
The appearance of the Knight Templar was also
changed; and, though less studiously bedecked with
ornament, his dress was as rich, and his appearance
far more commanding, than that of his companion.
He had exchanged his shirt of mail for an under
tunic of dark purple silk, garnished with furs, over
which flowed his long robe of spotless white, in
ample folds. The eight-pointed cross of his order
was cut on the shoulder of his mantle in black velvet.
The high cap no longer invested his brows,
which were only shaded by short and thick curled
hair of a raven blackness, corresponding to his unusually
swart complexion. Nothing could be more
gracefully majestic than his step and manner, had
they not been marked by a predominant air of
haughtiness, easily acquired by the exercise of unresisted
authority.
These two dignified persons were followed by
their respective attendants, and at a more humble
distance by their guide, whose figure had nothing
more remarkable than it derived from the usual
weeds of a pilgrim. A cloak or mantle of coarse
black serge, enveloped his whole body. It was in
shape something like the cloak of a modern hussar,
having similar flaps for covering the arms, and was
called a _Sclaveyn_, or _Sclavonian_. Coarse sandals,
bound with thongs, on his bare feet; a broad and
shadowy hat, with cockle-shells stitched on its brim,
and a long staff shod with iron, to the upper end
of which was attached a branch of palm, completed
the palmer's attire. He followed modestly the last
of the train which entered the hall, and, observing
that the lower table scarce afforded room sufficient
for the domestics of Cedric and the retinue of his
guests, he withdrew to a settle placed beside and
almost under one of the large chimneys, and seemed
to employ himself in drying his garments, until
the retreat of some one should make room at the
board, or the hospitality of the steward should
supply him with refreshments in the place he had
chosen apart.
Cedric rose to receive his guests with an air of
dignified hospitality, and, descending from the dais,
or elevated part of his hall, made three steps towards
them, and then awaited their approach.
``I grieve,'' he said, ``reverend Prior, that my
vow binds me to advance no farther upon this floor
of my fathers, even to receive such guests as you,
and this valiant Knight of the Holy Temple. But
my steward has expounded to you the cause of my
seeming discourtesy. Let me also pray, that you
will excuse my speaking to you in my native language,
and that you will reply in the same if your
knowledge of it permits; if not, I sufficiently understand
Norman to follow your meaning.''
``Vows,'' said the Abbot, ``must be unloosed,
worthy Franklin, or permit me rather to say, worthy
Thane, though the title is antiquated. Vows
are the knots which tie us to Heaven---they are the
cords which bind the sacrifice to the horns of the
altar,---and are therefore,---as I said before,---to be
unloosened and discharged, unless our holy Mother
Church shall pronounce the contrary. And respecting
language, I willingly hold communication in
that spoken by my respected grandmother, Hilda
of Middleham, who died in odour of sanctity, little
short, if we may presume to say so, of her glorious
namesake, the blessed Saint Hilda of Whitby, God
be gracious to her soul!''
When the Prior had ceased what he meant as a
conciliatory harangue, his companion said briefly
and emphatically, ``I speak ever French, the language
of King Richard and his nobles; but I understand
English sufficiently to communicate with
the natives of the country.''
Cedric darted at the speaker one of those hasty
and impatient glances, which comparisons between
the two rival nations seldom failed to call forth;
but, recollecting the duties of hospitality, he suppressed
further show of resentment, and, motioning
with his hand, caused his guests to assume two
seats a little lower than his own, but placed close
beside him, and gave a signal that the evening meal
should be placed upon the board.
While the attendants hastened to obey Cedric's
commands, his eye distinguished Gurth the swineherd,
who, with his companion Wamba, had just
entered the hall. ``Send these loitering knaves up
hither,'' said the Saxon, impatiently. And when
the culprits came before the dais,---``How comes
it, villains! that you have loitered abroad so late
as this? Hast thou brought home thy charge, sirrah
Gurth, or hast thou left them to robbers and
marauders?''
``The herd is safe, so please ye,'' said Gurth.
``But it does not please me, thou knave,'' said
Cedric, ``that I should be made to suppose otherwise
for two hours, and sit here devising vengeance
against my neighbours for wrongs they have not
done me. I tell thee, shackles and the prison-house
shall punish the next offence of this kind.''
Gurth, knowing his master's irritable temper, attempted
no exculpation; but the Jester, who could
presume upon Cedric's tolerance, by virtue of his
privileges as a fool, replied for them both; ``In
troth, uncle Cedric, you are neither wise nor reasonable
to-night.''
``How, sir?'' said his master; ``you shall to the
porter's lodge, and taste of the discipline there, if
you give your foolery such license.''
``First let your wisdom tell me,'' said Wamba,
``is it just and reasonable to punish one person for
the fault of another?''
``Certainly not, fool,'' answered Cedric.
``Then why should you shackle poor Gurth, uncle,
for the fault of his dog Fangs? for I dare be
sworn we lost not a minute by the way, when we
had got our herd together, which Fangs did not
manage until we heard the vesper-bell.''
``Then hang up Fangs,'' said Cedric, turning
hastily towards the swineherd, ``if the fault is his,
and get thee another dog.''
``Under favour, uncle,'' said the Jester, ``that
were still somewhat on the bow-hand of fair justice;
for it was no fault of Fangs that he was lame
and could not gather the herd, but the fault of
those that struck off two of his fore-claws, an operation
for which, if the poor fellow had been consulted,
he would scarce have given his voice.''
``And who dared to lame an animal which belonged
to my bondsman?'' said the Saxon, kindling
in wrath.
``Marry, that did old Hubert,'' said Wamba,
``Sir Philip de Malvoisin's keeper of the chase.
He caught Fangs strolling in the forest, and said he
chased the deer contrary to his master's right, as
warden of the walk.''
``The foul fiend take Malvoisin,'' answered the
Saxon, ``and his keeper both! I will teach them
that the wood was disforested in terms of the great
Forest Charter. But enough of this. Go to, knave,
go to thy place---and thou, Gurth, get thee another
dog, and should the keeper dare to touch it, I will
mar his archery; the curse of a coward on my head,
if I strike not off the forefinger of his right hand!
---he shall draw bowstring no more.---I crave your
pardon, my worthy guests. I am beset here with
neighbours that match your infidels, Sir Knight, in
Holy Land. But your homely fare is before you;
feed, and let welcome make amends for hard fare.''
The feast, however, which was spread upon the
board, needed no apologies from the lord of the
mansion. Swine's flesh, dressed in several modes,
appeared on the lower part of the board, as also
that of fowls, deer, goats, and hares, and various
kinds of fish, together with huge loaves and cakes
of bread, and sundry confections made of fruits and
honey. The smaller sorts of wild-fowl, of which
there was abundance, were not served up in platters,
but brought in upon small wooden spits or
broaches, and offered by the pages and domestics
who bore them, to each guest in succession, who cut
from them such a portion as he pleased. Beside
each person of rank was placed a goblet of silver;
the lower board was accommodated with large
drinking horns.
When the repast was about to commence, the
major-domo, or steward, suddenly raising his wand,
said aloud,---``Forbear!---Place for the Lady
Rowena.'' A side-door at the upper end of the hali
now opened behind the banquet table, and Rowena,
followed by four female attendants, entered the
apartment. Cedric, though surprised, and perhaps
not altogether agreeably so, at his ward appearing
in public on this occasion, hastened to meet her,
and to conduct her, with respectful ceremony, to
the elevated seat at his own right hand, appropriated
to the lady of the mansion. All stood up to
receive her; and, replying to their courtesy by a
mute gesture of salutation, she moved gracefully
forward to assume her place at the board. Ere she
had time to do so, the Templar whispered to the
Prior, ``I shall wear no collar of gold of yours at
the tournament. The Chian wine is your own.''
``Said I not so?'' answered the Prior; ``but
check your raptures, the Franklin observes you.''
Unheeding this remonstrance, and accustomed
only to act upon the immediate impulse of his own
wishes, Brian de Bois-Guilbert kept his eyes riveted
on the Saxon beauty, more striking perhaps to
his imagination, because differing widely from those
of the Eastern sultanas.
Formed in the best proportions of her sex,
Rowena was tall in stature, yet not so much so as
to attract observation on account of superior height.
Her complexion was exquisitely fair, but the noble
cast of her head and features prevented the insipidity
which sometimes attaches to fair beauties. Her
clear blue eye, which sate enshrined beneath a graceful
eyebrow of brown sufficiently marked to give
expression to the forehead, seemed capable to kindle
as well as melt, to command as well as to beseech.
If mildness were the more natural expression
of such a combination of features, it was plain,
that in the present instance, the exercise of habitual
superiority, and the reception of general homage,
had given to the Saxon lady a loftier character,
which mingled with and qualified that bestowed
by nature. Her profuse hair, of a colour betwixt
brown and flaxen, was arranged in a fanciful and
graceful manner in numerous ringlets, to form which
art had probably aided nature. These locks were
braided with gems, and, being worn at full length,
intimated the noble birth and free-born condition
of the maiden. A golden chain, to which was attached
a small reliquary of the same metal, hung
round her neck. She wore bracelets on her arms,
which were bare. Her dress was an under-gown
and kirtle of pale sea-green silk, over which hung
a long loose robe, which reached to the ground,
having very wide sleeves, which came down, however,
very little below the elbow. This robe was
crimson, and manufactured out of the very finest
wool. A veil of silk, interwoven with gold, was
attached to the upper part of it, which could be, at
the wearer's pleasure, either drawn over the face
and bosom after the Spanish fashion, or disposed
as a sort of drapery round the shoulders.
When Rowena perceived the Knight Templar's
eyes bent on her with an ardour, that, compared
with the dark caverns under which they moved,
gave them the effect of lighted charcoal, she drew
with dignity the veil around her face, as an intimation
that the determined freedom of his glance
was disagreeable. Cedric saw the motion and its
cause. ``Sir Templar,'' said he, ``the cheeks of
our Saxon maidens have seen too little of the sun
to enable them to bear the fixed glance of a crusader.''
``If I have offended,'' replied Sir Brian, ``I crave
your pardon,---that is, I crave the Lady Rowena's
pardon,---for my humility will carry me no lower.''
``The Lady Rowena,'' said the Prior, ``has
punished us all, in chastising the boldness of my
friend. Let me hope she will be less cruel to the
splendid train which are to meet at the tournament.''
``Our going thither,'' said Cedric, ``is uncertain.
I love not these vanities, which were unknown to
my fathers when England was free.''
``Let us hope, nevertheless,'' said the Prior, ``our
company may determine you to travel thitherward;
when the roads are so unsafe, the escort of Sir
Brian de Bois-Guilbert is not to be despised.''
``Sir Prior,'' answered the Saxon, ``wheresoever
I have travelled in this land, I have hitherto found
myself, with the assistance of my good sword and
faithful followers, in no respect needful of other
aid. At present, if we indeed journey to Ashby-de-la-Zouche,
we do so with my noble neighbour
and countryman Athelstane of Coningsburgh, and
with such a train as would set outlaws and feudal
enemies at defiance.---I drink to you, Sir Prior,
in this cup of wine, which I trust your taste will
approve, and I thank you for your courtesy. Should
you be so rigid in adhering to monastic rule,'' he
added, ``as to prefer your acid preparation of milk,
I hope you will not strain courtesy to do me reason.''
``Nay,'' said the Priest, laughing, ``it is only in
our abbey that we confine ourselves to the _lac dulce_
or the _lac acidum_ either. Conversing with, the
world, we use the world's fashions, and therefore
I answer your pledge in this honest wine, and leave
the weaker liquor to my lay-brother.''
``And I,'' said the Templar, filling his goblet,
``drink wassail to the fair Rowena; for since her
namesake introduced the word into England, has
never been one more worthy of such a tribute. By
my faith, I could pardon the unhappy Vortigern,
had he half the cause that we now witness, for
making shipwreck of his honour and his kingdom.''
``I will spare your courtesy, Sir Knight,'' said
Rowena with dignity, and without unveiling herself;
``or rather I will tax it so far as to require
of you the latest news from Palestine, a theme
more agreeable to our English ears than the compliments
which your French breeding teaches.''
``I have little of importance to say, lady,'' answered
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, ``excepting the
confirmed tidings of a truce with Saladin.''
He was interrupted by Wamba, who had taken
his appropriated seat upon a chair, the back of
which was decorated with two ass's ears, and which
was placed about two steps behind that of his master,
who, from time to time, supplied him with victuals
from his own trencher; a favour, however,
which the Jester shared with the favourite dogs,
of whom, as we have already noticed, there were
several in attendance. Here sat Wamba, with a
small table before him, his heels tucked up against
the bar of the chair, his cheeks sucked up so as to
make his jaws resemble a pair of nut-crackers, and
his eyes half-shut, yet watching with alertness every
opportunity to exercise his licensed foolery.
``These truces with the infidels,'' he exclaimed,
without caring how suddenly he interrupted the
stately Templar, ``make an old man of me!''
``Go to, knave, how so?'' said Cedric, his features
prepared to receive favourably the expected
jest.
``Because,'' answered Wamba, ``I remember
three of them in my day, each of which was to endure
for the course of fifty years; so that, by computation,
I must be at least a hundred and fifty
years old.''
``I will warrant you against dying of old age,
however,'' said the Templar, who now recognised
his friend of the forest; ``I will assure you from
all deaths but a violent one, if you give such directions
to wayfarers, as you did this night to the
Prior and me.''
``How, sirrah!'' said Cedric, ``misdirect travellers?
We must have you whipt; you are at least
as much rogue as fool.''
``I pray thee, uncle,'' answered the Jester, ``let
my folly, for once, protect my roguery. I did but
make a mistake between my right hand and my
left; and he might have pardoned a greater, who
took a fool for his counsellor and guide.''
Conversation was here interrupted by the entrance
of the porter's page, who announced that
there was a stranger at the gate, imploring admittance
and hospitality,
``Admit him,'' said Cedric, ``be he who or what
he may;---a night like that which roars without,
compels even wild animals to herd with tame, and
to seek the protection of man, their mortal foe, rather
than perish by the elements. Let his wants
be ministered to with all care---look to it, Oswald.''
And the steward left the banqueting hall to see
the commands of his patron obeyed.
CHAPTER V.
Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions,
senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt
with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by
the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and
summer, as a Christian is?
_Merchant of Venice_.
Oswald, returning, whispered into the ear of
his master, ``It is a Jew, who calls himself Isaac
of York; is it fit I should marshall him into the
hall?''
``Let Gurth do thine office, Oswald,'' said Wamba
with his usual effrontery; ``the swineherd will
be a fit usher to the Jew.''
``St Mary,'' said the Abbot, crossing himself,
``an unbelieving Jew, and admitted into this presence!''
``A dog Jew,'' echoed the Templar, ``to approach
a defender of the Holy Sepulchre?''
``By my faith,'' said Wamba, ``it would seem
the Templars love the Jews' inheritance better than
they do their company.''
``Peace, my worthy guests,'' said Cedric; ``my
hospitality must not be bounded by your dislikes.
If Heaven bore with the whole nation of stiff-necked
unbelievers for more years than a layman can number,
we may endure the presence of one Jew for a
few hours. But I constrain no man to converse or
to feed with him.---Let him have a board and a
morsel apart,---unless,'' he said smiling, ``these
turban'd strangers will admit his society.''
``Sir Franklin,'' answered the Templar, ``my
Saracen slaves are true Moslems, and scorn as much
as any Christian to hold intercourse with a Jew.''
``Now, in faith,'' said Wamba, ``I cannot see
that the worshippers of Mahound and Termagaunt
have so greatly the advantage over the people once
chosen of Heaven.''
``He shall sit with thee, Wamba,'' said Cedric;
``the fool and the knave will be well met.''
``The fool,'' answered Wamba, raising the relics
of a gammon of bacon, ``will take care to erect a
bulwark against the knave.''
``Hush,'' said Cedric, ``for here he comes.''
Introduced with little ceremony, and advancing
with fear and hesitation, and many a bow of deep
humility, a tall thin old man, who, however, had
lost by the habit of stooping much of his actual
height, approached the lower end of the board. His
features, keen and regular, with an aquiline nose,
and piercing black eyes; his high and wrinkled
forehead, and long grey hair and beard, would have
been considered as handsome, had they not been the
marks of a physiognomy peculiar to a race, which,
during those dark ages, was alike detested by the
credulous and prejudiced vulgar, and persecuted by
the greedy and rapacious nobility, and who, perhaps,
owing to that very hatred and persecution,
had adopted a national character, in which there
was much, to say the least, mean and unamiable.
The Jew's dress, which appeared to have suffered
considerably from the storm, was a plain russet
cloak of many folds, covering a dark purple tunic.
He had large boots lined with fur, and a belt around
his waist, which sustained a small knife, together
with a case for writing materials, but no weapon.
He wore a high square yellow cap of a peculiar
fashion, assigned to his nation to distinguish them
from Christians, and which he doffed with great
humility at the door of the hall.
The reception of this person in the ball of Cedric
the Saxon, was such as might have satisfied
the most prejudiced enemy of the tribes of Israel.
Cedric himself coldly nodded in answer to the Jew's
repeated salutations, and signed to him to take
place at the lower end of the table, where, however,
no one offered to make room for him. On the contrary,
as he passed along the file, casting a timid
supplicating glance, and turning towards each of
those who occupied the lower end of the board, the
Saxon domestics squared their shoulders, and continued
to devour their supper with great perseverance,
paying not the least attention to the wants
of the new guest. The attendants of the Abbot
crossed themselves, with looks of pious horror, and
the very heathen Saracens, as Isaac drew near them,
curled up their whiskers with indignation, and laid
their hands on their poniards, as if ready to rid
themselves by the most desperate means from the
apprehended contamination of his nearer approach.
Probably the same motives which induced Cedric
to open his hall to this son of a rejected people,
would have made him insist on his attendants
receiving Isaac with more courtesy. But the Abbot
had, at this moment, engaged him in a most
interesting discussion on the breed and character
of his favourite hounds, which he would not have
interrupted for matters of much greater importance
than that of a Jew going to bed supperless. While
Isaac thus stood an outcast in the present society,
like his people among the nations, looking in vain
for welcome or resting place, the pilgrim who sat
by the chimney took compassion upon him, and resigned
his seat, saying briefly, ``Old man, my garments
are dried, my hunger is appeased, thou art
both wet and fasting.'' So saying, he gathered together,
and brought to a flame, the decaying brands
which lay scattered on the ample hearth; took from
the larger board a mess of pottage and seethed kid,
placed it upon the small table at which he had himself
supped, and, without waiting the Jew's thanks,
went to the other side of the hall;---whether from
unwillingness to hold more close communication
with the object of his benevolence, or from a wish
to draw near to the upper end of the table, seemed
uncertain.
Had there been painters in those days capable
to execute such a subject, the Jew, as he bent his
withered form, and expanded his chilled and trembling
hands over the fire, would have formed no
bad emblematical personification of the Winter season.
Having dispelled the cold, he turned eagerly
to the smoking mess which was placed before him,
and ate with a haste and an apparent relish, that
seemed to betoken long abstinence from food.
Meanwhile the Abbot and Cedric continued their
discourse upon hunting; the Lady Rowena seemed
engaged in conversation with one of her attendant
females; and the haughty Templar, whose eye
wandered from the Jew to the Saxon beauty, revolved
in his mind thoughts which appeared deeply
to interest him.
``I marvel, worthy Cedric,'' said the Abbot, as
their discourse proceeded, ``that, great as your predilection
is for your own manly language, you do
not receive the Norman-French into your favour,
so far at least as the mystery of wood-craft and
hunting is concerned. Surely no tongue is so rich
in the various phrases which the field-sports demand,
or furnishes means to the experienced woodman
so well to express his jovial art.''
`Good Father Aymer,'' said the Saxon, ``be it
known to you, I care not for those over-sea refinements,
without which I can well enough take my
pleasure in the woods. I can wind my horn, though
I call not the blast either a _recheate_ or a _morte_---I
can cheer my dogs on the prey, and I can flay and
quarter the animal when it is brought down, without
using the newfangled jargon of _curee, arbor,
nombles_, and all the babble of the fabulous Sir Tristrem.''*
* There was no language which the Normans more formally
* separated from that of common life than the terms of the chase.
* The objects of their pursuit, whether bird or animal, changed
* their name each year, and there were a hundred conventional
* terms, to be ignorant of which was to be without one of the distinguishing
* marks of a gentleman. The reader may consult Dame
* Juliana Berners' book on the subject. The origin of this science
* was imputed to the celebrated Sir Tristrem, famous for his tragic
* intrigue with the beautiful Ysolte. As the Normans reserved
* the amusement of hunting strictly to themselves, the terms
* of this formal jargon were all taken from the French language.
``The French,'' said the Templar, raising his
voice with the presumptuous and authoritative tone
which he used upon all occasions, ``is not only the
natural language of the chase, but that of love and
of war, in which ladies should be won and enemies
defied.''
``Pledge me in a cup of wine, Sir Templar,''
said Cedric, ``and fill another to the Abbot, while
I look back some thirty years to tell you another
tale. As Cedric the Saxon then was, his plain English
tale needed no garnish from French troubadours,
when it was told in the ear of beauty; and
the field of Northallerton, upon the day of the Holy
Standard, could tell whether the Saxon war-cry was
not heard as far within the ranks of the Scottish host
as the _cri de guerre_ of the boldest Norman baron.
To the memory of the brave who fought there!---
Pledge me, my guests.'' He drank deep, and went
on with increasing warmth. ``Ay, that was a day
of cleaving of shields, when a hundred banners were
bent forwards over the heads of the valiant, and
blood flowed round like water, and death was held
better than flight. A Saxon bard had called it a
feast of the swords---a gathering of the eagles to
the prey---the clashing of bills upon shield and helmet,
the shouting of battle more joyful than the
clamour of a bridal. But our bards are no more,''
he said; ``our deeds are lost in those of another
race---our language---our very name---is hastening
to decay, and none mourns for it save one solitary
old man---Cupbearer! knave, fill the goblets---To
the strong in arms, Sir Templar, be their race or
language what it will, who now bear them best in
Palestine among the champions of the Cross!''
``It becomes not one wearing this badge to answer,''
said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert; ``yet to
whom, besides the sworn Champions of the Holy
Sepulchre, can the palm be assigned among the
champions of the Cross?''
``To the Knights Hospitallers,'' said the Abbot;
``I have a brother of their order.''
``I impeach not their fame,'' said the Templar;
``nevertheless------''
``I think, friend Cedric,'' said Wamba, interfering,
``that had Richard of the Lion's Heart
been wise enough to have taken a fool's advice, he
might have staid at home with his merry Englishmen,
and left the recovery of Jerusalem to those
same Knights who had most to do with the loss of
it.''
``Were there, then, none in the English army,''
said the Lady Rowena, ``whose names are worthy
to be mentioned with the Knights of the Temple,
and of St John?''
`` Forgive me, lady,'' replied De Bois-Guilbert;
``the English monarch did, indeed, bring to Palestine
a host of gallant warriors, second only to those
whose breasts have been the unceasing bulwark of
that blessed land.''
``Second to =none=,'' said the Pilgrim, who had
stood near enough to hear, and had listened to this
conversation with marked impatience. All turned
toward the spot from whence this unexpected asseveration
was heard. ``I say,'' repeated the Pilgrim
in a firm and strong voice, ``that the English
chivalry were second to =none= who ever drew sword
in defence of the Holy Land. I say besides, for I
saw it, that King Richard himself, and five of his
knights, held a tournament after the taking of St
John-de-Acre, as challengers against all comers. I
say that, on that day, each knight ran three courses,
and cast to the ground three antagonists. I add,
that seven of these assailants were Knights of the
Temple---and Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert well
knows the truth of what I tell you.''
It is impossible for language to describe the
bitter scowl of rage which rendered yet darker the
swarthy countenance of the Templar. In the extremity
of his resentment and confusion, his quivering
fingers griped towards the handle of his
sword, and perhaps only withdrew, from the consciousness
that no act of violence could be safely
executed in that place and presence. Cedric, whose
feelings were all of a right onward and simple kind,
and were seldom occupied by more than one object
at once, omitted, in the joyous glee with which be
heard of the glory of his countrymen, to remark the
angry confusion of his guest; ``I would give thee
this golden bracelet, Pilgrim,'' he said, ``couldst thou
tell me the names of those knights who upheld so
gallantly the renown of merry England.''
``That will I do blithely,'' replied the Pilgrim,
``and without guerdon; my oath, for a time, prohibits
me from touching gold.''
``I will wear the bracelet for you, if you will,
friend Palmer,'' said Wamba.
``The first in honour as in arms, in renown as
in place,'' said the Pilgrim, ``was the brave Richard,
King of England.''
``I forgive him,'' said Cedric; ``I forgive him
his descent from the tyrant Duke William.''
``The Earl of Leicester was the second,'' continued
the Pilgrim; ``Sir Thomas Multon of Gilsland
was the third.''
``Of Saxon descent, he at least,'' said Cedric,
with exultation.
``Sir Foulk Doilly the fourth,'' proceeded the
Pilgrim.
``Saxon also, at least by the mother's side,'' continued
Cedric, who listened with the utmost eagerness,
and forgot, in part at least, his hatred to the
Normans, in the common triumph of the King of
England and his islanders. ``And who was the
fifth?'' he demanded.
``The fifth was Sir Edwin Turneham.''
``Genuine Saxon, by the soul of Hengist!''
shouted Cedric---``And the sixth?'' he continued
with eagerness---``how name you the sixth?''
``The sixth,'' said the Palmer, after a pause, in
which he seemed to recollect himself, ``was a young
knight of lesser renown and lower rank, assumed
into that honourable company, less to aid their enterprise
than to make up their number---his name
dwells not in my memory.''
``Sir Palmer,'' said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert
scornfully, ``this assumed forgetfulness, after so
much has been remembered, comes too late to serve
your purpose. I will myself tell the name of the
knight before whose lance fortune and my horse's
fault occasioned my falling---it was the Knight of
Ivanhoe; nor was there one of the six that, for his
years, had more renown in arms.---Yet this will I
say, and loudly---that were he in England, and
durst repeat, in this week's tournament, the challenge
of St John-de-Acre, I, mounted and armed as
I now am, would give him every advantage of weapons,
and abide the result.''
``Your challenge would soon be answered,'' replied
the Palmer, ``were your antagonist near you.
As the matter is, disturb not the peaceful hall with
vaunts of the issue of the conflict, which you well
know cannot take place. If Ivanhoe ever returns
from Palestine, I will be his surety that he meets
you.''
``A goodly security!'' said the Knight Templar;
``and what do you proffer as a pledge?''
``This reliquary,'' said the Palmer, taking a small
ivory box from his bosom, and crossing himself,
``containing a portion of the true cross, brought
from the Monastery of Mount Carmel.''
The Prior of Jorvaulx crossed himself and repeated
a pater noster, in which all devoutly joined,
excepting the Jew, the Mahomedans, and the Templar;
the latter of whom, without vailing his bonnet,
or testifying any reverence for the alleged sanctity
of the relic, took from his neck a gold chain,
which he flung on the board, saying---``Let Prior
Aymer hold my pledge and that of this nameless
vagrant, in token that when the Knight of Ivanhoe
comes within the four seas of Britain, he underlies
the challenge of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, which, if
he answer not, I will proclaim him as a coward on
the walls of every Temple Court in Europe.''
``It will not need,'' said the Lady Rowena, breaking
silence; ``My voice shall be heard, if no other
in this hall is raised in behalf of the absent Ivanhoe.
I affirm he will meet fairly every honourable challenge.
Could my weak warrant add security to the
inestimable pledge of this holy pilgrim, I would
pledge name and fame that Ivanhoe gives this proud
knight the meeting he desires.''
A crowd of conflicting emotions seemed to have
occupied Cedric, and kept him silent during this
discussion. Gratified pride, resentment, embarrassment,
chased each other over his broad and open
brow, like the shadow of clouds drifting over a harvest-field;
while his attendants, on whom the name
of the sixth knight seemed to produce an effect
almost electrical, hung in suspense upon their master's
looks. But when Rowena spoke, the sound of
her voice seemed to startle him from his silence.
``Lady,'' said Cedric, ``this beseems not; were
further pledge necessary, I myself, offended, and
justly offended, as I am, would yet gage my honour
for the honour of Ivanhoe. But the wager of battle
is complete, even according to the fantastic fashions
of Norman chivalry---Is it not, Father Aymer?''
``It is,'' replied the Prior; ``and the blessed
relic and rich chain will I bestow safely in the
treasury of our convent, until the decision of this,
warlike challenge.''
Having thus spoken, he crossed himself again and
again, and after many genuflections and muttered
prayers, he delivered the reliquary to Brother Ambrose,
his attendant monk, while he himself swept
up with less ceremony, but perhaps with no less
internal satisfaction, the golden chain, and bestowed
it in a pouch lined with perfumed leather, which
opened under his arm. ``And now, Sir Cedric,'' he
said, ``my ears are chiming vespers with the strength
of your good wine---permit us another pledge to
the welfare of the Lady Rowena, and indulge us
with liberty to pass to our repose.''
``By the rood of Bromholme,'' said the Saxon,
``you do but small credit to your fame, Sir Prior!
Report speaks you a bonny monk, that would hear
the matin chime ere he quitted his bowl; and, old
as I am, I feared to have shame in encountering
you. But, by my faith, a Saxon boy of twelve, in
my time, would not so soon have relinquished his
goblet.''
The Prior had his own reasons, however, for persevering
in the course of temperance which he had
adopted. He was not only a professional peacemaker,
but from practice a hater of all feuds and
brawls. It was not altogether from a love to his
neighbour, or to himself, or from a mixture of both.
On the present occasion, he had an instinctive apprehension
of the fiery temper of the Saxon, and
saw the danger that the reckless and presumptuous
spirit, of which his companion had already given
so many proofs, might at length produce some disagreeable
explosion. He therefore gently insinuated
the incapacity of the native of any other country
to engage in the genial conflict of the bowl with the
hardy and strong-headed Saxons; something he
mentioned, but slightly, about his own holy character,
and ended by pressing his proposal to depart
to repose.
The grace-cup was accordingly served round, and
the guests, after making deep ob | | |
