IVANHOE.

Chapters 1 to 10   Chapters 11 to 20   Chapters 21 to 30   Chapter 31 to 40   Chapters 41 to 44

Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40

CHAPTER XXXI

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, Or, close the wall up with our English dead. --------------- And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture---let us swear That you are worth your breeding. _King Henry V._

Cedric, although not greatly confident in Ulrica's message, omitted not to communicate her promise to the Black Knight and Locksley. They were well pleased to find they had a friend within the place, who might, in the moment of need, be able to facilitate their entrance, and readily agreed with the Saxon that a storm, under whatever disadvantages, ought to be attempted, as the only means of liberating the prisoners now in the hands of the cruel Front-de-B<oe>uf.

``The royal blood of Alfred is endangered,'' said Cedric.

``The honour of a noble lady is in peril,'' said the Black Knight.

``And, by the Saint Christopher at my baldric,'' said the good yeoman, ``were there no other cause than the safety of that poor faithful knave, Wamba, I would jeopard a joint ere a hair of his head were hurt.''

``And so would I,'' said the Friar; ``what, sirs! I trust well that a fool---I mean, d'ye see me, sirs, a fool that is free of his guild and master of his craft, and can give as much relish and flavour to a cup of wine as ever a flitch of bacon can---I say, brethren, such a fool shall never want a wise clerk to pray for or fight for him at a strait, while I can say a mass or flourish a partisan.'' And with that he made his heavy halberd to play around his head as a shepherd boy flourishes his light crook.

``True, Holy Clerk,'' said the Black Knight, ``true as if Saint Dunstan himself had said it.--- And now, good Locksley, were it not well that noble Cedric should assume the direction of this assault?''

``Not a jot I,'' returned Cedric; ``I have never been wont to study either how to take or how to hold out those abodes of tyrannic power, which the Normans have erected in this groaning land. I will fight among the foremost; but my honest neighbours well know I am not a trained soldier in the discipline of wars, or the attack of strongholds.''

``Since it stands thus with noble Cedric,'' said Locksley, ``I am most willing to take on me the direction of the archery; and ye shall hang me up on my own Trysting-tree, an the defenders be permitted to show themselves over the walls without being stuck with as many shafts as there are cloves in a gammon of bacon at Christmas.''

``Well said, stout yeoman,'' answered the Black Knight; ``and if I be thought worthy to have a charge in these matters, and can find among these brave men as many as are willing to follow a true English knight, for so I may surely call myself, I am ready, with such skill as my experience has taught me, to lead them to the attack of these walls.''

The parts being thus distributed to the leaders, they commenced the first assault, of which the reader has already heard the issue.

When the barbican was carried, the Sable Knight sent notice of the happy event to Locksley, requesting him at the same time, to keep such a strict observation on the castle as might prevent the defenders from combining their force for a sudden sally, and recovering the outwork which they had lost. This the knight was chiefly desirous of avoiding, conscious that the men whom he led, being hasty and untrained volunteers, imperfectly armed and unaccustomed to discipline, must, upon any sudden attack, fight at great disadvantage with the veteran soldiers of the Norman knights, who were well provided with arms both defensive and offensive; and who, to match the zeal and high spirit of the besiegers, had all the confidence which arises from perfect discipline and the habitual use of weapons.

The knight employed the interval in causing to be constructed a sort of floating bridge, or long raft, by means of which he hoped to cross the moat in despite of the resistance of the enemy. This was a work of some time, which the leaders the less regretted, as it gave Ulrica leisure to execute her plan of diversion in their favour, whatever that might be.

When the raft was completed, the Black Knight addressed the besiegers:---``It avails not waiting here longer, my friends; the sun is descending to the west---and I have that upon my hands which will not permit me to tarry with you another day. Besides, it will be a marvel if the horsemen come not upon us from York, unless we speedily accomplish our purpose. Wherefore, one of ye go to Locksley, and bid him commence a discharge of arrows on the opposite side of the castle, and move forward as if about to assault it; and you, true English hearts, stand by me, and be ready to thrust the raft endlong over the moat whenever the postern on our side is thrown open. Follow me boldly across, and aid me to burst yon sallyport in the main wall of the castle. As many of you as like not this service, or are but ill armed to meet it, do you man the top of the outwork, draw your bow-strings to your ears, and mind you quell with your shot whatever shall appear to man the rampart--- Noble Cedric, wilt thou take the direction of those which remain?''

``Not so, by the soul of Hereward!'' said the Saxon; ``lead I cannot; but may posterity curse me in my grave, if I follow not with the foremost wherever thou shalt point the way---The quarrel is mine, and well it becomes me to be in the van of the battle.''

``Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon,'' said the knight, ``thou hast neither hauberk, nor corslet, nor aught but that light helmet, target, and sword.''

``The better!'' answered Cedric; ``I shall be the lighter to climb these walls. And,---forgive the boast, Sir Knight,---thou shalt this day see the naked breast of a Saxon as boldly presented to the battle as ever ye beheld the steel corslet of a Norman.''

``In the name of God, then,'' said the knight, ``fling open the door, and launch the floating bridge.''

The portal, which led from the inner-wall of the barbican to the moat, and which corresponded with a sallyport in the main wall of the castle, was now suddenly opened; the temporary bridge was then thrust forward, and soon flashed in the waters, extending its length between the castle and outwork, and forming a slippery and precarious passage for two men abreast to cross the moat. Well aware of the importance of taking the foe by surprise, the Black Knight, closely followed by Cedric, threw himself upon the bridge, and reached the opposite side. Here he began to thunder with his axe upon the gate of the castle, protected in part from the shot and stones cast by the defenders by the ruins of the former drawbridge, which the Templar had demolished in his retreat from the barbican, leaving the counterpoise still attached to the upper part of the portal. The followers of the knight had no such shelter; two were instantly shot with cross-bow bolts, and two more fell into the moat; the others retreated back into the barbican.

The situation of Cedric and of the Black Knight was now truly dangerous, and would have been still more so, but for the constancy of the archers in the barbican, who ceased not to shower their arrows upon the battlements, distracting the attention of those by whom they were manned, and thus affording a respite to their two chiefs from the storm of missiles which must otherwise have overwhelmed them. But their situation was eminently perilous, and was becoming more so with every moment.

``Shame on ye all!'' cried De Bracy to the soldiers around him; ``do ye call yourselves cross-bowmen, and let these two dogs keep their station under the walls of the castle?---Heave over the coping stones from the battlements, an better may not be---Get pick-axe and levers, and down with that huge pinnacle!'' pointing to a heavy piece of stone carved-work that projected from the parapet.

At this moment the besiegers caught sight of the red flag upon the angle of the tower which Ulrica had described to Cedric. The stout yeoman Locksley was the first who was aware of it, as he was hasting to the outwork, impatient to see the progress of the assault.

``Saint George!'' he cried, ``Merry Saint George for England!---To the charge, bold yeomen!---why leave ye the good knight and noble Cedric to storm the pass alone?---make in, mad priest, show thou canst fight for thy rosary,---make in, brave yeomen! ---the castle is ours, we have friends within---See yonder flag, it is the appointed signal---Torquilstone is ours!---Think of honour, think of spoil---One effort, and the place is ours!''

With that he bent his good bow, and sent a shaft right through the breast of one of the men-at-arms, who, under De Bracy's direction, was loosening a fragment from one of the battlements to precipitate on the heads of Cedric and the Black Knight. A second soldier caught from the hands of the dying man the iron crow, with which he heaved at and had loosened the stone pinnacle, when, receiving an arrow through his head-piece, he dropped from the battlements into the moat a dead man. The men-at-arms were daunted, for no armour seemed proof against the shot of this tremendous archer.

``Do you give ground, base knaves!'' said De Bracy; ``_Mount joye Saint Dennis!_---Give me the lever!''

And, snatching it up, he again assailed the loosened pinnacle, which was of weight enough, if thrown down, not only to have destroyed the remnant of the drawbridge, which sheltered the two foremost assailants, but also to have sunk the rude float of planks over which they had crossed. All saw the danger, and the boldest, even the stout Friar himself, avoided setting foot on the raft. Thrice did Locksley bend his shaft against De Bracy, and thrice did his arrow bound back from the knight's armour of proof.

``Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat!'' said Locksley, ``had English smith forged it, these arrows had gone through, an as if it had been silk or sendal.'' He then began to call out, ``Comrades! friends! noble Cedric! bear back, and let the ruin fall.''

His warning voice was unheard, for the din which the knight himself occasioned by his strokes upon the postern would have drowned twenty war-trumpets. The faithful Gurth indeed sprung forward on the planked bridge, to warn Cedric of his impending fate, or to share it with him. But his warning would have come too late; the massive pinnacle already tottered, and De Bracy, who still heaved at his task, would have accomplished it, had not the voice of the Templar sounded close in his ears:---

``All is lost, De Bracy, the castle burns.''

``Thou art mad to say so!'' replied the knight.

``It is all in a light flame on the western side. I have striven in vain to extinguish it.''

With the stern coolness which formed the basis of his character, Brian de Bois-Guilbert communicated this hideous intelligence, which was not so calmly received by his astonished comrade.

``Saints of Paradise!'' said De Bracy; ``what is to be done? I vow to Saint Nicholas of Limoges a candlestick of pure gold---''

``Spare thy vow,'' said the Templar, ``and mark me. Lead thy men down, as if to a sally; throw the postern-gate open---There are but two men who occupy the float, fling them into the moat, and push across for the barbican. I will charge from the main gate, and attack the barbican on the outside; and if we can regain that post, be assured we shall defend ourselves until we are relieved, or at least till they grant us fair quarter.''

``It is well thought upon,'' said De Bracy; ``I will play my part---Templar, thou wilt not fail me?''

``Hand and glove, I will not!'' said Bois-Guilbert. ``But haste thee, in the name of God!''

De Bracy hastily drew his men together, and rushed down to the postern-gate, which he caused instantly to be thrown open. But scarce was this done ere the portentous strength of the Black Knight forced his way inward in despite of De Bracy and his followers. Two of the foremost instantly fell, and the rest gave way notwithstanding all their leader's efforts to stop them.

``Dogs!'' said De Bracy, ``will ye let _two_ men win our only pass for safety?''

``He is the devil!'' said a veteran man-at-arms, bearing back from the blows of their sable antagonist.

``And if he be the devil,'' replied De Bracy, ``would you fly from him into the mouth of hell? ---the castle burns behind us, villains!---let despair give you courage, or let me forward! I will cope with this champion myself''

And well and chivalrous did De Bracy that day maintain the fame he had acquired in the civil wars of that dreadful period. The vaulted passage to which the postern gave entrance, and in which these two redoubted champions were now fighting hand to hand, rung with the furious blows which they dealt each other, De Bracy with his sword, the Black Knight with his ponderous axe. At length the Norman received a blow, which, though its force was partly parried by his shield, for otherwise never more would De Bracy have again moved limb, descended yet with such violence on his crest, that he measured his length on the paved floor.

``Yield thee, De Bracy,'' said the Black Champion, stooping over him, and holding against the bars of his helmet the fatal poniard with which the knights dispatched their enemies, (and which was called the dagger of mercy,)---``yield thee, Maurice de Bracy, rescue or no rescue, or thou art but a dead man.''

``I will not yield,'' replied De Bracy faintly, ``to an unknown conqueror. Tell me thy name, or work thy pleasure on me---it shall never be said that Maurice de Bracy was prisoner to a nameless churl.''

The Black Knight whispered something into the ear of the vanquished.

``I yield me to be true prisoner, rescue or no rescue,'' answered the Norman, exchanging his tone of stern and determined obstinacy for one of deep though sullen submission.

``Go to the barbican,'' said the victor, in a tone of authority, ``and there wait my further orders.''

``Yet first, let me say,'' said De Bracy, ``what it imports thee to know. Wilfred of Ivanhoe is wounded and a prisoner, and will perish in the burning castle without present help.''

``Wilfred of Ivanhoe!'' exclaimed the Black Knight---``prisoner, and perish!---The life of every man in the castle shall answer it if a hair of his head be singed---Show me his chamber!''

``Ascend yonder winding stair,'' said De Bracy; ``it leads to his apartment---Wilt thou not accept my guidance?'' he added, in a submissive voice.

``No. To the barbican, and there wait my orders. I trust thee not, De Bracy.''

During this combat and the brief conversation which ensued, Cedric, at the head of a body of men, among whom the Friar was conspicuous, had pushed across the bridge as soon as they saw the postern open, and drove back the dispirited and despairing followers of De Bracy, of whom some asked quarter, some offered vain resistance, and the greater part fled towards the court-yard. De Bracy himself arose from the ground, and cast a sorrowful glance after his conqueror. ``He trusts me not!'' he repeated; ``but have I deserved his trust?'' He then lifted his sword from the floor, took off his helmet in token of submission, and, going to the barbican, gave up his sword to Locksley, whom he met by the way.

As the fire augmented, symptoms of it became soon apparent in the chamber, where Ivanhoe was watched and tended by the Jewess Rebecca. He had been awakened from his brief slumber by the noise of the battle; and his attendant, who had, at his anxious desire, again placed herself at the window to watch and report to him the fate of the attack, was for some time prevented from observing either, by the increase of the smouldering and stifling vapour. At length the volumes of smoke which rolled into the apartment---the cries for water, which were heard even above the din of the battle made them sensible of the progress of this new danger.

``The castle burns,'' said Rebecca; ``it burns! ---What can we do to save ourselves?''

``Fly, Rebecca, and save thine own life,'' said Ivanhoe, ``for no human aid can avail me.''

``I will not fly,'' answered Rebecca; ``we will be saved or perish together---And yet, great God! ---my father, my father---what will be his fate!''

At this moment the door of the apartment flew open, and the Templar presented himself,---a ghastly figure, for his gilded armour was broken and bloody, and the plume was partly shorn away, partly burnt from his casque. ``I have found thee,'' said he to Rebecca; ``thou shalt prove I will keep my word to share weal and woe with thee---There is but one path to safety, I have cut my way through fifty dangers to point it to thee ---up, and instantly follow me!''*

* The author has some idea that this passage is imitated from * the appearance of Philidaspes, before the divine Mandane, when * the city of Babylon is on fire, and he proposes to carry her from * the flames. But the theft, if there be one, would be rather too * severely punished by the penance of searching for the original * passage through the interminable volumes of the Grand Cyrus.

``Alone,'' answered Rebecca, ``I will not follow thee. If thou wert born of woman---if thou hast but a touch of human charity in thee---if thy heart be not hard as thy breastplate---save my aged father ---save this wounded knight!''

``A knight,'' answered the Templar, with his characteristic calmness, ``a knight, Rebecca, must encounter his fate, whether it meet him in the shape of sword or flame---and who recks how or where a Jew meets with his?''

``Savage warrior,'' said Rebecca, ``rather will I perish in the flames than accept safety from thee!''

``Thou shalt not choose, Rebecca---once didst thou foil me, but never mortal did so twice.''

So saying, he seized on the terrified maiden, who filled the air with her shrieks, and bore her out of the room in his arms in spite of her cries, and without regarding the menaces and defiance which Ivanhoe thundered against him. ``Hound of the Temple---stain to thine Order---set free the damsel! Traitor of Bois-Guilbert, it is Ivanhoe commands thee!---Villain, I will have thy heart's blood!''

``I had not found thee, Wilfred,'' said the Black Knight, who at that instant entered the apartment, ``but for thy shouts.''

``If thou best true knight,'' said Wilfred, ``think not of me---pursue yon ravisher---save the Lady Rowena---look to the noble Cedric!''

``In their turn,'' answered he of the Fetterlock, ``but thine is first.''

And seizing upon Ivanhoe, he bore him off with as much ease as the Templar had carried off Rebecca, rushed with him to the postern, and having there delivered his burden to the care of two yeomen, he again entered the castle to assist in the rescue of the other prisoners.

One turret was now in bright flames, which flashed out furiously from window and shot-hole. But in other parts, the great thickness of the walls and the vaulted roofs of the apartments, resisted the progress of the flames, and there the rage of man still triumphed, as the scarce more dreadful element held mastery elsewhere; for the besiegers pursued the defenders of the castle from chamber to chamber, and satiated in their blood the vengeance which had long animated them against the soldiers of the tyrant Front-de-B<oe>uf. Most of the garrison resisted to the uttermost---few of them asked quarter---none received it. The air was filled with groans and clashing of arms---the floors were slippery with the blood of despairing and expiring wretches.

Through this scene of confusion, Cedric rushed in quest of Rowena, while the faithful Gurth, following him closely through the _me<e^>l<e'>e_, neglected his own safety while he strove to avert the blows that were aimed at his master. The noble Saxon was so fortunate as to reach his ward's apartment just as she had abandoned all hope of safety, and, with a crucifix clasped in agony to her bosom, sat in expectation of instant death. He committed her to the charge of Gurth, to be conducted in safety to the barbican, the road to which was now cleared of the enemy, and not yet interrupted by the flames. This accomplished, the loyal Cedric hastened in quest of his friend Athelstane, determined, at every risk to himself, to save that last scion of Saxon royalty. But ere Cedric penetrated as far as the old hall in which he had himself been a prisoner, the inventive genius of Wamba had procured liberation for himself and his companion in adversity.

When the noise of the conflict announced that it was at the hottest, the Jester began to shout, with the utmost power of his lungs, ``Saint George and the dragon!---Bonny Saint George for merry England!---The castle is won!'' And these sounds he rendered yet more fearful, by banging against each other two or three pieces of rusty armour which lay scattered around the hall.

A guard, which had been stationed in the outer, or anteroom, and whose spirits were already in a state of alarm, took fright at Wamba's clamour, and, leaving the door open behind them, ran to tell the Templar that foemen had entered the old hall. Meantime the prisoners found no difficulty in making their escape into the anteroom, and from thence into the court of the castle, which was now the last scene of contest. Here sat the fierce Templar, mounted on horseback, surrounded by several of the garrison both on horse and foot, who had united their strength to that of this renowned leader, in order to secure the last chance of safety and retreat which remained to them. The drawbridge had been lowered by his orders, but the passage was beset; for the archers, who had hitherto only annoyed the castle on that side by their missiles, no sooner saw the flames breaking out, and the bridge lowered, than they thronged to the entrance, as well to prevent the escape of the garrison, as to secure their own share of booty ere the castle should be burnt down. On the other hand, a party of the besiegers who had entered by the postern were now issuing out into the court-yard, and attacking with fury the remnant of the defenders who were thus assaulted on both sides at once.

Animated, however, by despair, and supported by the example of their indomitable leader, the remaining soldiers of the castle fought with the utmost valour; and, being well-armed, succeeded more than once in driving back the assailants, though much inferior in numbers. Rebecca, placed on horseback before one of the Templar's Saracen slaves, was in the midst of the little party; and Bois-Guilbert, notwithstanding the confusion of the bloody fray, showed every attention to her safety. Repeatedly he was by her side, and, neglecting his own defence, held before her the fence of his triangular steel-plated shield; and anon starting from his position by her, he cried his war-cry, dashed forward, struck to earth the most forward of the assailants, and was on the same instant once more at her bridle rein.

Athelstane, who, as the reader knows, was slothful, but not cowardly, beheld the female form whom the Templar protected thus sedulously, and doubted not that it was Rowena whom the knight was carrying off, in despite of all resistance which could be offered.

``By the soul of Saint Edward,'' he said, ``I will rescue her from yonder over-proud knight, and he shall die by my hand!''

``Think what you do!'' cried Wamba; ``hasty hand catches frog for fish---by my bauble, yonder is none of my Lady Rowena---see but her long dark locks!---Nay, an ye will not know black from white, ye may be leader, but I will be no follower ---no bones of mine shall be broken unless I know for whom.---And you without armour too!---Bethink you, silk bonnet never kept out steel blade. ---Nay, then, if wilful will to water, wilful must drench.---_Deus vobiscum_, most doughty Athelstane!'' ---he concluded, loosening the hold which he had hitherto kept upon the Saxon's tunic.

To snatch a mace from the pavement, on which it lay beside one whose dying grasp had just relinquished it---to rush on the Templar's band, and to strike in quick succession to the right and left, levelling a warrior at each blow, was, for Athelstane's great strength, now animated with unusual fury, but the work of a single moment; he was soon within two yards of Bois-Guilbert, whom he defied in his loudest tone.

``Turn, false-hearted Templar! let go her whom thou art unworthy to touch---turn, limb of a hand of murdering and hypocritical robbers!''

``Dog!'' said the Templar, grinding his teeth, ``I will teach thee to blaspheme the holy Order of the Temple of Zion;'' and with these words, half-wheeling his steed, he made a demi-courbette towards the Saxon, and rising in the stirrups, so as to take full advantage of the descent of the horse, he discharged a fearful blow upon the head of Athelstane.

Well said Wamba, that silken bonnet keeps out no steel blade. So trenchant was the Templar's weapon, that it shore asunder, as it had been a willow twig, the tough and plaited handle of the mace, which the ill-fated Saxon reared to parry the blow, and, descending on his head, levelled him with the earth.

``_Ha! Beau-seant!_'' exclaimed Bois-Guilbert, ``thus be it to the maligners of the Temple-knights!'' Taking advantage of the dismay which was spread by the fall of Athelstane, and calling aloud, ``Those who would save themselves, follow me!'' he pushed across the drawbridge, dispersing the archers who would have intercepted them. He was followed by his Saracens, and some five or six men-at-arms, who had mounted their horses. The Templar's retreat was rendered perilous by the numbers of arrows shot off at him and his party; but this did not prevent him from galloping round to the barbican, of which, according to his previous plan, he supposed it possible De Bracy might have been in possession.

``De Bracy! De Bracy!'' he shouted, ``art thou there?''

``I am here,'' replied De Bracy, ``but I am a prisoner.''

``Can I rescue thee?'' cried Bois-Guilbert.

``No,'' replied De Bracy; ``I have rendered me, rescue or no rescue. I will be true prisoner. Save thyself---there are hawks abroad---put the seas betwixt you and England---I dare not say more.''

``Well,'' answered the Templar, ``an thou wilt tarry there, remember I have redeemed word and glove. Be the hawks where they will, methinks the walls of the Preceptory of Templestowe will be cover sufficient, and thither will I, like heron to her haunt.''

Having thus spoken, he galloped off with his followers.

Those of the castle who had not gotten to horse, still continued to fight desperately with the besiegers, after the departure of the Templar, but rather in despair of quarter than that they entertained any hope of escape. The fire was spreading rapidly through all parts of the castle, when Ulrica, who had first kindled it, appeared on a turret, in the guise of one of the ancient furies, yelling forth a war-song, such as was of yore raised on the field of battle by the scalds of the yet heathen Saxons. Her long dishevelled grey hair flew back from her uncovered head; the inebriating delight of gratified vengeance contended in her eyes with the fire of insanity; and she brandished the distaff which she held in her hand, as if she had been one of the Fatal Sisters, who spin and abridge the thread of human life. Tradition has preserved some wild strophes of the barbarous hymn which she chanted wildly amid that scene of fire and of slaughter:---

1.

Whet the bright steel, Sons of the White Dragon! Kindle the torch, Daughter of Hengist! The steel glimmers not for the carving of the banquet, It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed; The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber, It steams and glitters blue with sulphur. Whet the steel, the raven croaks! Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling! Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon! Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist!

2.

The black cloud is low over the thane's castle The eagle screams--he rides on its bosom. Scream not, grey rider of the sable cloud, Thy banquet is prepared! The maidens of Valhalla look forth, The race of Hengist will send them guests. Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla! And strike your loud timbrels for joy! Many a haughty step bends to your halls, Many a helmed head.

3.

Dark sits the evening upon the thanes castle, The black clouds gather round; Soon shall they be red as the blood of the valiant! The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest against them. He, the bright consumer of palaces, Broad waves he his blazing banner, Red, wide and dusky, Over the strife of the valiant: His joy is in the clashing swords and broken bucklers; He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts warm from the wound!

4.

All must perish! The sword cleaveth the helmet; The strong armour is pierced by the lance; Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes, Engines break down the fences of the battle. All must perish! The race of Hengist is gone--- The name of Horsa is no more! Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword! Let your blades drink blood like wine; Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter, By the light of the blazing halls! Strong be your swords while your blood is warm, And spare neither for pity nor fear, For vengeance hath but an hour; Strong hate itself shall expire I also must perish! *

* Note F. Ulrica's Death Song

The towering flames had now surmounted every obstruction, and rose to the evening skies one huge and burning beacon, seen far and wide through the adjacent country. Tower after tower crashed down, with blazing roof and rafter; and the combatants were driven from the court-yard. The vanquished, of whom very few remained, scattered and escaped into the neighbouring wood. The victors, assembling in large bands, gazed with wonder, not unmixed with fear, upon the flames, in which their own ranks and arms glanced dusky red. The maniac figure of the Saxon Ulrica was for a long time visible on the lofty stand she had chosen, tossing her arms abroad with wild exultation, as if she reined empress of the conflagration which she had raised. At length, with a terrific crash, the whole turret gave way, and she perished in the flames which had consumed her tyrant. An awful pause of horror silenced each murmur of the armed spectators, who, for the space of several minutes, stirred not a finger, save to sign the cross. The voice of Locksley was then heard, ``Shout, yeomen!---the den of tyrants is no more! Let each bring his spoil to our chosen place of rendezvous at the Trysting-tree in the Harthill-walk; for there at break of day will we make just partition among our own bands, together with our worthy allies in this great deed of vengeance.''

CHAPTER XXXII.

Trust me each state must have its policies: Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their charters; Even the wild outlaw, in his forest-walk, Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline; For not since Adam wore his verdant apron, Hath man with man in social union dwelt, But laws were made to draw that union closer. _Old Play._

The daylight had dawned upon the glades of the oak forest. The green boughs glittered with all their pearls of dew. The hind led her fawn from the covert of high fern to the more open walks of the greenwood, and no huntsman was there to watch or intercept the stately hart, as he paced at the head of the antler'd herd.

The outlaws were all assembled around the Trysting-tree in the Harthill-walk, where they had spent the night in refreshing themselves after the fatigues of the siege, some with wine, some with slumber, many with hearing and recounting the events of the day, and computing the heaps of plunder which their success had placed at the disposal of their Chief.

The spoils were indeed very large; for, notwithstanding that much was consumed, a great deal of plate, rich armour, and splendid clothing, had been secured by the exertions of the dauntless outlaws, who could be appalled by no danger when such rewards were in view. Yet so strict were the laws of their society, that no one ventured to appropriate any part of the booty, which was brought into one common mass, to be at the disposal of their leader.

The place of rendezvous was an aged oak; not however the same to which Locksley had conducted Gurth and Wamba in the earlier part of the story, but one which was the centre of a silvan amphitheatre, within half a mile of the demolished castle of Torquilstone. Here Locksley assumed his seat---a throne of turf erected under the twisted branches of the huge oak, and the silvan followers were gathered around him. He assigned to the Black Knight a seat at his right hand, and to Cedric a place upon his left.

``Pardon my freedom, noble sirs,'' he said, ``but in these glades I am monarch---they are my kingdom; and these my wild subjects would reck but little of my power, were I, within my own dominions, to yield place to mortal man.---Now, sirs, who hath seen our chaplain? where is our curtal Friar? A mass amongst Christian men best begins a busy morning.''---No one had seen the Clerk of Copmanhurst. ``Over gods forbode!'' said the outlaw chief, ``I trust the jolly priest hath but abidden by the wine-pot a thought too late. Who saw him since the castle was ta'en?''

``I,'' quoth the Miller, ``marked him busy about the door of a cellar, swearing by each saint in the calendar he would taste the smack of Front-de-B<oe>uf's Gascoigne wine.''

``Now, the saints, as many as there be of them,'' said the Captain, ``forefend, lest he has drunk too deep of the wine-butts, and perished by the fall of the castle!---Away, Miller!---take with you enow of men, seek the place where you last saw him--- throw water from the moat on the scorching ruins ---I will have them removed stone by stone ere I lose my curtal Friar.''

The numbers who hastened to execute this duty, considering that an interesting division of spoil was about to take place, showed how much the troop had at heart the safety of their spiritual father.

``Meanwhile, let us proceed,'' said Locksley; ``for when this bold deed shall be sounded abroad, the bands of De Bracy, of Malvoisin, and other allies of Front-de-B<oe>uf, will be in motion against us, and it were well for our safety that we retreat from the vicinity.---Noble Cedric,'' he said, turning to the Saxon, ``that spoil is divided into two portions; do thou make choice of that which best suits thee, to recompense thy people who were partakers with us in this adventure.''

``Good yeoman,'' said Cedric, ``my heart is oppressed with sadness. The noble Athelstane of Coningsburgh is no more---the last sprout of the sainted Confessor! Hopes have perished with him which can never return!---A sparkle hath been quenched by his blood, which no human breath can again rekindle! My people, save the few who are now with me, do but tarry my presence to transport his honoured remains to their last mansion. The Lady Rowena is desirous to return to Rotherwood, and must be escorted by a sufficient force. I should, therefore, ere now, have left this place; and I waited---not to share the booty, for, so help me God and Saint Withold! as neither I nor any of mine will touch the value of a liard,---I waited but to render my thanks to thee and to thy bold yeomen, for the life and honour ye have saved.''

``Nay, but,'' said the chief Outlaw, ``we did but half the work at most---take of the spoil what may reward your own neighbours and followers.''

``I am rich enough to reward them from mine own wealth,'' answered Cedric.

``And some,'' said Wamba, ``have been wise enough to reward themselves; they do not march off empty-handed altogether. We do not all wear motley.''

``They are welcome,'' said Locksley; ``our laws bind none but ourselves.''

``But, thou, my poor knave,'' said Cedric, turning about and embracing his Jester, ``how shall I reward thee, who feared not to give thy body to chains and death instead of mine!---All forsook me, when the poor fool was faithful!''

A tear stood in the eye of the rough Thane as he spoke---a mark of feeling which even the death of Athelstane had not extracted; but there was something in the half-instinctive attachment of his clown, that waked his nature more keenly than even grief itself.

``Nay,'' said the Jester, extricating himself from master's caress, ``if you pay my service with the water of your eye, the Jester must weep for company, and then what becomes of his vocation? ---But, uncle, if you would indeed pleasure me, I pray you to pardon my playfellow Gurth, who stole a week from your service to bestow it on your son.''

``Pardon him!'' exclaimed Cedric; ``I will both pardon and reward him.---Kneel down, Gurth.''--- The swineherd was in an instant at his master's feet---``=Theow= and =Esne=* art thou no longer,''

* Thrall and bondsman.

said Cedric touching him with a wand; ``=Folkfree= and =Sacless=* art thou in town and from

* A lawful freeman.

town, in the forest as in the field. A hide of land I give to thee in my steads of Walbrugham, from me and mine to thee and thine aye and for ever; and God's malison on his head who this gainsays!''

No longer a serf, but a freeman and a landholder, Gurth sprung upon his feet, and twice bounded aloft to almost his own height from the ground. ``A smith and a file,'' he cried, ``to do away the collar from the neck of a freeman!---Noble master! doubled is my strength by your gift, and doubly will I fight for you!---There is a free spirit in my breast---I am a man changed to myself and all around.---Ha, Fangs!'' he continued,---for that faithful cur, seeing his master thus transported, began to jump upon him, to express his sympathy,--- ``knowest thou thy master still?''

``Ay,'' said Wamba, ``Fangs and I still know thee, Gurth, though we must needs abide by the collar; it is only thou art likely to forget both us and thyself.''

``I shall forget myself indeed ere I forget thee, true comrade,'' said Gurth; ``and were freedom fit for thee, Wamba, the master would not let thee want it.''

``Nay,'' said Wamba, ``never think I envy thee, brother Gurth; the serf sits by the hall-fire when the freeman must forth to the field of battle---And what saith Oldhelm of Malmsbury---Better a fool at a feast than a wise man at a fray.''

The tramp of horses was now heard, and the Lady Rowena appeared, surrounded by several riders, and a much stronger party of footmen, who joyfully shook their pikes and clashed their brown-bills for joy of her freedom. She herself, richly attired, and mounted on a dark chestnut palfrey, had recovered all the dignity of her manner, and only an unwonted degree of paleness showed the sufferings she had undergone. Her lovely brow, though sorrowful, bore on it a cast of reviving hope for the future, as well as of grateful thankfulness for the past deliverance---She knew that Ivanhoe was safe, and she knew that Athelstane was dead. The former assurance filled her with the most sincere delight; and if she did not absolutely rejoice at the latter, she might be pardoned for feeling the full advantage of being freed from further persecution on the only subject in which she had ever been contradicted by her guardian Cedric.

As Rowena bent her steed towards Locksley's seat, that bold yeoman, with all his followers, rose to receive her, as if by a general instinct of courtesy. The blood rose to her cheeks, as, courteously waving her hand, and bending so low that her beautiful and loose tresses were for an instant mixed with the flowing mane of her palfrey, she expressed in few but apt words her obligations and her gratitude to Locksley and her other deliverers. ---``God bless you, brave men,'' she concluded, ``God and Our Lady bless you and requite you for gallantly perilling yourselves in the cause of the oppressed!---If any of you should hunger, remember Rowena has food---if you should thirst, she has many a butt of wine and brown ale---and if the Normans drive ye from these walks, Rowena has forests of her own, where her gallant deliverers may range at full freedom, and never ranger ask whose arrow hath struck down the deer.''

``Thanks, gentle lady,'' said Locksley; ``thanks from my company and myself. But, to have saved you requites itself. We who walk the greenwood do many a wild deed, and the Lady Rowena's deliverance may be received as an atonement.''

Again bowing from her palfrey, Rowena turned to depart; but pausing a moment, while Cedric, who was to attend her, was also taking his leave, she found herself unexpectedly close by the prisoner De Bracy. He stood under a tree in deep meditation, his arms crossed upon his breast, and Rowena was in hopes she might pass him unobserved. He looked up, however, and, when aware of her presence, a deep flush of shame suffused his handsome countenance. He stood a moment most irresolute; then, stepping forward, took her palfrey by the rein, and bent his knee before her.

``Will the Lady Rowena deign to cast an eye ---on a captive knight---on a dishonoured soldier?''

``Sir Knight,'' answered Rowena, ``in enterprises such as yours, the real dishonour lies not in failure, but in success.''

``Conquest, lady, should soften the heart,'' answered De Bracy; ``let me but know that the Lady Rowena forgives the violence occasioned by an ill-fated passion, and she shall soon learn that De Bracy knows how to serve her in nobler ways.''

``I forgive you, Sir Knight,'' said Rowena, ``as a Christian.''

``That means,'' said Wamba, ``that she does not forgive him at all.''

``But I can never forgive the misery and desolation your madness has occasioned,'' continued Rowena.

``Unloose your hold on the lady's rein,'' said Cedric, coming up. ``By the bright sun above us, but it were shame, I would pin thee to the earth with my javelin---but be well assured, thou shalt smart, Maurice de Bracy, for thy share in this foul deed.''

``He threatens safely who threatens a prisoner,'' said De Bracy; ``but when had a Saxon any touch of courtesy?''

Then retiring two steps backward, he permitted the lady to move on.

Cedric, ere they departed, expressed his peculiar gratitude to the Black Champion, and earnestly entreated him to accompany him to Rotherwood.

``I know,'' he said, ``that ye errant knights desire to carry your fortunes on the point of your lance, and reck not of land or goods; but war is a changeful mistress, and a home is sometimes desirable even to the champion whose trade is wandering. Thou hast earned one in the halls of Rotherwood, noble knight. Cedric has wealth enough to repair the injuries of fortune, and all he has is his deliverer's---Come, therefore, to Rotherwood, not as a guest, but as a son or brother.''

``Cedric has already made me rich,'' said the Knight,---``he has taught me the value of Saxon virtue. To Rotherwood will I come, brave Saxon, and that speedily; but, as now, pressing matters of moment detain me from your halls. Peradventure when I come hither, I will ask such a boon as will put even thy generosity to the test.''

``It is granted ere spoken out,'' said Cedric, striking his ready hand into the gauntleted palm of the Black Knight,---``it is granted already, were it to affect half my fortune.''

``Gage not thy promise so lightly,'' said the Knight of the Fetterlock; ``yet well I hope to gain the boon I shall ask. Meanwhile, adieu.''

``I have but to say,'' added the Saxon, ``that, during the funeral rites of the noble Athelstane, I shall be an inhabitant of the halls of his castle of Coningsburgh---They will be open to all who choose to partake of the funeral banqueting; and, I speak in name of the noble Edith, mother of the fallen prince, they will never be shut against him who laboured so bravely, though unsuccessfully, to save Athelstane from Norman chains and Norman steel.''

``Ay, ay,'' said Wamba, who had resumed his attendance on his master, ``rare feeding there will be---pity that the noble Athelstane cannot banquet at his own funeral.---But he,'' continued the Jester, lifting up his eyes gravely, ``is supping in Paradise, and doubtless does honour to the cheer.''

``Peace, and move on,'' said Cedric, his anger at this untimely jest being checked by the recollection of Wamba's recent services. Rowena waved a graceful adieu to him of the Fetterlock---the Saxon bade God speed him, and on they moved through a wide glade of the forest.

They had scarce departed, ere a sudden procession moved from under the greenwood branches, swept slowly round the silvan amphitheatre, and took the same direction with Rowena and her followers. The priests of a neighbouring convent, in expectation of the ample donation, or _soul-scat_, which Cedric had propined, attended upon the car in which the body of Athelstane was laid, and sang hymns as it was sadly and slowly borne on the shoulders of his vassals to his castle of Coningsburgh, to be there deposited in the grave of Hengist, from whom the deceased derived his long descent. Many of his vassals had assembled at the news of his death, and followed the bier with all the external marks, at least, of dejection and sorrow. Again the outlaws arose, and paid the same rude and spontaneous homage to death, which they had so lately rendered to beauty---the slow chant and mournful step of the priests brought back to their remembrance such of their comrades as had fallen in the yesterday's array. But such recollections dwell not long with those who lead a life of danger and enterprise, and ere the sound of the death-hymn had died on the wind, the outlaws were again busied in the distribution of their spoil.

``Valiant knight,'' said Locksley to the Black Champion, ``without whose good heart and mighty arm our enterprise must altogether have failed, will it please you to take from that mass of spoil whatever may best serve to pleasure you, and to remind you of this my Trysting-tree?''

``I accept the offer,'' said the Knight, ``as frankly as it is given; and I ask permission to dispose of Sir Maurice de Bracy at my own pleasure.''

``He is thine already,'' said Locksley, ``and well for him! else the tyrant had graced the highest bough of this oak, with as many of his Free-Companions as we could gather, hanging thick as acorns around him.---But he is thy prisoner, and he is safe, though he had slain my father.''

``De Bracy,'' said the Knight, ``thou art free--- depart. He whose prisoner thou art scorns to take mean revenge for what is past. But beware of the future, lest a worse thing befall thee.---Maurice de Bracy, I say =beware=!''

De Bracy bowed low and in silence, and was about to withdraw, when the yeomen burst at once into a shout of execration and derision. The proud knight instantly stopped, turned back, folded his arms, drew up his form to its full height, and exclaimed, ``Peace, ye yelping curs! who open upon a cry which ye followed not when the stag was at bay---De Bracy scorns your censure as he would disdain your applause. To your brakes and caves, ye outlawed thieves! and be silent when aught knightly or noble is but spoken within a league of your fox-earths.''

This ill-timed defiance might have procured for De Bracy a volley of arrows, but for the hasty and imperative interference of the outlaw Chief. Meanwhile the knight caught a horse by the rein, for several which had been taken in the stables of Front-de-B<oe>uf stood accoutred around, and were a valuable part of the booty. He threw himself upon the saddle, and galloped off through the wood.

When the bustle occasioned by this incident was somewhat composed, the chief Outlaw took from his neck the rich horn and baldric which he had recently gained at the strife of archery near Ashby.

``Noble knight.'' he said to him of the Fetterlock, ``if you disdain not to grace by your acceptance a bugle which an English yeoman has once worn, this I will pray you to keep as a memorial of your gallant bearing---and if ye have aught to do, and, as happeneth oft to a gallant knight, ye chance to be hard bested in any forest between Trent and Tees, wind three mots* upon the horn thus, _Wa-sa-hoa!_

* The notes upon the bugle were anciently called mots, and * are distinguished in the old treatises on hunting, not by musical * characters, but by written words.

and it may well chance ye shall find helpers and rescue.''

He then gave breath to the bugle, and winded once and again the call which be described, until the knight had caught the notes.

``Gramercy for the gift, bold yeoman,'' said the Knight; ``and better help than thine and thy rangers would I never seek, were it at my utmost need.'' And then in his turn he winded the call till all the greenwood rang.

``Well blown and clearly,'' said the yeoman; ``beshrew me an thou knowest not as much of woodcraft as of war!---thou hast been a striker of deer in thy day, I warrant.---Comrades, mark these three mots---it is the call of the Knight of the Fetterlock; and he who hears it, and hastens not to serve him at his need, I will have him scourged out of our band with his own bowstring.''

``Long live our leader!'' shouted the yeomen, ``and long live the Black Knight of the Fetterlock!--- May he soon use our service, to prove how readily it will be paid.''

Locksley now proceeded to the distribution of the spoil, which he performed with the most laudable impartiality. A tenth part of the whole was set apart for the church, and for pious uses; a portion was next allotted to a sort of public treasury; a part was assigned to the widows and children of those who had fallen, or to be expended in masses for the souls of such as had left no surviving family. The rest was divided amongst the outlaws, according to their rank and merit, and the judgment of the Chief, on all such doubtful questions as occurred, was delivered with great shrewdness, and received with absolute submission. The Black Knight was not a little surprised to find that men, in a state so lawless, were nevertheless among themselves so regularly and equitably governed, and all that he observed added to his opinion of the justice and judgment of their leader.

When each had taken his own proportion of the booty, and while the treasurer, accompanied by four tall yeomen, was transporting that belonging to the state to some place of concealment or of security, the portion devoted to the church still remained unappropriated.

``I would,'' said the leader, ``we could hear tidings of our joyous chaplain---he was never wont to be absent when meat was to be blessed, or spoil to be parted; and it is his duty to take care of these the tithes of our successful enterprise. It may be the office has helped to cover some of his canonical irregularities. Also, I have a holy brother of his a prisoner at no great distance, and I would fain have the Friar to help me to deal with him in due sort---I greatly misdoubt the safety of the bluff priest.''

``I were right sorry for that,'' said the Knight of the Fetterlock, ``for I stand indebted to him for the joyous hospitality of a merry night in his cell. Let us to the ruins of the castle; it may be we shall there learn some tidings of him.''

While they thus spoke, a loud shout among the yeomen announced the arrival of him for whom they feared, as they learned from the stentorian voice of the Friar himself, long before they saw his burly person.

``Make room, my merry-men!'' he exclaimed; ``room for your godly father and his prisoner--- Cry welcome once more.---I come, noble leader, like an eagle with my prey in my clutch.''---And making his way through the ring, amidst the laughter of all around, he appeared in majestic triumph, his huge partisan in one hand, and in the other a halter, one end of which was fastened to the neck of the unfortunate Isaac of York, who, bent down by sorrow and terror, was dragged on by the victorious priest, who shouted aloud, ``Where is Allan-a-Dale, to chronicle me in a ballad, or if it were but a lay?---By Saint Hermangild, the jingling crowder is ever out of the way where there is an apt theme for exalting valour!''

``Curtal Priest,'' said the Captain, ``thou hast been at a wet mass this morning, as early as it is. In the name of Saint Nicholas, whom hast thou got here?''

``A captive to my sword and to my lance, noble Captain,'' replied the Clerk of Copmanhurst; ``to my bow and to my halberd, I should rather say; and yet I have redeemed him by my divinity from a worse captivity. Speak, Jew---have I not ransomed thee from Sathanas?---have I not taught thee thy _credo_, thy _pater_, and thine _Ave Maria_? ---Did I not spend the whole night in drinking to thee, and in expounding of mysteries?''

``For the love of God!'' ejaculated the poor Jew, ``will no one take me out of the keeping of this mad---I mean this holy man?''

``How's this, Jew?'' said the Friar, with a menacing aspect; ``dost thou recant, Jew?---Bethink thee, if thou dost relapse into thine infidelity, though thou are not so tender as a suckling pig--- I would I had one to break my fast upon---thou art not too tough to be roasted! Be conformable, Isaac, and repeat the words after me. _Ave Maria_!---''

``Nay, we will have no profanation, mad Priest,'' said Locksley; ``let us rather hear where you found this prisoner of thine.'' ``By Saint Dunstan,'' said the Friar, ``I found him where I sought for better ware! I did step into the cellarage to see what might be rescued there; for though a cup of burnt wine, with spice, be an evening's drought for an emperor, it were waste, methought, to let so much good liquor be mulled at once; and I had caught up one runlet of sack, and was coming to call more aid among these lazy knaves, who are ever to seek when a good deed is to be done, when I was avised of a strong door--- Aha! thought I, here is the choicest juice of all in this secret crypt; and the knave butler, being disturbed in his vocation, hath left the key in the door ---In therefore I went, and found just nought besides a commodity of rusted chains and this dog of a Jew, who presently rendered himself my prisoner, rescue or no rescue. I did but refresh myself after the fatigue of the action, with the unbeliever, with one humming cup of sack, and was proceeding to lead forth my captive, when, crash after crash, as with wild thunder-dint and levin-fire, down toppled the masonry of an outer tower, (marry beshrew their hands that built it not the firmer!) and blocked up the passage. The roar of one falling tower followed another---I gave up thought of life; and deeming it a dishonour to one of my profession to pass out of this world in company with a Jew, I heaved up my halberd to beat his brains out; but I took pity on his grey hairs, and judged it better to lay down the partisan, and take up my spiritual weapon for his conversion. And truly, by the blessing of Saint Dunstan, the seed has been sown in good soil; only that, with speaking to him of mysteries through the whole night, and being in a manner fasting, (for the few droughts of sack which I sharpened my wits with were not worth marking,) my head is wellnigh dizzied, I trow.---But I was clean exhausted.---Gilbert and Wibbald know in what state they found me---quite and clean exhausted.''

``We can bear witness,'' said Gilbert; ``for when we had cleared away the ruin, and by Saint Dunstan's help lighted upon the dungeon stair, we found the runlet of sack half empty, the Jew half dead, and the Friar more than half---exhausted, as he calls it.''

``Ye be knaves! ye lie!'' retorted the offended Friar; ``it was you and your gormandizing companions that drank up the sack, and called it your morning draught---I am a pagan, an I kept it not for the Captain's own throat. But what recks it? The Jew is converted, and understands all I have told him, very nearly, if not altogether, as well as myself.'' ``Jew,'' said the Captain, ``is this true? hast thou renounced thine unbelief?''

``May I so find mercy in your eyes,'' said the Jew, ``as I know not one word which the reverend prelate spake to me all this fearful night. Alas! I was so distraught with agony, and fear, and grief, that had our holy father Abraham come to preach to me, he had found but a deaf listener.''

``Thou liest, Jew, and thou knowest thou dost.'' said the Friar; ``I will remind thee of but one word of our conference---thou didst promise to give all thy substance to our holy Order.''

``So help me the Promise, fair sirs,'' said Isaac, even more alarmed than before, ``as no such sounds ever crossed my lips! Alas! I am an aged beggar'd man---I fear me a childless---have ruth on me, and let me go!''

``Nay,'' said the Friar, ``if thou dost retract vows made in favour of holy Church, thou must do penance.''

Accordingly, he raised his halberd, and would have laid the staff of it lustily on the Jew's shoulders, had not the Black Knight stopped the blow, and thereby transferred the Holy Clerk's resentment to himself.

``By Saint Thomas of Kent,'' said he, ``an I buckle to my gear, I will teach thee, sir lazy lover, to mell with thine own matters, maugre thine iron case there!''

``Nay, be not wroth with me,'' said the Knight; ``thou knowest I am thy sworn friend and comrade.''

``I know no such thing,'' answered the Friar; ``and defy thee for a meddling coxcomb!''

``Nay, but,'' said the Knight, who seemed to take a pleasure in provoking his quondam host, ``hast thou forgotten how, that for my sake (for I say nothing of the temptation of the flagon and the pasty) thou didst break thy vow of fast and vigil?''

``Truly, friend,'' said the Friar, clenching his huge fist, ``I will bestow a buffet on thee.''

``I accept of no such presents,'' said the Knight; ``I am content to take thy cuff* as a loan, but I will

* Note G. Richard C<oe>ur-de-Lion.

repay thee with usury as deep as ever thy prisoner there exacted in his traffic.''

``I will prove that presently,'' said the Friar.

``Hola!'' cried the Captain, ``what art thou after, mad Friar? brawling beneath our Trysting-tree?''

``No brawling,'' said the Knight, ``it is but a friendly interchange of courtesy.---Friar, strike an thou darest---I will stand thy blow, if thou wilt stand mine.''

``Thou hast the advantage with that iron pot on thy head,'' said the churchman; ``but have at thee---Down thou goest, an thou wert Goliath of Gath in his brazen helmet.''

The Friar bared his brawny arm up to the elbow, and putting his full strength to the blow, gave the Knight a buffet that might have felled an ox. But his adversary stood firm as a rock. A loud shout was uttered by all the yeomen around; for the Clerk's cuff was proverbial amongst them, and there were few who, in jest or earnest, had not had the occasion to know its vigour.

``Now, Priest,'' said, the Knight, pulling off his gauntlet, ``if I had vantage on my head, I will have none on my hand---stand fast as a true man.''

``_Genam meam dedi vapulatori_---I have given my cheek to the smiter,'' said the Priest; ``an thou canst stir me from the spot, fellow, I will freely bestow on thee the Jew's ransom.''

So spoke the burly Priest, assuming, on his part, high defiance. But who may resist his fate? The buffet of the Knight was given with such strength and good-will, that the Friar rolled head over heels upon the plain, to the great amazement of all the spectators. But he arose neither angry nor crestfallen.

``Brother,'' said he to the Knight, ``thou shouldst have used thy strength with more discretion. I had mumbled but a lame mass an thou hadst broken my jaw, for the piper plays ill that wants the nether chops. Nevertheless, there is my hand, in friendly witness, that I will exchange no more cuffs with thee, having been a loser by the barter. End now all unkindness. Let us put the Jew to ransom, since the leopard will not change his spots, and a Jew he will continue to be.''

``The Priest,'' said Clement, ``is not have so confident of the Jew's conversion, since he received that buffet on the ear.''

``Go to, knave, what pratest thou of conversions? ---what, is there no respect?---all masters and no men?---I tell thee, fellow, I was somewhat totty when I received the good knight's blow, or I had kept my ground under it. But an thou gibest more of it, thou shalt learn I can give as well as take.''

``Peace all!'' said the Captain. ``And thou, Jew, think of thy ransom; thou needest not to be told that thy race are held to be accursed in all Christian communities, and trust me that we cannot endure thy presence among us. Think, therefore, of an offer, while I examine a prisoner of another cast.''

``Were many of Front-de-B<oe>uf's men taken?'' demanded the Black Knight.

``None of note enough to be put to ransom,'' answered the Captain; ``a set of hilding fellows there were, whom we dismissed to find them a new master--- enough had been done for revenge and profit; the bunch of them were not worth a cardecu. The prisoner I speak of is better booty---a jolly monk riding to visit his leman, an I may judge by his horse-gear and wearing apparel.---Here cometh the worthy prelate, as pert as a pyet.'' And, between two yeomen, was brought before the silvan throne of the outlaw Chief, our old friend, Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx.

CHAPTER XXXIII

---Flower of warriors, How is't with Titus Lartius? _Marcius_. As with a man busied about decrees, Condemning some to death and some to exile, Ransoming him or pitying, threatening the other. _Coriolanus_

The captive Abbot's features and manners exhibited a whimsical mixture of offended pride, and deranged foppery and bodily terror.

``Why, how now, my masters?'' said he, with a voice in which all three emotions were blended. ``What order is this among ye? Be ye Turks or Christians, that handle a churchman?---Know ye what it is, _manus imponere in servos Domini_? Ye have plundered my mails---torn my cope of curious cut lace, which might have served a cardinal!--- Another in my place would have been at his _excommunicabo vos_; but I am placible, and if ye order forth my palfreys, release my brethren, and restore my mails, tell down with all speed an hundred crowns to be expended in masses at the high altar of Jorvaulx Abbey, and make your vow to eat no venison until next Pentecost, it may be you shall hear little more of this mad frolic.''

``Holy Father,'' said the chief Outlaw, ``it grieves me to think that you have met with such usage from any of my followers, as calls for your fatherly reprehension.''

``Usage!'' echoed the priest, encouraged by the mild tone of the silvan leader; ``it were usage fit for no hound of good race---much less for a Christian ---far less for a priest---and least of all for the Prior of the holy community of Jorvaulx. Here is a profane and drunken minstrel, called Allan-a-Dale ---_nebulo quidam_---who has menaced me with corporal punishment---nay, with death itself, an I pay not down four hundred crowns of ransom, to the boot of all the treasure he hath already robbed me of---gold chains and gymmal rings to an unknown value; besides what is broken and spoiled among their rude hands, such as my pouncer-box and silver crisping-tongs.''

``It is impossible that Allan-a-Dale can have thus treated a man of your reverend bearing,'' replied the Captain.

``It is true as the gospel of Saint Nicodemus,'' said the Prior; ``he swore, with many a cruel north-country oath, that he would hang me up on the highest tree in the greenwood.''

``Did he so in very deed? Nay, then, reverend father, I think you had better comply with his demands ---for Allan-a-Dale is the very man to abide by his word when he has so pledged it.'' *

* A commissary is said to have received similar consolation * from a certain Commander-in-chief, to whom he complained * that a general officer had used some such threat towards him as * that in the text.

``You do but jest with me,'' said the astounded Prior, with a forced laugh; ``and I love a good jest with all my heart. But, ha! ha! ha! when the mirth has lasted the livelong night, it is time to be grave in the morning.''

``And I am as grave as a father confessor,'' replied the Outlaw; ``you must pay a round ransom, Sir Prior, or your convent is likely to be called to a new election; for your place will know you no more.''

``Are ye Christians,'' said the Prior, ``and hold this language to a churchman?''

``Christians! ay, marry are we, and have divinity among us to boot,'' answered the Outlaw. ``Let our buxom chaplain stand forth, and expound to this reverend father the texts which concern this matter.''

The Friar, half-drunk, half-sober, had huddled a friar's frock over his green cassock, and now summoning together whatever scraps of learning he had acquired by rote in former days, ``Holy father,'' said he, ``_Deus faciat salvam benignitatem vestram_--- You are welcome to the greenwood.''

``What profane mummery is this?'' said the Prior. ``Friend, if thou best indeed of the church, it were a better deed to show me how I may escape from these men's hands, than to stand ducking and grinning here like a morris-dancer.''

``Truly, reverend father,'' said the Friar, ``I know but one mode in which thou mayst escape. This is Saint Andrew's day with us, we are taking our tithes.''

``But not of the church, then, I trust, my good brother?'' said the Prior.

``Of church and lay,'' said the Friar; ``and therefore, Sir Prior _facite vobis amicos de Mammone iniquitatis_---make yourselves friends of the Mammon of unrighteousness, for no other friendship is like to serve your turn.''

``I love a jolly woodsman at heart,'' said the Prior, softening his tone; ``come, ye must not deal too hard with me---I can well of woodcraft, and can wind a horn clear and lustily, and hollo till every oak rings again---Come, ye must not deal too hard with me.''

``Give him a horn,'' said the Outlaw; ``we will prove the skill he boasts of.''

The Prior Aymer winded a blast accordingly. The Captain shook his head.

``Sir Prior,'' he said, ``thou blowest a merry note, but it may not ransom thee---we cannot afford, as the legend on a good knight's shield hath it, to set thee free for a blast. Moreover, I have found thee---thou art one of those, who, with new French graces and Tra-li-ras, disturb the ancient English bugle notes.---Prior, that last flourish on the recheat hath added fifty crowns to thy ransom, for corrupting the true old manly blasts of venerie.''

``Well, friend,'' said the Abbot, peevishly, ``thou art ill to please with thy woodcraft. I pray thee be more conformable in this matter of my ransom. At a word---since I must needs, for once, hold a candle to the devil---what ransom am I to pay for walking on Watling-street, without having fifty men at my back?''

``Were it not well,'' said the Lieutenant of the gang apart to the Captain, ``that the Prior should name the Jew's ransom, and the Jew name the Prior's?''

``Thou art a mad knave,'' said the Captain, ``but thy plan transcends!---Here, Jew, step forth--- Look at that holy Father Aymer, Prior of the rich Abbey of Jorvaulx, and tell us at what ransom we should hold him?---Thou knowest the income of his convent, I warrant thee.''

``O, assuredly,'' said Isaac. ``I have trafficked with the good fathers, and bought wheat and barley, and fruits of the earth, and also much wool. O, it is a rich abbey-stede, and they do live upon the fat, and drink the sweet wines upon the lees, these good fathers of Jorvaulx. Ah, if an outcast like me had such a home to go to, and such incomings by the year and by the month, I would pay much gold and silver to redeem my captivity.''

``Hound of a Jew!'' exclaimed the Prior, ``no one knows better than thy own cursed self, that our holy house of God is indebted for the finishing of our chancel---''

``And for the storing of your cellars in the last season with the due allowance of Gascon wine,'' interrupted the Jew; ``but that---that is small matters.''

``Hear the infidel dog!'' said the churchman; he jangles as if our holy community did come under debts for the wines we have a license to drink, _propter necessitatem, et ad frigus depellendum_. The circumcised villain blasphemeth the holy church, and Christian men listen and rebuke him not!''

``All this helps nothing,'' said the leader. ---``Isaac, pronounce what be may pay, without flaying both hide and hair.''

``An six hundred crowns,'' said Isaac, ``the good Prior might well pay to your honoured valours, and never sit less soft in his stall.''

``Six hundred crowns,'' said the leader, gravely; ``I am contented---thou hast well spoken, Isaac--- six hundred crowns.---It is a sentence, Sir Prior.''

``A sentence!---a sentence!'' exclaimed the band; ``Solomon had not done it better.''

``Thou hearest thy doom, Prior,'' said the leader.

``Ye are mad, my masters,'' said the Prior; ``where am I to find such a sum? If I sell the very pyx and candlesticks on the altar at Jorvaulx, I shall scarce raise the half; and it will be necessary for that purpose that I go to Jorvaulx myself; ye may retain as borrows* my two priests.''

* Borghs, or borrows, signifies pledges. Hence our word to * borrow, because we pledge ourselves to restore what is lent.

``That will be but blind trust,'' said the Outlaw; ``we will retain thee, Prior, and send them to fetch thy ransom. Thou shalt not want a cup of wine and a collop of venison the while; and if thou lovest woodcraft, thou shalt see such as your north country never witnessed.''

``Or, if so please you,'' said Isaac, willing to curry favour with the outlaws, ``I can send to York for the six hundred crowns, out of certain monies in my hands, if so be that the most reverend Prior present will grant me a quittance.''

``He shall grant thee whatever thou dost list, Isaac,'' said the Captain; ``and thou shalt lay down the redemption money for Prior Aymer as well as for thyself.''

``For myself! ah, courageous sirs,'' said the Jew, ``I am a broken and impoverished man; a beggar's staff must be my portion through life, supposing I were to pay you fifty crowns.''

``The Prior shall judge of that matter,'' replied the Captain.---``How say you, Father Aymer? Can the Jew afford a good ransom?''

``Can he afford a ransom?'' answered the Prior ``Is he not Isaac of York, rich enough to redeem the captivity of the ten tribes of Israel, who were led into Assyrian bondage?---I have seen but little of him myself, but our cellarer and treasurer have dealt largely with him, and report says that his house at York is so full of gold and silver as is a shame in any Christian land. Marvel it is to all living Christian hearts that such gnawing adders should be suffered to eat into the bowels of the state, and even of the holy church herself, with foul usuries and extortions.''

``Hold, father,'' said the Jew, ``mitigate and assuage your choler. I pray of your reverence to remember that I force my monies upon no one. But when churchman and layman, prince and prior, knight and priest, come knocking to Isaac's door, they borrow not his shekels with these uncivil terms. It is then, Friend Isaac, will you pleasure us in this matter, and our day shall be truly kept, so God sa' me?---and Kind Isaac, if ever you served man, show yourself a friend in this need! And when the day comes, and I ask my own, then what hear I but Damned Jew, and The curse of Egypt on your tribe, and all that may stir up the rude and uncivil populace against poor strangers! ''

``Prior,'' said the Captain, ``Jew though he be, he hath in this spoken well. Do thou, therefore, name his ransom, as he named thine, without farther rude terms.''

``None but _latro famosus_---the interpretation whereof,'' said the Prior, ``will I give at some other time and tide---would place a Christian prelate and an unbaptized Jew upon the same bench. But since ye require me to put a price upon this caitiff, I tell you openly that ye will wrong yourselves if you take from him a penny under a thousand crowns.''

``A sentence!---a sentence!'' exclaimed the chief Outlaw.

``A sentence!---a sentence!'' shouted his assessors; ``the Christian has shown his good nurture, and dealt with us more generously than the Jew.''

``The God of my fathers help me!'' said the Jew; ``will ye bear to the ground an impoverished creature?---I am this day childless, and will ye deprive me of the means of livelihood?''

``Thou wilt have the less to provide for, Jew, if thou art childless,'' said Aymer.

``Alas! my lord,'' said Isaac, ``your law permits you not to know how the child of our bosom is entwined with the strings of our heart---O Rebecca! laughter of my beloved Rachel! were each leaf on that tree a zecchin, and each zecchin mine own, all that mass of wealth would I give to know whether thou art alive, and escaped the hands of the Nazarene!''

``Was not thy daughter dark-haired?'' said one of the outlaws; ``and wore she not a veil of twisted sendal, broidered with silver?''

``She did!---she did!'' said the old man, trembling with eagerness, as formerly with fear. ``The blessing of Jacob be upon thee! canst thou tell me aught of her safety?''

``It was she, then,'' said the yeoman, ``who was carried off by the proud Templar, when he broke through our ranks on yester-even. I had drawn my bow to send a shaft after him, but spared him even for the sake of the damsel, who I feared might take harm from the arrow.''

``Oh!'' answered the Jew, ``I would to God thou hadst shot, though the arrow had pierced her bosom!---Better the tomb of her fathers than the dishonourable couch of the licentious and savage Templar. Ichabod! Ichabod! the glory hath departed from my house!''

``Friends,'' said the Chief, looking round, ``the old man is but a Jew, natheless his grief touches me.---Deal uprightly with us, Isaac---will paying this ransom of a thousand crowns leave thee altogether penniless?''

Isaac, recalled to think of his worldly goods, the love of which, by dint of inveterate habit, contended even with his parental affection, grew pale, stammered, and could not deny there might be some small surplus.

``Well---go to---what though there be,'' said the Outlaw, ``we will not reckon with thee too closely. Without treasure thou mayst as well hope to redeem thy child from the clutches of Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as to shoot a stag-royal with a headless shaft.---We will take thee at the same ransom with Prior Aymer, or rather at one hundred crowns lower, which hundred crowns shall be mine own peculiar loss, and not light upon this worshipful community; and so we shall avoid the heinous offence of rating a Jew merchant as high as a Christian prelate, and thou wilt have six hundred crowns remaining to treat for thy daughter's ransom. Templars love the glitter of silver shekels as well as the sparkle of black eyes.---Hasten to make thy crowns chink in the ear of De Bois-Guilbert, ere worse comes of it. Thou wilt find him, as our scouts have brought notice, at the next Preceptory house of his Order.---Said I well, my merry mates?''

The yeomen expressed their wonted acquiescence in their leader's opinion; and Isaac, relieved of one half of his apprehensions, by learning that his daughter lived, and might possibly be ransomed, threw himself at the feet of the generous Outlaw, and, rubbing his beard against his buskins, sought to kiss the hem of his green cassock. The Captain drew himself back, and extricated himself from the Jew's grasp, not without some marks of contempt.

``Nay, beshrew thee, man, up with thee! I am English born, and love no such Eastern prostrations ---Kneel to God, and not to a poor sinner, like me.''

``Ay, Jew,'' said Prior Aymer; ``kneel to God, as represented in the servant of his altar, and who knows, with thy sincere repentance and due gifts to the shrine of Saint Robert, what grace thou mayst acquire for thyself and thy daughter Rebecca? I grieve for the maiden, for she is of fair and comely countenance,---I beheld her in the lists of Ashby. Also Brian de Bois-Guilbert is one with whom I may do much---bethink thee how thou mayst deserve my good word with him.''

``Alas! alas!'' said the Jew, ``on every hand the spoilers arise against me---I am given as a prey unto the Assyrian, and a prey unto him of Egypt.''

``And what else should be the lot of thy accursed race?'' answered the Prior; ``for what saith holy writ, _verbum Dominii projecterunt, et sapientia est nulla in eis_---they have cast forth the word of the Lord, and there is no wisdom in them; _propterea dabo mulieres eorum exteris_---I will give their women to strangers, that is to the Templar, as in the present matter; _et thesauros eorum h<ae>redibus alienis_, and their treasures to others---as in the present case to these honest gentlemen.''

Isaac groaned deeply, and began to wring his hands, and to relapse into his state of desolation and despair. But the leader of the yeomen led him aside.

``Advise thee well, Isaac,'' said Locksley, ``what thou wilt do in this matter; my counsel to thee is to make a friend of this churchman. He is vain, Isaac, and he is covetous; at least he needs money to supply his profusion. Thou canst easily gratify his greed; for think not that I am blinded by thy pretexts of poverty. I am intimately acquainted, Isaac, with the very iron chest in which thou dost keep thy money-bags---What! know I not the great stone beneath the apple-tree, that leads into the vaulted chamber under thy garden at York?'' The Jew grew as pale as death---``But fear nothing from me,'' continued the yeoman, ``for we are of old acquainted. Dost thou not remember the sick yeoman whom thy fair daughter Rebecca redeemed from the gyves at York, and kept him in thy house till his health was restored, when thou didst dismiss him recovered, and with a piece of money?---Usurer as thou art, thou didst never place coin at better interest than that poor silver mark, for it has this day saved thee five hundred crowns.''

``And thou art he whom we called Diccon Bend-the-Bow?'' said Isaac; ``I thought ever I knew the accent of thy voice.''

``I am Bend-the-Bow,'' said the Captain, ``and Locksley, and have a good name besides all these.''

``But thou art mistaken, good Bend-the-Bow, concerning that same vaulted apartment. So help me Heaven, as there is nought in it but some merchandises which I will gladly part with to you--- one hundred yards of Lincoln green to make doublets to thy men, and a hundred staves of Spanish yew to make bows, and a hundred silken bowstrings, tough, round, and sound---these will I send thee for thy good-will, honest Diccon, an thou wilt keep silence about the vault, my good Diccon.''

``Silent as a dormouse,'' said the Outlaw; ``and never trust me but I am grieved for thy daughter. But I may not help it---The Templars lances are too strong for my archery in the open field---they would scatter us like dust. Had I but known it was Rebecca when she was borne off, something might have been done; but now thou must needs proceed by policy. Come, shall I treat for thee with the Prior?''

``In God's name, Diccon, an thou canst, aid me to recover the child of my bosom!''

``Do not thou interrupt me with thine ill-timed avarice,'' said the Outlaw, ``and I will deal with him in thy behalf.''

He then turned from the Jew, who followed him, however, as closely as his shadow.

``Prior Aymer,'' said the Captain, ``come apart with me under this tree. Men say thou dost love wine, and a lady's smile, better than beseems thy Order, Sir Priest; but with that I have nought to do. I have heard, too, thou dost love a brace of good dogs and a fleet horse, and it may well be that, loving things which are costly to come by, thou hatest not a purse of gold. But I have never heard that thou didst love oppression or cruelty.---Now, here is Isaac willing to give thee the means of pleasure and pastime in a bag containing one hundred marks of silver, if thy intercession with thine ally the Templar shall avail to procure the freedom of his daughter.''

``In safety and honour, as when taken from me,'' said the Jew, ``otherwise it is no bargain.''

``Peace, Isaac,'' said the Outlaw, ``or I give up thine interest.---What say you to this my purpose, Prior Aymer?''

``The matter,'' quoth the Prior, ``is of a mixed condition; for, if I do a good deal on the one hand, yet, on the other, it goeth to the vantage of a Jew, and in so much is against my conscience. Yet, if the Israelite will advantage the Church by giving me somewhat over to the building of our dortour,*

* _Dortour_, or dormitory.

I will take it on my conscience to aid him in the matter of his daughter.''

``For a score of marks to the dortour,'' said the Outlaw,---``Be still, I say, Isaac!---or for a brace of silver candlesticks to the altar, we will not stand with you.''

``Nay, but, good Diccon Bend-the-Bow''---said Isaac, endeavouring to interpose.

``Good Jew---good beast---good earthworm!'' said the yeoman, losing patience; ``an thou dost go on to put thy filthy lucre in the balance with thy daughter's life and honour, by Heaven, I will strip thee of every maravedi thou hast in the world, before three days are out!''

Isaac shrunk together, and was silent.

``And what pledge am I to have for all this?'' said the Prior.

``When Isaac returns successful through your mediation,'' said the Outlaw, ``I swear by Saint Hubert, I will see that he pays thee the money in good silver, or I will reckon with him for it in such sort, he had better have paid twenty such sums.''

``Well then, Jew,'' said Aymer, ``since I must needs meddle in this matter, let me have the use of thy writing-tablets---though, hold---rather than use thy pen, I would fast for twenty-four hours, and where shall I find one?''

``If your holy scruples can dispense with using the Jew's tablets, for the pen I can find a remedy,'' said the yeoman; and, bending his bow, he aimed his shaft at a wild-goose which was soaring over their heads, the advanced-guard of a phalanx of his tribe, which were winging their way to the distant and solitary fens of Holderness. The bird came fluttering down, transfixed with the arrow.

``There, Prior,'' said the Captain, ``are quills enow to supply all the monks of Jorvaulx for the next hundred years, an they take not to writing chronicles.''

The Prior sat down, and at great leisure indited an epistle to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and having carefully sealed up the tablets, delivered them to the Jew, saying, ``This will be thy safe-conduct to the Preceptory of Templestowe, and, as I think, is most likely to accomplish the delivery of thy daughter, if it be well backed with proffers of advantage and commodity at thine own hand; for, trust me well, the good Knight Bois-Guilbert is of their confraternity that do nought for nought.''

``Well, Prior,'' said the Outlaw, ``I will detain thee no longer here than to give the Jew a quittance for the six hundred crowns at which thy ransom is fixed---I accept of him for my pay-master; and if I hear that ye boggle at allowing him in his accompts the sum so paid by him, Saint Mary refuse me, an I burn not the abbey over thine head, though I hang ten years the sooner!''

With a much worse grace than that wherewith he had penned the letter to Bois-Guilbert, the Prior wrote an acquittance, discharging Isaac of York of six hundred crowns, advanced to him in his need for acquittal of his ransom, and faithfully promising to hold true compt with him for that sum.

``And now,'' said Prior Aymer, ``I will pray you of restitution of my mules and palfreys, and the freedom of the reverend brethren attending upon me, and also of the gymmal rings, jewels, and fair vestures, of which I have been despoiled, having now satisfied you for my ransom as a true prisoner.''

``Touching your brethren, Sir Prior,'' said Locksley, ``they shall have present freedom, it were unjust to detain them; touching your horses and mules, they shall also be restored, with such spending-money as may enable you to reach York, for it were cruel to deprive you of the means of journeying. ---But as concerning rings, jewels, chains, and what else, you must understand that we are men of tender consciences, and will not yield to a venerable man like yourself, who should be dead to the vanities of this life, the strong temptation to break the rule of his foundation, by wearing rings, chains, or other vain gauds.''

``Think what you do, my masters,'' said the Prior, ``ere you put your hand on the Church's patrimony ---These things are _inter res sacras_, and I wot not what judgment might ensue were they to be handled by laical hands.''

``I will take care of that, reverend Prior,'' said the Hermit of Copmanhurst; ``for I will wear them myself.''

``Friend, or brother,'' said the Prior, in answer to this solution of his doubts, ``if thou hast really taken religious orders, I pray thee to look how thou wilt answer to thine official for the share thou hast taken in this day's work.''

``Friend Prior,'' returned the Hermit, ``you are to know that I belong to a little diocese, where I am my own diocesan, and care as little for the Bishop of York as I do for the Abbot of Jorvaulx, the Prior, and all the convent.''

``Thou art utterly irregular,'' said the Prior; ``one of those disorderly men, who, taking on them the sacred character without due cause, profane the holy rites, and endanger the souls of those who take counsel at their hands; _lapides pro pane condonantes iis_, giving them stones instead of bread as the Vulgate hath it.''

``Nay,'' said the Friar, ``an my brain-pan could have been broken by Latin, it had not held so long together.---I say, that easing a world of such misproud priests as thou art of their jewels and their gimcracks, is a lawful spoiling of the Egyptians.''

``Thou be'st a hedge-priest,''* said the Prior, in

* Note H. Hedge-Priests.

great wrath, ``_excommuicabo vos_.''

``Thou best thyself more like a thief and a heretic,'' said the Friar, equally indignant; ``I will pouch up no such affront before my parishioners, as thou thinkest it not shame to put upon me, although I be a reverend brother to thee. _Ossa enis perfringam_, I will break your bones, as the Vulgate hath it.''

``Hola!'' cried the Captain, ``come the reverend brethren to such terms?---Keep thine assurance of peace, Friar.---Prior, an thou hast not made thy peace perfect with God, provoke the Friar no further. ---Hermit, let the reverend father depart in peace, as a ransomed man.''

The yeomen separated the incensed priests, who continued to raise their voices, vituperating each other in bad Latin, which the Prior delivered the more fluently, and the Hermit with the greater vehemence. The Prior at length recollected himself sufficiently to be aware that he was compromising his dignity, by squabbling with such a hedge-priest as the Outlaw's chaplain, and being joined by his attendants, rode off with considerably less pomp, and in a much more apostolical condition, so far as worldly matters were concerned, than he had exhibited before this rencounter.

It remained that the Jew should produce some security for the ransom which he was to pay on the Prior's account, as well as upon his own. He gave, accordingly, an order sealed with his signet, to a brother of his tribe at York, requiring him to pay to the bearer the sum of a thousand crowns, and to deliver certain merchandises specified in the note.

``My brother Sheva,'' he said, groaning deeply, ``hath the key of my warehouses.''

``And of the vaulted chamber,'' whispered Locksley.

``No, no---may Heaven forefend!'' said Isaac; ``evil is the hour that let any one whomsoever into that secret!''

``It is safe with me,'' said the Outlaw, ``so be that this thy scroll produce the sum therein nominated and set down.---But what now, Isaac? art dead? art stupefied? hath the payment of a thousand crowns put thy daughter's peril out of thy mind?''

The Jew started to his feet---``No, Diccon, no ---I will presently set forth.---Farewell, thou whom I may not call good, and dare not and will not call evil.'' Yet ere Isaac departed, the Outlaw Chief bestowed on him this parting advice:---``Be liberal of thine offers, Isaac, and spare not thy purse for thy daughter's safety. Credit me, that the gold thou shalt spare in her cause, will hereafter give thee as much agony as if it were poured molten down thy throat.''

Isaac acquiesced with a deep groan, and set forth on his journey, accompanied by two tall foresters, who were to be his guides, and at the same time his guards, through the wood.

The Black Knight, who had seen with no small interest these various proceedings, now took his leave of the Outlaw in turn; nor could he avoid expressing his surprise at having witnessed so much of civil policy amongst persons cast out from all the ordinary protection and influence of the laws.

``Good fruit, Sir Knight,'' said the yeoman, ``will sometimes grow on a sorry tree; and evil times are not always productive of evil alone and unmixed. Amongst those who are drawn into this lawless state, there are, doubtless, numbers who wish to exercise its license with some moderation, and some who regret, it may be, that they are obliged to follow such a trade at all.''

``And to one of those,'' said the Knight, ``I am now, I presume, speaking?''

``Sir Knight,'' said the Outlaw, ``we have each our secret. You are welcome to form your judgment of me, and I may use my conjectures touching you, though neither of our shafts may hit the mark they are shot at. But as I do not pray to be admitted into your mystery, be not offended that I preserve my own.''

``I crave pardon, brave Outlaw,'' said the Knight, ``your reproof is just. But it may be we shall meet hereafter with less of concealment on either side.--- Meanwhile we part friends, do we not?''

``There is my hand upon it,'' said Locksley; ``and I will call it the hand of a true Englishman, though an outlaw for the present.''

``And there is mine in return,'' said the Knight, ``and I hold it honoured by being clasped with yours. For he that does good, having the unlimited power to do evil, deserves praise not only for the good which he performs, but for the evil which he forbears. Fare thee well, gallant Outlaw!'' Thus parted that fair fellowship; and He of the Fetterlock, mounting upon his strong war-horse, rode off through the forest.

CHAPTER XXXIV

_King John_. I'll tell thee what, my friend, He is a very serpent in my way; And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread, He lies before me.---Dost thou understand me? _King John._

There was brave feasting in the Castle of York, to which Prince John had invited those nobles, prelates, and leaders, by whose assistance he hoped to carry through his ambitious projects upon his brother's throne. Waldemar Fitzurse, his able and politic agent, was at secret work among them, tempering all to that pitch of courage which was necessary in making an open declaration of their purpose. But their enterprise was delayed by the absence of more than one main limb of the confederacy. The stubborn and daring, though brutal courage of Front-de-B<oe>uf; the buoyant spirits and bold bearing of De Bracy; the sagacity, martial experience, and renowned valour of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, were important to the success of their conspiracy; and, while cursing in secret their unnecessary and unmeaning absence, neither John nor his adviser dared to proceed without them. Isaac the Jew also seemed to have vanished, and with him the hope of certain sums of money, making up the subsidy for which Prince John had contracted with that Israelite and his brethren. This deficiency was likely to prove perilous in an emergency so critical.

It was on the morning after the fall of Torquilstone, that a confused report began to spread abroad in the city of York, that De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert, with their confederate Front-de-B<oe>uf, had been taken or slain. Waldemar brought the rumour to Prince John, announcing, that he feared its truth the more that they had set out with a small attendance, for the purpose of committing an assault on the Saxon Cedric and his attendants. At another time the Prince would have treated this deed of violence as a good jest; but now, that it interfered with and impeded his own plans, he exclaimed against the perpetrators, and spoke of the broken laws, and the infringement of public order and of private property, in a tone which might have become King Alfred.

``The unprincipled marauders,'' he said---``were I ever to become monarch of England, I would hang such transgressors over the drawbridges of their own castles.''

``But to become monarch of England,'' said his Ahithophel coolly, ``it is necessary not only that your Grace should endure the transgressions of these unprincipled marauders, but that you should afford them your protection, notwithstanding your laudable zeal for the laws they are in the habit of infringing. We shall be finely helped, if the churl Saxons should have realized your Grace's vision, of converting feudal drawbridges into gibbets; and yonder bold-spirited Cedric seemeth one to whom such an imagination might occur. Your Grace is well aware, it will be dangerous to stir without Front-de-B<oe>uf, De Bracy, and the Templar; and yet we have gone too far to recede with safety.''

Prince John struck his forehead with impatience, and then began to stride up and down the apartment.

``The villains,'' he said, ``the base treacherous villains, to desert me at this pinch!''

``Nay, say rather the feather-pated giddy madmen,'' said Waldemar, ``who must be toying with follies when such business was in hand.''

``What is to be done?'' said the Prince, stopping short before Waldemar.

``I know nothing which can be done,'' answered his counsellor, ``save that which I have already taken order for.---I came not to bewail this evil chance with your Grace, until I had done my best to remedy it.''

``Thou art ever my better angel, Waldemar,'' said the Prince; ``and when I have such a chancellor to advise withal, the reign of John will be renowned in our annals.---What hast thou commanded?''

``I have ordered Louis Winkelbrand, De Bracy's lieutenant, to cause his trumpet sound to horse, and to display his banner, and to set presently forth towards the castle of Front-de-B<oe>uf, to do what yet may be done for the succour of our friends.''

Prince John's face flushed with the pride of a spoilt child, who has undergone what it conceives to be an insult. ``By the face of God!'' he said, ``Waldemar Fitzurse, much hast thou taken upon thee! and over malapert thou wert to cause trumpet to blow, or banner to be raised, in a town where ourselves were in presence, without our express command.''

``I crave your Grace's pardon,'' said Fitzurse, internally cursing the idle vanity of his patron; ``but when time pressed, and even the loss of minutes might be fatal, I judged it best to take this much burden upon me, in a matter of such importance to your Grace's interest.''

``Thou art pardoned, Fitzurse,'' said the prince, gravely; ``thy purpose hath atoned for thy hasty rashness.---But whom have we here?---De Bracy himself, by the rood!---and in strange guise doth he come before us.''

It was indeed De Bracy---``bloody with spurring, fiery red with speed.'' His armour bore all the marks of the late obstinate fray, being broken, defaced, and stained with blood in many places, and covered with clay and dust from the crest to the spur. Undoing his helmet, he placed it on the table, and stood a moment as if to collect himself before be told his news.

``De Bracy,'' said Prince John, ``what means this?---Speak, I charge thee!---Are the Saxons in rebellion?''

``Speak, De Bracy,'' said Fitzurse, almost in the same moment with his master, ``thou wert wont to be a man---Where is the Templar?---where Front-de-B<oe>uf?''

``The Templar is fled,'' said De Bracy; ``Front-de-B<oe>uf you will never see more. He has found a red grave among the blazing rafters of his own castle and I alone am escaped to tell you.''

``Cold news,'' said Waldemar, ``to us, though you speak of fire and conflagration.''

``The worst news is not yet said,'' answered De Bracy; and, coming up to Prince John, he uttered in a low and emphatic tone---``Richard is in England---I have seen and spoken with him.''

Prince John turned pale, tottered, and caught at the back of an oaken bench to support himself ---much like to a man who receives an arrow in his bosom.

``Thou ravest, De Bracy,'' said Fitzurse, ``it cannot be.''

``It is as true as truth itself,'' said De Bracy; ``I was his prisoner, and spoke with him.''

``With Richard Plantagenet, sayest thou?'' continued Fitzurse.

``With Richard Plantagenet,'' replied De Bracy, with Richard C<oe>ur-de-Lion---with Richard of England.''

``And thou wert his prisoner?'' said Waldemar; ``he is then at the head of a power?''

``No---only a few outlawed yeomen were around him, and to these his person is unknown. I heard him say he was about to depart from them. He joined them only to assist at the storming of Torquilstone.''

``Ay,'' said Fitzurse, ``such is indeed the fashion of Richard---a true knight-errant he, and will wander in wild adventure, trusting the prowess of his single arm, like any Sir Guy or Sir Bevis, while the weighty affairs of his kingdom slumber, and his own safety is endangered.---What dost thou propose to do De Bracy?''

``I?---I offered Richard the service of my Free Lances, and he refused them---I will lead them to Hull, seize on shipping, and embark for Flanders; thanks to the bustling times, a man of action will always find employment. And thou, Waldemar, wilt thou take lance and shield, and lay down thy policies, and wend along with me, and share the fate which God sends us?''

``I am too old, Maurice, and I have a daughter,'' answered Waldemar.

``Give her to me, Fitzurse, and I will maintain her as fits her rank, with the help of lance and stirrup,'' said De Bracy.

``Not so,'' answered Fitzurse; ``I will take sanctuary in this church of Saint Peter---the Archbishop is my sworn brother.'

During this discourse, Prince John had gradually awakened from the stupor into which he had been thrown by the unexpected intelligence, and had been attentive to the conversation which passed betwixt his followers. ``They fall off from me,'' he said to himself, ``they hold no more by me than a withered leaf by the bough when a breeze blows on it?---Hell and fiends! can I shape no means for myself when I am deserted by these cravens?''--- He paused, and there was an expression of diabolical passion in the constrained laugh with which he at length broke in on their conversation.

``Ha, ha, ha! my good lords, by the light of Our Lady's brow, I held ye sage men, bold men, ready-witted men; yet ye throw down wealth, honour, pleasure, all that our noble game promised you, at the moment it might be won by one bold cast!''

``I understand you not,'' said De Bracy. ``As soon as Richard's return is blown abroad, he will be at the head of an army, and all is then over with us. I would counsel you, my lord, either to fly to France or take the protection of the Queen Mother.''

``I seek no safety for myself,'' said Prince John, haughtily; ``that I could secure by a word spoken to my brother. But although you, De Bracy, and you, Waldemar Fitzurse, are so ready to abandon me, I should not greatly delight to see your heads blackening on Clifford's gate yonder. Thinkest thou, Waldemar, that the wily Archbishop will not suffer thee to be taken from the very horns of the altar, would it make his peace with King Richard? And forgettest thou, De Bracy, that Robert Estoteville lies betwixt thee and Hull with all his forces, and that the Earl of Essex is gathering his followers? If we had reason to fear these levies even before Richard's return, trowest thou there is any doubt now which party their leaders will take? Trust me, Estoteville alone has strength enough to drive all thy Free Lances into the Humber.---'' Waldemar Fitzurse and De Bracy looked in each other's faces with blank dismay.---``There is but one road to safety,'' continued the Prince, and his brow grew black as midnight; ``this object of our terror journeys alone---He must be met withal.''

``Not by me,'' said De Bracy, hastily; ``I was his prisoner, and he took me to mercy. I will not harm a feather in his crest.''

``Who spoke of harming him?'' said Prince John, with a hardened laugh; ``the knave will say next that I meant he should slay him!---No--- a prison were better; and whether in Britain or Austria, what matters it?---Things will be but as they were when we commenced our enterprise--- It was founded on the hope that Richard would remain a captive in Germany---Our uncle Robert lived and died in the castle of Cardiffe.''

``Ay, but,'' said Waldemar, ``your sire Henry sate more firm in his seat than your Grace can. I say the best prison is that which is made by the sexton---no dungeon like a church-vault! I have said my say.''

``Prison or tomb,'' said De Bracy, ``I wash my hands of the whole matter.''

``Villain!'' said Prince John, ``thou wouldst not bewray our counsel?''

``Counsel was never bewrayed by me,'' said De Bracy, haughtily, ``nor must the name of villain be coupled with mine!''

``Peace, Sir Knight!'' said Waldemar; ``and you, good my lord, forgive the scruples of valiant De Bracy; I trust I shall soon remove them.''

``That passes your eloquence, Fitzurse,'' replied the Knight.

``Why, good Sir Maurice,'' rejoined the wily politician, ``start not aside like a scared steed, without, at least, considering the object of your terror. ---This Richard---but a day since, and it would have been thy dearest wish to have met him hand to hand in the ranks of battle---a hundred times I have heard thee wish it.''

``Ay,'' said De Bracy, ``but that was as thou sayest, hand to hand, and in the ranks of battle! Thou never heardest me breathe a thought of assaulting him alone, and in a forest.''

``Thou art no good knight if thou dost scruple at it,'' said Waldemar. ``Was it in battle that Lancelot de Lac and Sir Tristram won renown? or was it not by encountering gigantic knights under the shade of deep and unknown forests?''

``Ay, but I promise you,'' said De Bracy, ``that neither Tristram nor Lancelot would have been match, hand to hand, for Richard Plantagenet, and I think it was not their wont to take odds against a single man.''

``Thou art mad, De Bracy---what is it we propose to thee, a hired and retained captain of Free Companions, whose swords are purchased for Prince John's service? Thou art apprized of our enemy, and then thou scruplest, though thy patron's fortunes, those of thy comrades, thine own, and the life and honour of every one amongst us, be at stake!''

``I tell you,'' said De Bracy, sullenly, ``that he gave me my life. True, he sent me from his presence, and refused my homage---so far I owe him neither favour nor allegiance---but I will not lift hand against him.''

``It needs not---send Louis Winkelbrand and a score of thy lances.''

``Ye have sufficient ruffians of your own,'' said De Bracy; ``not one of mine shall budge on such an errand.''

``Art thou so obstinate, De Bracy?'' said Prince John; ``and wilt thou forsake me, after so many protestations of zeal for my service?''

``I mean it not,'' said De Bracy; ``I will abide by you in aught that becomes a knight, whether in the lists or in the camp; but this highway practice comes not within my vow.''

``Come hither, Waldemar,'' said Prince John. ``An unhappy prince am I. My father, King Henry, had faithful servants---He had but to say that he was plagued with a factious priest, and the blood of Thomas-a-Becket, saint though he was, stained the steps of his own altar.---Tracy, Morville, Brito * loyal and daring subjects, your names, your

* Reginald Fitzurse, William de Tracy, Hugh de Morville, * and Richard Brito, were the gentlemen of Henry the Second's * household, who, instigated by some passionate expressions of * their sovereign, slew the celebrated Thomas-a-Becket.

spirit, are extinct! and although Reginald Fitzurse hath left a son, he hath fallen off from his father's fidelity and courage.''

``He has fallen off from neither,'' said Waldemar Fitzurse; ``and since it may not better be, I will take on me the conduct of this perilous enterprise. Dearly, however, did my father purchase the praise of a zealous friend; and yet did his proof of loyalty to Henry fall far short of what I am about to afford; for rather would I assail a whole calendar of saints, than put spear in rest against C<oe>ur-de-Lion. ---De Bracy, to thee I must trust to keep up the spirits of the doubtful, and to guard Prince John's person. If you receive such news as I trust to send you, our enterprise will no longer wear a doubtful aspect.---Page,'' he said, ``hie to my lodgings, and tell my armourer to be there in readiness; and bid Stephen Wetheral, Broad Thoresby, and the Three Spears of Spyinghow, come to me instantly; and let the scout-master, Hugh Bardon, attend me also.---Adieu, my Prince, till better times.'' Thus speaking, he left the apartment. ``He goes to make my brother prisoner,'' said Prince John to De Bracy, ``with as little touch of compunction, as if it but concerned the liberty of a Saxon franklin. I trust he will observe our orders, and use our dear Richard's person with all due respect.''

De Bracy only answered by a smile.

``By the light of Our Lady's brow,'' said Prince John, ``our orders to him were most precise--- though it may be you heard them not, as we stood together in the oriel window---Most clear and positive was our charge that Richard's safety should be cared for, and woe to Waldemar's head if he transgress it!''

``I had better pass to his lodgings,'' said De Bracy, ``and make him fully aware of your Grace's pleasure; for, as it quite escaped my ear, it may not perchance have reached that of Waldemar.''

``Nay, nay,'' said Prince John, impatiently, ``I promise thee he heard me; and, besides, I have farther occupation for thee. Maurice, come hither; let me lean on thy shoulder.''

They walked a turn through the hall in this familiar posture, and Prince John, with an air of the most confidential intimacy, proceeded to say, ``What thinkest thou of this Waldemar Fitzurse, my De Bracy?---He trusts to be our Chancellor. Surely we will pause ere we give an office so high to one who shows evidently how little he reverences our blood, by his so readily undertaking this enterprise against Richard. Thou dost think, I warrant, that thou hast lost somewhat of our regard, by thy boldly declining this unpleasing task---But no, Maurice! I rather honour thee for thy virtuous constancy. There are things most necessary to be done, the perpetrator of which we neither love nor honour; and there may be refusals to serve us, which shall rather exalt in our estimation those who deny our request. The arrest of my unfortunate brother forms no such good title to the high office of Chancellor, as thy chivalrous and courageous denial establishes in thee to the truncheon of High Marshal. Think of this, De Bracy, and begone to thy charge.''

``Fickle tyrant!'' muttered De Bracy, as he left the presence of the Prince; ``evil luck have they who trust thee. Thy Chancellor, indeed!---He who hath the keeping of thy conscience shall have an easy charge, I trow. But High Marshal of England! that,'' he said, extending his arm, as if to grasp the baton of office, and assuming a loftier stride along the antechamber, ``that is indeed a prize worth playing for!''

De Bracy had no sooner left the apartment than Prince John summoned an attendant.

``Bid Hugh Bardon, our scout-master, come hither, as soon as he shall have spoken with Waldemar Fitzurse.''

The scout-master arrived after a brief delay, during which John traversed the apartment with, unequal and disordered steps.

``Bardon,'' said he, ``what did Waldemar desire of thee?''

``Two resolute men, well acquainted with these northern wilds, and skilful in tracking the tread of man and horse.''

``And thou hast fitted him?''

``Let your grace never trust me else,'' answered the master of the spies. ``One is from Hexamshire; he is wont to trace the Tynedale and Teviotdale thieves, as a bloodhound follows the slot of a hurt deer. The other is Yorkshire bred, and has twanged his bowstring right oft in merry Sherwood; he knows each glade and dingle, copse and high-wood, betwixt this and Richmond.''

``'Tis well,'' said the Prince.---``Goes Waldemar forth with them?''

``Instantly,'' said Bardon.

``With what attendance?'' asked John, carelessly.

``Broad Thoresby goes with him, and Wetheral, whom they call, for his cruelty, Stephen Steel-heart; and three northern men-at-arms that belonged to Ralph Middleton's gang---they are called the Spears of Spyinghow.''

``'Tis well,'' said Prince John; then added, after a moment's pause, ``Bardon, it imports our service that thou keep a strict watch on Maurice De Bracy ---so that he shall not observe it, however---And let us know of his motions from time to time--- with whom he converses, what he proposeth. Fail not in this, as thou wilt be answerable.''

Hugh Bardon bowed, and retired.

``If Maurice betrays me,'' said Prince John--- ``if he betrays me, as his bearing leads me to fear, I will have his head, were Richard thundering at the gates of York.''

CHAPTER XXXV

Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts, Strive with the half-starved lion for his prey; Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering fire Of wild Fanaticism. _Anonymus_.

Our tale now returns to Isaac of York.---Mounted upon a mule, the gift of the Outlaw, with two tall yeomen to act as his guard and guides, the Jew had set out for the Preceptory of Templestowe, for the purpose of negotiating his daughter's redemption. The Preceptory was but a day's journey from the demolished castle of Torquilstone, and the Jew had hoped to reach it before nightfall; accordingly, having dismissed his guides at the verge of the forest, and rewarded them with a piece of silver, he began to press on with such speed as his weariness permitted him to exert. But his strength failed him totally ere he had reached within four miles of the Temple-Court; racking pains shot along his back and through his limbs, and the excessive anguish which he felt at heart being now augmented by bodily suffering, he was rendered altogether incapable of proceeding farther than a small market-town, were dwelt a Jewish Rabbi of his tribe, eminent in the medical profession, and to whom Isaac was well known. Nathan Ben Israel received his suffering countryman with that kindness which the law prescribed, and which the Jews practised to each other. He insisted on his betaking himself to repose, and used such remedies as were then in most repute to check the progress of the fever, which terror, fatigue, ill usage, and sorrow, had brought upon the poor old Jew.

On the morrow, when Isaac proposed to arise and pursue his journey, Nathan remonstrated against his purpose, both as his host and as his physician. It might cost him, he said, his life. But Isaac replied, that more than life and death depended upon his going that morning to Templestowe.

``To Templestowe!'' said his host with surprise again felt his pulse, and then muttered to himself, ``His fever is abated, yet seems his mind somewhat alienated and disturbed.''

``And why not to Templestowe?'' answered his patient. ``I grant thee, Nathan, that it is a dwelling of those to whom the despised Children of the Promise are a stumbling-block and an abomination; yet thou knowest that pressing affairs of traffic sometimes carry us among these bloodthirsty Nazarene soldiers, and that we visit the Preceptories of the Templars, as well as the Commanderies of the Knights Hospitallers, as they are called.'' *

* The establishments of the Knight Templars were called * Preceptories, and the title of those who presided in the Order * was Preceptor; as the principal Knights of Saint John were * termed Commanders, and their houses Commanderies. But * these terms were sometimes, it would seem, used indiscriminately.

``I know it well,'' said Nathan; ``but wottest thou that Lucas de Beaumanoir, the chief of their Order, and whom they term Grand Master, is now himself at Templestowe?''

``I know it not,'' said Isaac; ``our last letters from our brethren at Paris advised us that he was at that city, beseeching Philip for aid against the Sultan Saladine.''

``He hath since come to England, unexpected by his brethren,'' said Ben Israel; ``and he cometh among them with a strong and outstretched arm to correct and to punish. His countenance is kindled in anger against those who have departed from the vow which they have made, and great is the fear of those sons of Belial. Thou must have heard of his name?''

``It is well known unto me,'' said Isaac; ``the Gentiles deliver this Lucas Beaumanoir as a man zealous to slaying for every point of the Nazarene law; and our brethren have termed him a fierce destroyer of the Saracens, and a cruel tyrant to the Children of the Promise.''

``And truly have they termed him,'' said Nathan the physician. ``Other Templars may be moved from the purpose of their heart by pleasure, or bribed by promise of gold and silver; but Beaumanoir is of a different stamp---hating sensuality, despising treasure, and pressing forward to that which they call the crown of martyrdom---The God of Jacob speedily send it unto him, and unto them all! Specially hath this proud man extended his glove over the children of Judah, as holy David over Edom, holding the murder of a Jew to be all offering of as sweet savour as the death of a Saracen. Impious and false things has he said even of the virtues of our medicines, as if they were the devices of Satan---The Lord rebuke him!''

``Nevertheless,'' said Isaac, ``I must present myself at Templestowe, though he hath made his face like unto a fiery furnace seven times heated.''

He then explained to Nathan the pressing cause of his journey. The Rabbi listened with interest, and testified his sympathy after the fashion of his people, rending his clothes, and saying, ``Ah, my daughter!---ah, my daughter!---Alas! for the beauty of Zion!---Alas! for the captivity of Israel!''

``Thou seest,'' said Isaac, ``how it stands with me, and that I may not tarry. Peradventure, the presence of this Lucas Beaumanoir, being the chief man over them, may turn Brian de Bois-Guilbert from the ill which he doth meditate, and that he may deliver to me my beloved daughter Rebecca.''

``Go thou,'' said Nathan Ben Israel, ``and be wise, for wisdom availed Daniel in the den of lions into which he was cast; and may it go well with thee, even as thine heart wisheth. Yet, if thou canst, keep thee from the presence of the Grand Master, for to do foul scorn to our people is his morning and evening delight. It may be if thou couldst speak with Bois-Guilbert in private, thou shalt the better prevail with him; for men say that these accursed Nazarenes are not of one mind in the Preceptory--- May their counsels be confounded and brought to shame! But do thou, brother, return to me as if it were to the house of thy father, and bring me word how it has sped with thee; and well do I hope thou wilt bring with thee Rebecca, even the scholar of the wise Miriam, whose cures the Gentiles slandered as if they had been wrought by necromancy.''

Isaac accordingly bade his friend farewell, and about an hour's riding brought him before the Preceptory of Templestowe.

This establishment of the Templars was seated amidst fair meadows and pastures, which the devotion of the former Preceptor had bestowed upon their Order. It was strong and well fortified, a point never neglected by these knights, and which the disordered state of England rendered peculiarly necessary. Two halberdiers, clad in black, guarded the drawbridge, and others, in the same sad livery, glided to and fro upon the walls with a funereal pace, resembling spectres more than soldiers. The inferior officers of the Order were thus dressed, ever since their use of white garments, similar to those of the knights and esquires, had given rise to a combination of certain false brethren in the mountains of Palestine, terming themselves Templars, and bringing great dishonour on the Order. A knight was now and then seen to cross the court in his long white cloak, his head depressed on his breast, and his arms folded. They passed each other, if they chanced to meet, with a slow, solemn, and mute greeting; for such was the rule of their Order, quoting thereupon the holy texts, ``In many words thou shalt not avoid sin,'' and ``Life and death are in the power of the tongue.'' In a word, the stern ascetic rigour of the Temple discipline, which had been so long exchanged for prodigal and licentious indulgence, seemed at once to have revived at Templestowe under the severe eye of Lucas Beaumanoir.

Isaac paused at the gate, to consider how he might seek entrance in the manner most likely to bespeak favour; for he was well aware, that to his unhappy race the reviving fanaticism of the Order was not less dangerous than their unprincipled licentiousness; and that his religion would be the object of hate and persecution in the one case, as his wealth would have exposed him in the other to the extortions of unrelenting oppression.

Meantime Lucas Beaumanoir walked in a small garden belonging to the Preceptory, included within the precincts of its exterior fortification, and held sad and confidential communication with a brother of his Order, who had come in his company from Palestine.

The Grand Master was a man advanced in age, as was testified by his long grey beard, and the shaggy grey eyebrows overhanging eyes, of which, however, years had been unable to quench the fire. A formidable warrior, his thin and severe features retained the soldier's fierceness of expression; an ascetic bigot, they were no less marked by the emaciation of abstinence, and the spiritual pride of the self-satisfied devotee. Yet with these severer traits of physiognomy, there was mixed somewhat striking and noble, arising, doubtless, from the great part which his high office called upon him to act among monarchs and princes, and from the habitual exercise of supreme authority over the valiant and high-born knights, who were united by the rules of the Order. His stature was tall, and his gait, undepressed by age and toil, was erect and stately. His white mantle was shaped with severe regularity, according to the rule of Saint Bernard himself, being composed of what was then called Burrel cloth, exactly fitted to the size of the wearer, and bearing on the left shoulder the octangular cross peculiar to the Order, formed of red cloth. No vair or ermine decked this garment; but in respect of his age, the Grand Master, as permitted by the rules, wore his doublet lined and trimmed with the softest lambskin, dressed with the wool outwards, which was the nearest approach he could regularly make to the use of fur, then the greatest luxury of dress. In his hand he bore that singular _abacus_, or staff of office, with which Templars are usually represented, having at the upper end a round plate, on which was engraved the cross of the Order, inscribed within a circle or orle, as heralds term it. His companion, who attended on this great personage, had nearly the same dress in all respects, but his extreme deference towards his Superior showed that no other equality subsisted between them. The Preceptor, for such he was in rank, walked not in a line with the Grand Master, but just so far behind that Beaumanoir could speak to him without turning round his head.

``Conrade,'' said the Grand Master, ``dear companion of my battles and my toils, to thy faithful bosom alone I can confide my sorrows. To thee alone can I tell how oft, since I came to this kingdom, I have desired to be dissolved and to be with the just. Not one object in England hath met mine eye which it could rest upon with pleasure, save the tombs of our brethren, beneath the massive roof of our Temple Church in yonder proud capital. O, valiant Robert de Ros! did I exclaim internally, as I gazed upon these good soldiers of the cross, where they lie sculptured on their sepulchres,---O, worthy William de Mareschal! open your marble cells, and take to your repose a weary brother, who would rather strive with a hundred thousand pagans than witness the decay of our Holy Order!''

``It is but true,'' answered Conrade Mont-Fitchet; ``it is but too true; and the irregularities of our brethren in England are even more gross than those in France.''

``Because they are more wealthy,'' answered the Grand Master. ``Bear with me, brother, although I should something vaunt myself. Thou knowest the life I have led, keeping each point of my Order, striving with devils embodied and disembodied, striking down the roaring lion, who goeth about seeking whom be may devour, like a good knight and devout priest, wheresoever I met with him--- even as blessed Saint Bernard hath prescribed to us in the forty-fifth capital of our rule, _Ut Leo semper feriatur_.* But by the Holy Temple! the zeal

* In the ordinances of the Knights of the Temple, this phrase * is repeated in a variety of forms, and occurs in almost every * chapter, as if it were the signal-word of the Order; which may * account for its being so frequently put in the Grand Master's * month.

which hath devoured my substance and my life, yea, the very nerves and marrow of my bones; by that very Holy Temple I swear to thee, that save thyself and some few that still retain the ancient severity of our Order, I look upon no brethren whom I can bring my soul to embrace under that holy name. What say our statutes, and how do our brethren observe them? They should wear no vain or worldly ornament, no crest upon their helmet, no gold upon stirrup or bridle-bit; yet who now go pranked out so proudly and so gaily as the poor soldiers of the Temple? They are forbidden by our statutes to take one bird by means of another, to shoot beasts with bow or arblast, to halloo to a hunting-horn, or to spur the horse after game. But now, at hunting and hawking, and each idle sport of wood and river, who so prompt as the Templars in all these fond vanities? They are forbidden to read, save what their Superior permitted, or listen to what is read, save such holy things as may be recited aloud during the hours of refaction; but lo! their ears are at the command of idle minstrels, and their eyes study empty romaunts. They were commanded to extirpate magic and heresy. Lo! they are charged with studying the accursed cabalistical secrets of the Jews, and the magic of the Paynim Saracens. Simpleness of diet was prescribed to them, roots, pottage, gruels, eating flesh but thrice a-week, because the accustomed feeding on flesh is a dishonourable corruption of the body; and behold, their tables groan under delicate fare! Their drink was to be water, and now, to drink like a Templar, is the boast of each jolly boon companion! This very garden, filled as it is with curious herbs and trees sent from the Eastern climes, better becomes the harem of an unbelieving Emir, than the plot which Christian Monks should devote to raise their homely pot-herbs.---And O, Conrade! well it were that the relaxation of discipline stopped even here!---Well thou knowest that we were forbidden to receive those devout women, who at the beginning were associated as sisters of our Order, because, saith the forty-sixth chapter, the Ancient Enemy hath, by female society, withdrawn many from the right path to paradise. Nay, in the last capital, being, as it were, the cope-stone which our blessed founder placed on the pure and undefiled doctrine which he had enjoined, we are prohibited from offering, even to our sisters and our mothers, the kiss of affection--_-ut omnium mulierum fugiantur oscula_.---I shame to speak---I shame to think--- of the corruptions which have rushed in upon us even like a flood. The souls of our pure founders, the spirits of Hugh de Payen and Godfrey de Saint Omer, and of the blessed Seven who first joined in dedicating their lives to the service of the Temple, are disturbed even in the enjoyment of paradise itself. I have seen them, Conrade, in the visions of the night---their sainted eyes shed tears for the sins and follies of their brethren, and for the foul and shameful luxury in which they wallow. Beaumanoir, they say, thou slumberest---awake! There is a stain in the fabric of the Temple, deep and foul as that left by the streaks of leprosy on the walls of the infected houses of old.* The soldiers of the

* See the 13th chapter of Leviticus.

Cross, who should shun the glance of a woman as the eye of a basilisk, live in open sin, not with the females of their own race only, but with the daughters of the accursed heathen, and more accursed Jew. Beaumanoir, thou sleepest; up, and avenge our cause!---Slay the sinners, male and female!--- Take to thee the brand of Phineas!---The vision fled, Conrade, but as I awaked I could still hear the clank of their mail, and see the waving of their white mantles.---And I will do according to their word, I =will= purify the fabric of the Temple! and the unclean stones in which the plague is, I will remove and cast out of the building.''

``Yet bethink thee, reverend father,'' said Mont-Fitchet, ``the stain hath become engrained by time and consuetude; let thy reformation be cautious, as it is just and wise.''

``No, Mont-Fitchet,'' answered the stern old man---``it must be sharp and sudden---the Order is on the crisis of its fate. The sobriety, self-devotion, and piety of our predecessors, made us powerful friends---our presumption, our wealth, our luxury, have raised up against us mighty enemies.---We must cast away these riches, which are a temptation to princes---we must lay down that presumption, which is an offence to them---we must reform that license of manners, which is a scandal to the whole Christian world! Or---mark my words---the Order of the Temple will be utterly demolished---and the Place thereof shall no more be known among the nations.'' ``Now may God avert such a calamity!'' said the Preceptor.

``Amen,'' said the Grand Master, with solemnity, ``but we must deserve his aid. I tell thee, Conrade, that neither the powers in Heaven, nor the powers on earth, will longer endure the wickedness of this generation---My intelligence is sure ---the ground on which our fabric is reared is already undermined, and each addition we make to the structure of our greatness will only sink it the sooner in the abyss. We must retrace our steps, and show ourselves the faithful Champions of the Cross, sacrificing to our calling, not alone our blood and our lives---not alone our lusts and our vices--- but our ease, our comforts, and our natural affections, and act as men convinced that many a pleasure which may be lawful to others, is forbidden to the vowed soldier of the Temple.''

At this moment a squire, clothed in a threadbare vestment, (for the aspirants after this holy Order wore during their noviciate the cast-off garments of the knights,) entered the garden, and, bowing profoundly before the Grand Master, stood silent, awaiting his permission ere he presumed to tell his errand.

``Is it not more seemly,'' said the Grand Master, ``to see this Damian, clothed in the garments of Christian humility, thus appear with reverend silence before his Superior, than but two days since, when the fond fool was decked in a painted coat, and jangling as pert and as proud as any popinjay? ---Speak, Damian, we permit thee---What is thine errand?''

``A Jew stands without the gate, noble and reverend father,'' said the Squire, ``who prays to speak with brother Brian de Bois-Guilbert.''

``Thou wert right to give me knowledge of it,'' said the Grand Master; ``in our presence a Preceptor is but as a common compeer of our Order, who may not walk according to his own will, but to that of his Master---even according to the text, `In the hearing of the ear he hath obeyed me.'--- It imports us especially to know of this Bois-Guilbert's proceedings,'' said he, turning to his companion.

``Report speaks him brave and valiant,'' said Conrade.

``And truly is he so spoken of,'' said the Grand Master; ``in our valour only we are not degenerated from our predecessors, the heroes of the Cross. But brother Brian came into our Order a moody and disappointed man, stirred, I doubt me, to take our vows and to renounce the world, not in sincerity of soul, but as one whom some touch of light discontent had driven into penitence. Since then, he hath become an active and earnest agitator, a murmurer, and a machinator, and a leader amongst those who impugn our authority; not considering that the rule is given to the Master even by the symbol of the staff and the rod---the staff to support the infirmities of the weak---the rod to correct the faults of delinquents.---Damian,'' he continued, ``lead the Jew to our presence.''

The squire departed with a profound reverence, and in a few minutes returned, marshalling in Isaac of York. No naked slave, ushered into the presence of some mighty prince, could approach his judgment-seat with more profound reverence and terror than that with which the Jew drew near to the presence of the Grand Master. When he had approached within the distance of three yards, Beaumanoir made a sign with his staff that he should come no farther. The Jew kneeled down on the earth which he kissed in token of reverence; then rising, stood before the Templars, his hands folded on his bosom, his head bowed on his breast, in all the submission of Oriental slavery.

``Damian,'' said the Grand Master, ``retire, and have a guard ready to await our sudden call; and suffer no one to enter the garden until we shall leave it.''---The squire bowed and retreated.---``Jew,'' continued the haughty old man, ``mark me. It suits not our condition to hold with thee long communication, nor do we waste words or time upon any one. Wherefore be brief in thy answers to what questions I shall ask thee, and let thy words be of truth; for if thy tongue doubles with me, I will have it torn from thy misbelieving jaws.''

The Jew was about to reply, but the Grand Master went on.

``Peace, unbeliever!---not a word in our presence, save in answer to our questions.---What is thy business with our brother Brian de Bois-Guilbert?''

Isaac gasped with terror and uncertainty. To tell his tale might be interpreted into scandalizing the Order; yet, unless he told it, what hope could he have of achieving his daughter's deliverance? Beaumanoir saw his mortal apprehension, and condescended to give him some assurance.

``Fear nothing,'' he said, ``for thy wretched person, Jew, so thou dealest uprightly in this matter. I demand again to know from thee thy business with Brian de Bois-Guilbert?''

``I am bearer of a letter,'' stammered out the Jew, ``so please your reverend valour, to that good knight, from Prior Aymer of the Abbey of Jorvaulx.''

``Said I not these were evil times, Conrade?'' said the Master. ``A Cistertian Prior sends a letter to a soldier of the Temple, and can find no more fitting messenger than an unbelieving Jew.---Give me the letter.''

The Jew, with trembling hands, undid the folds of his Armenian cap, in which he had deposited the Prior's tablets for the greater security, and was about to approach, with hand extended and body crouched, to place it within the reach of his grim interrogator.

``Back, dog!'' said the Grand Master; ``I touch not misbelievers, save with the sword.---Conrade, take thou the letter from the Jew, and give it to me.''

Beaumanoir, being thus possessed of the tablets, inspected the outside carefully, and then proceeded to undo the packthread which secured its folds. ``Reverend father,'' said Conrade, interposing, though with much deference, ``wilt thou break the seal?''

``And will I not?'' said Beaumanoir, with a frown. ``Is it not written in the forty-second capital, _De Lectione Literarum_, that a Templar shall not receive a letter, no not from his father, without communicating the same to the Grand Master, and reading it in his presence?''

He then perused the letter in haste, with an expression of surprise and horror; read it over again more slowly; then holding it out to Conrade with one hand, and slightly striking it with the other, exclaimed---``Here is goodly stuff for one Christian man to write to another, and both members, and no inconsiderable members, of religious professions! When,'' said he solemnly, and looking upward, ``wilt thou come with thy fanners to purge the thrashing-floor?''

Mont-Fitchet took the letter from his Superior, and was about to peruse it. ``Read it aloud, Conrade,'' said the Grand Master,---``and do thou'' (to Isaac) ``attend to the purport of it, for we will question thee concerning it.''

Conrade read the letter, which was in these words: ``Aymer, by divine grace, Prior of the Cistertian house of Saint Mary's of Jorvaulx, to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, a Knight of the holy Order of the Temple, wisheth health, with the bounties of King Bacchus and of my Lady Venus. Touching our present condition, dear Brother, we are a captive in the hands of certain lawless and godless men, who have not feared to detain our person, and put us to ransom; whereby we have also learned of Front-de-B<oe>uf's misfortune, and that thou hast escaped with that fair Jewish sorceress, whose black eyes have bewitched thee. We are heartily rejoiced of thy safety; nevertheless, we pray thee to be on thy guard in the matter of this second Witch of Endor; for we are privately assured that your Great Master, who careth not a bean for cherry cheeks and black eyes, comes from Normandy to diminish your mirth, and amend your misdoings. Wherefore we pray you heartily to beware, and to be found watching, even as the Holy Text hath it, _Invenientur vigilantes_. And the wealthy Jew her father, Isaac of York, having prayed of me letters in his behalf, I gave him these, earnestly advising, and in a sort entreating, that you do hold the damsel to ransom, seeing he will pay you from his bags as much as may find fifty damsels upon safer terms, whereof I trust to have my part when we make merry together, as true brothers, not forgetting the wine-cup. For what saith the text, _Vinum l<ae>tificat cor hominis_; and again, _Rex delectabitur pulchritudine tua_.

``Till which merry meeting, we wish you farewell. Given from this den of thieves, about the hour of matins,

``Aymer Pr. S. M. Jorvolciencis.

``_Postscriptum_. Truly your golden chain hath not long abidden with me, and will now sustain, around the neck of an outlaw deer-stealer, the whistle wherewith he calleth on his hounds.''

``What sayest thou to this, Conrade?'' said the Grand Master---``Den of thieves! and a fit residence is a den of thieves for such a Prior. No wonder that the hand of God is upon us, and that in the Holy Land we lose place by place, foot by foot, before the infidels, when we have such churchmen as this Aymer.---And what meaneth he, I trow, by this second Witch of Endor?'' said he to his confident, something apart. Conrade was better acquainted (perhaps by practice) with the jargon of gallantry, than was his Superior; and he expounded the passage which embarrassed the Grand Master, to be a sort of language used by worldly men towards those whom they loved _par amours_; but the explanation did not satisfy the bigoted Beaumanoir.

``There is more in it than thou dost guess, Conrade; thy simplicity is no match for this deep abyss of wickedness. This Rebecca of York was a pupil of that Miriam of whom thou hast heard. Thou shalt hear the Jew own it even now.'' Then turning to Isaac, he said aloud, ``Thy daughter, then, is prisoner with Brian de Bois-Guilbert?''

``Ay, reverend valorous sir,'' stammered poor Isaac, ``and whatsoever ransom a poor man may pay for her deliverance------''

``Peace!'' said the Grand Master. ``This thy daughter hath practised the art of healing, hath she not?''

``Ay, gracious sir,'' answered the Jew, with more confidence; ``and knight and yeoman, squire and vassal, may bless the goodly gift which Heaven hath assigned to her. Many a one can testify that she hath recovered them by her art, when every other human aid hath proved vain; but the blessing of the God of Jacob was upon her.''

Beaumanoir turned to Mont-Fitchet with a grim smile. ``See, brother,'' he said, ``the deceptions of the devouring Enemy! Behold the baits with which he fishes for souls, giving a poor space of earthly life in exchange for eternal happiness hereafter. Well said our blessed rule, __Semper percutiatur leo vorans_. ---Up on the lion! Down with the destroyer!'' said he, shaking aloft his mystic abacus, as if in defiance of the powers of darkness--- ``Thy daughter worketh the cures, I doubt not,'' thus he went on to address the Jew, ``by words and sighs, and periapts, and other cabalistical mysteries.''

``Nay, reverend and brave Knight,'' answered Isaac, ``but in chief measure by a balsam of marvellous virtue.''

``Where had she that secret?'' said Beaumanoir.

``It was delivered to her,'' answered Isaac, reluctantly, ``by Miriam, a sage matron of our tribe.''

``Ah, false Jew!'' said the Grand Master; ``was it not from that same witch Miriam, the abomination of whose enchantments have been heard of throughout every Christian land?'' exclaimed the Grand Master, crossing himself. ``Her body was burnt at a stake, and her ashes were scattered to the four winds; and so be it with me and mine Order, if I do not as much to her pupil, and more also! I will teach her to throw spell and incantation over the soldiers of the blessed Temple.--- There, Damian, spurn this Jew from the gate--- shoot him dead if he oppose or turn again. With his daughter we will deal as the Christian law and our own high office warrant.''

Poor Isaac was hurried off accordingly, and expelled from the preceptory; all his entreaties, and even his offers, unheard and disregarded. He could do not better than return to the house of the Rabbi, and endeavour, through his means, to learn how his daughter was to be disposed of. He had hitherto feared for her honour, he was now to tremble for her life. Meanwhile, the Grand Master ordered to his presence the Preceptor of Templestowe.

CHAPTER XXXVI

Say not my art is fraud---all live by seeming. The beggar begs with it, and the gay courtier Gains land and title, rank and rule, by seeming; The clergy scorn it not, and the bold soldier Will eke with it his service.---All admit it, All practise it; and he who is content With showing what he is, shall have small credit In church, or camp, or state---So wags the world. _Old Play_.

Albert Malvoisin, President, or, in the language of the Order, Preceptor of the establishment of Templestowe, was brother to that Philip Malvoisin who has been already occasionally mentioned in this history, and was, like that baron, in close league with Brian de Bois-Guilbert.

Amongst dissolute and unprincipled men, of whom the Temple Order included but too many, Albert of Templestowe might be distinguished; but with this difference from the audacious Bois-Guilbert, that he knew how to throw over his vices and his ambition the veil of hypocrisy, and to assume in his exterior the fanaticism which be internally despised. Had not the arrival of the Grand Master been so unexpectedly sudden, he would have seen nothing at Templestowe which might have appeared to argue any relaxation of discipline. And, even although surprised, and, to a certain extent, detected, Albert Malvoisin listened with such respect and apparent contrition to the rebuke of his Superior, and made such haste to reform the particulars he censured,---succeeded, in fine, so well in giving an air of ascetic devotion to a family which had been lately devoted to license and pleasure, that Lucas Beaumanoir began to entertain a higher opinion of the Preceptor's morals, than the first appearance of the establishment had inclined him to adopt.

But these favourable sentiments on the part of the Grand Master were greatly shaken by the intelligence that Albert had received within a house of religion the Jewish captive, and, as was to be feared, the paramour of a brother of the Order; and when Albert appeared before him, be was regarded with unwonted sternness.

``There is in this mansion, dedicated to the purposes of the holy Order of the Temple,'' said the Grand Master, in a severe tone, ``a Jewish woman, brought hither by a brother of religion, by your connivance, Sir Preceptor.''

Albert Malvoisin was overwhelmed with confusion; for the unfortunate Rebecca had been confined in a remote and secret part of the building, and every precaution used to prevent her residence there from being known. He read in the looks of Beaumanoir ruin to Bois-Guilbert and to himself, unless he should be able to avert the impending storm.

``Why are you mute?'' continued the Grand Master.

``Is it permitted to me to reply?'' answered the Preceptor, in a tone of the deepest humility, although by the question he only meant to gain an instant's space for arranging his ideas.

``Speak, you are permitted,'' said the Grand Master---``speak, and say, knowest thou the capital of our holy rule,---_De commilitonibus Templi in sancta civitate, qui cun miserrimis mulieribus versantur, propter oblectationem carnis?''*

* The edict which he quotes, is against communion with * women of light character.

``Surely, most reverend father,'' answered the Preceptor, ``I have not risen to this office in the Order, being ignorant of one of its most important prohibitions.''

``How comes it, then, I demand of thee once more, that thou hast suffered a brother to bring a paramour, and that paramour a Jewish sorceress, into this holy place, to the stain and pollution thereof?''

``A Jewish sorceress!'' echoed Albert Malvoisin; ``good angels guard us!''

``Ay, brother, a Jewish sorceress!'' said the Grand Master, sternly. ``I have said it. Darest thou deny that this Rebecca, the daughter of that wretched usurer Isaac of York, and the pupil of the foul witch Miriam, is now---shame to be thought or spoken!---lodged within this thy Preceptory?''

``Your wisdom, reverend father,'' answered the Preceptor, ``hath rolled away the darkness from my understanding. Much did I wonder that so good a knight as Brian de Bois-Guilbert seemed so fondly besotted on the charms of this female, whom I received into this house merely to place a bar betwixt their growing intimacy, which else might have been cemented at the expense of the fall of our valiant and religious brother.''

``Hath nothing, then, as yet passed betwixt them in breach of his vow?'' demanded the Grand Master.

``What! under this roof?'' said the Preceptor, crossing himself; ``Saint Magdalene and the ten thousand virgins forbid!---No! if I have sinned in receiving her here, it was in the erring thought that I might thus break off our brother's besotted devotion to this Jewess, which seemed to me so wild and unnatural, that I could not but ascribe it to some touch of insanity, more to be cured by pity than reproof. But since your reverend wisdom hath discovered this Jewish quean to be a sorceress, perchance it may account fully for his enamoured folly.''

``It doth!---it doth!'' said Beaumanoir. ``See, brother Conrade, the peril of yielding to the first devices and blandishments of Satan! We look upon woman only to gratify the lust of the eye, and to take pleasure in what men call her beauty; and the Ancient Enemy, the devouring Lion, obtains power over us, to complete, by talisman and spell, a work which was begun by idleness and folly. It may be that our brother Bois-Guilbert does in this matter deserve rather pity than severe chastisement; rather the support of the staff, than the strokes of the rod; and that our admonitions and prayers may turn him from his folly, and restore him to his brethren.''

``It were deep pity,'' said Conrade Mont-Fitchet, to lose to the Order one of its best lances, when the Holy Community most requires the aid of its sons. Three hundred Saracens hath this Brian de Bois-Guilbert slain with his own hand.''

``The blood of these accursed dogs,'' said the Grand Master, ``shall be a sweet and acceptable offering to the saints and angels whom they despise and blaspheme; and with their aid will we counteract the spells and charms with which our brother is entwined as in a net. He shall burst the bands of this Delilah, as Sampson burst the two new cords with which the Philistines had bound him, and shall slaughter the infidels, even heaps upon heaps. But concerning this foul witch, who hath flung her enchantments over a brother of the Holy Temple, assuredly she shall die the death.''

``But the laws of England,''---said the Preceptor, who, though delighted that the Grand Master's resentment, thus fortunately averted from himself and Bois-Guilbert, had taken another direction, began now to fear he was carrying it too far.

``The laws of England,'' interrupted Beaumanoir, ``permit and enjoin each judge to execute justice within his own jurisdiction. The most petty baron may arrest, try, and condemn a witch found within his own domain. And shall that power be denied to the Grand Master of the Temple within a preceptory of his Order?---No!---we will judge and condemn. The witch shall be taken out of the land, and the wickedness thereof shall be forgiven. Prepare the Castle-hall for the trial of the sorceress.''

Albert Malvoisin bowed and retired,---not to give directions for preparing the hall, but to seek out Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and communicate to him how matters were likely to terminate. It was not long ere he found him, foaming with indignation at a repulse he had anew sustained from the fair Jewess. ``The unthinking,'' he said, ``the ungrateful, to scorn him who, amidst blood and flames, would have saved her life at the risk of his own! By Heaven, Malvoisin! I abode until roof and rafters crackled and crashed around me. I was the butt of a hundred arrows; they rattled on mine armour like hailstones against a latticed casement, and the only use I made of my shield was for her protection. This did I endure for her; and now the self-willed girl upbraids me that I did not leave her to perish, and refuses me not only the slightest proof of gratitude, but even the most distant hope that ever she will be brought to grant any. The devil, that possessed her race with obstinacy, has concentrated its full force in her single person!''

``The devil,'' said the Preceptor, ``I think, possessed you both. How oft have I preached to you caution, if not continence? Did I not tell you that there were enough willing Christian damsels to be met with, who would think it sin to refuse so brave a knight _le don d'amoureux merci_, and you must needs anchor your affection on a wilful, obstinate Jewess! By the mass, I think old Lucas Beaumanoir guesses right, when he maintains she hath cast a spell over you.''

``Lucas Beaumanoir!''---said Bois-Guilbert reproachfully ---``Are these your precautions, Malvoisin? Hast thou suffered the dotard to learn that Rebecca is in the Preceptory?''

``How could I help it?'' said the Preceptor. ``I neglected nothing that could keep secret your mystery; but it is betrayed, and whether by the devil or no, the devil only can tell. But I have turned the matter as I could; you are safe if you renounce Rebecca. You are pitied---the victim of magical delusion. She is a sorceress, and must suffer as such.''

``She shall not, by Heaven!'' said Bois-Guilbert.

``By Heaven, she must and will!'' said Malvoisin. ``Neither you nor any one else can save her. Lucas Beaumanoir hath settled that the death of a Jewess will be a sin-offering sufficient to atone for all the amorous indulgences of the Knights Templars; and thou knowest he hath both the power and will to execute so reasonable and pious a purpose.''

``Will future ages believe that such stupid bigotry ever existed!'' said Bois-Guilbert, striding up and down the apartment.

``What they may believe, I know not,'' said Malvoisin, calmly; ``but I know well, that in this our day, clergy and laymen, take ninety-nine to the hundred, will cry _amen_ to the Grand Master's sentence.''

``I have it,'' said Bois-Guilbert. ``Albert, thou art my friend. Thou must connive at her escape, Malvoisin, and I will transport her to some place of greater security and secrecy.'' ``I cannot, if I would,'' replied the Preceptor; ``the mansion is filled with the attendants of the Grand Master, and others who are devoted to him. And, to be frank with you, brother, I would not embark with you in this matter, even if I could hope to bring my bark to haven. I have risked enough already for your sake. I have no mind to encounter a sentence of degradation, or even to lose my Preceptory, for the sake of a painted piece of Jewish flesh and blood. And you, if you will be guided by my counsel, will give up this wild-goose chase, and fly your hawk at some other game. Think, Bois-Guilbert,---thy present rank, thy future honours, all depend on thy place in the Order. Shouldst thou adhere perversely to thy passion for this Rebecca, thou wilt give Beaumanoir the power of expelling thee, and he will not neglect it. He is jealous of the truncheon which he holds in his trembling gripe, and he knows thou stretchest thy bold hand towards it. Doubt not he will ruin thee, if thou affordest him a pretext so fair as thy protection of a Jewish sorceress. Give him his scope in this matter, for thou canst not control him. When the staff is in thine own firm grasp, thou mayest caress the daughters of Judah, or burn them, as may best suit thine own humour.''

``Malvoisin,'' said Bois-Guilbert, ``thou art a cold-blooded---''

``Friend,'' said the Preceptor, hastening to fill up the blank, in which Bois-Guilbert would probably have placed a worse word,---``a cold-blooded friend I am, and therefore more fit to give thee advice. I tell thee once more, that thou canst not save Rebecca. I tell thee once more, thou canst but perish with her. Go hie thee to the Grand Master ---throw thyself It his feet and tell him---''

``Not at his feet, by Heaven! but to the dotard's very beard will I say---''

``Say to him, then, to his beard,'' continued Malvoisin, coolly, ``that you love this captive Jewess to distraction; and the more thou dost enlarge on thy passion, the greater will be his haste to end it by the death of the fair enchantress; while thou, taken in flagrant delict by the avowal of a crime contrary to thine oath, canst hope no aid of thy brethren, and must exchange all thy brilliant visions of ambition and power, to lift perhaps a mercenary spear in some of the petty quarrels between Flanders and Burgundy.''

``Thou speakest the truth, Malvoisin,'' said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, after a moment's reflection. ``I will give the hoary bigot no advantage over me; and for Rebecca, she hath not merited at my hand that I should expose rank and honour for her sake. I will cast her off---yes, I will leave her to her fate, unless---''

``Qualify not thy wise and necessary resolution,'' said Malvoisin; ``women are but the toys which amuse our lighter hours---ambition is the serious business of life. Perish a thousand such frail baubles as this Jewess, before thy manly step pause in the brilliant career that lies stretched before thee! For the present we part, nor must we be seen to hold close conversation---I must order the hall for his judgment-seat.''

``What!'' said Bois-Guilbert, ``so soon?''

``Ay,'' replied the Preceptor, ``trial moves rapidly on when the judge has determined the sentence beforehand.''

``Rebecca,'' said Bois-Guilbert, when he was left alone, ``thou art like to cost me dear---Why cannot I abandon thee to thy fate, as this calm hypocrite recommends?---One effort will I make to save thee---but beware of ingratitude! for if I am again repulsed, my vengeance shall equal my love. The life and honour of Bois-Guilbert must not be hazarded, where contempt and reproaches are his only reward.''

The Preceptor had hardly given the necessary orders, when he was joined by Conrade Mont-Fitchet, who acquainted him with the Grand Master's resolution to bring the Jewess to instant trial for sorcery.

``It is surely a dream,'' said the Preceptor; ``we have many Jewish physicians, and we call them not wizards though they work wonderful cures.''

``The Grand Master thinks otherwise,'' said Mont-Fitchet; ``and, Albert, I will be upright with thee---wizard or not, it were better that this miserable damsel die, than that Brian de Bois-Guilbert should be lost to the Order, or the Order divided by internal dissension. Thou knowest his high rank, his fame in arms---thou knowest the zeal with which many of our brethren regard him ---but all this will not avail him with our Grand Master, should he consider Brian as the accomplice, not the victim, of this Jewess. Were the souls of the twelve tribes in her single body, it were better she suffered alone, than that Bois-Guilbert were partner in her destruction.''

``I have been working him even now to abandon her,'' said Malvoisin; ``but still, are there grounds enough to condemn this Rebecca for sorcery?--- Will not the Grand Master change his mind when he sees that the proofs are so weak?''

``They must be strengthened, Albert,'' replied Mont-Fitchet, ``they must be strengthened. Dost thou understand me?''

``I do,'' said the Preceptor, ``nor do I scruple to do aught for advancement of the Order---but there is little time to find engines fitting.''

``Malvoisin, they _must_ be found,'' said Conrade; ``well will it advantage both the Order and thee. This Templestowe is a poor Preceptory---that of Maison-Dieu is worth double its value---thou knowest my interest with our old Chief---find those who can carry this matter through, and thou art Preceptor of Maison-Dieu in the fertile Kent--- How sayst thou?''

``There is,'' replied Malvoisin, ``among those who came hither with Bois-Guilbert, two fellows whom I well know; servants they were to my brother Philip de Malvoisin, and passed from his service to that of Front-de-B<oe>uf---It may be they know something of the witcheries of this woman.''

``Away, seek them out instantly---and hark thee, if a byzant or two will sharpen their memory, let them not be wanting.''

``They would swear the mother that bore them a sorceress for a zecchin,'' said the Preceptor.

``Away, then,'' said Mont-Fitchet; ``at noon the affair will proceed. I have not seen our senior in such earnest preparation since he condemned to the stake Hamet Alfagi, a convert who relapsed to the Moslem faith.''

The ponderous castle-bell had tolled the point of noon, when Rebecca heard a trampling of feet upon the private stair which led to her place of confinement. The noise announced the arrival of several persons, and the circumstance rather gave her joy; for she was more afraid of the solitary visits of the fierce and passionate Bois-Guilbert than of any evil that could befall her besides. The door of the chamber was unlocked, and Conrade and the Preceptor Malvoisin entered, attended by four warders clothed in black, and bearing halberds.

``Daughter of an accursed race!'' said the Preceptor, ``arise and follow us.''

``Whither,'' said Rebecca, ``and for what purpose?''

``Damsel,'' answered Conrade, ``it is not for thee to question, but to obey. Nevertheless, be it known to thee, that thou art to be brought before the tribunal of the Grand Master of our holy Order, there to answer for thine offences.''

``May the God of Abraham be praised!'' said Rebecca, folding her hands devoutly; ``the name of a judge, though an enemy to my people, is to me as the name of a protector. Most willingly do I follow thee---permit me only to wrap my veil around my head.''

They descended the stair with slow and solemn step, traversed a long gallery, and, by a pair of folding doors placed at the end, entered the great hall in which the Grand Master had for the time established his court of justice.

The lower part of this ample apartment was filled with squires and yeomen, who made way not without some difficulty for Rebecca, attended by the Preceptor and Mont-Fitchet, and followed by the guard of halberdiers, to move forward to the seat appointed for her. As she passed through the crowd, her arms folded and her head depressed, a scrap of paper was thrust into her hand, which she received almost unconsciously, and continued to hold without examining its contents. The assurance that she possessed some friend in this awful assembly gave her courage to look around, and to mark into whose presence she had been conducted. She gazed, accordingly, upon the scene, which we shall endeavour to describe in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XXXVII

Stern was the law which bade its vot'ries leave At human woes with human hearts to grieve; Stern was the law, which at the winning wile Of frank and harmless mirth forbade to smile; But sterner still, when high the iron-rod Of tyrant power she shook, and call'd that power of God. _The Middle Ages._

The Tribunal, erected for the trial of the innocent and unhappy Rebecca, occupied the dais or elevated part of the upper end of the great hall---a platform, which we have already described as the place of honour, destined to be occupied by the most distinguished inhabitants or guests of an ancient mansion.

On an elevated seat, directly before the accused, sat the Grand Master of the Temple, in full and ample robes of flowing white, holding in his hand the mystic staff, which bore the symbol of the Order. At his feet was placed a table, occupied by two scribes, chaplains of the Order, whose duty it was to reduce to formal record the proceedings of the day. The black dresses, bare scalps, and demure looks of these church-men, formed a strong contrast to the warlike appearance of the knights who attended, either as residing in the Preceptory, or as come thither to attend upon their Grand Master. The Preceptors, of whom there were four present, occupied seats lower in height, and somewhat drawn back behind that of their superior; and the knights, who enjoyed no such rank in the Order, were placed on benches still lower, and preserving the same distance from the Preceptors as these from the Grand Master. Behind them, but still upon the dais or elevated portion of the hall, stood the esquires of the Order, in white dresses of an inferior quality.

The whole assembly wore an aspect of the most profound gravity; and in the faces of the knights might be perceived traces of military daring, united with the solemn carriage becoming men of a religious profession, and which, in the presence of their Grand Master, failed not to sit upon every brow.

The remaining and lower part of the hall was filled with guards, holding partisans, and with other attendants whom curiosity had drawn thither, to see at once a Grand Master and a Jewish sorceress. By far the greater part of those inferior persons were, in one rank or other, connected with the Order, and were accordingly distinguished by their black dresses. But peasants from the neighbouring country were not refused admittance; for it was the pride of Beaumanoir to render the edifying spectacle of the justice which he administered as public as possible. His large blue eyes seemed to expand as be gazed around the assembly, and his countenance appeared elated by the conscious dignity, and imaginary merit, of the part which he was about to perform. A psalm, which he himself accompanied with a deep mellow voice, which age had not deprived of its powers, commenced the proceedings of the day; and the solemn sounds, _Venite exultemus Domino_, so often sung by the Templars before engaging with earthly adversaries, was judged by Lucas most appropriate to introduce the approaching triumph, for such he deemed it, over the powers of darkness. The deep prolonged notes, raised by a hundred masculine voices accustomed to combine in the choral chant, arose to the vaulted roof of the hill, and rolled on amongst its arches with the pleasing yet solemn sound of the rushing of mighty waters.

When the sounds ceased, the Grand Master glanced his eye slowly around the circle, and observed that the seat of one of the Preceptors was vacant. Brian de Bois-Guilbert, by whom it had been occupied, had left his place, and was now standing near the extreme corner of one of the benches occupied by the Knights Companions of the Temple, one hand extending his long mantle, so as in some degree to hide his face; while the other held his cross-handled sword, with the point of which, sheathed as it was, he was slowly drawing lines upon the oaken floor.

``Unhappy man!'' said the Grand Master, after favouring him with a glance of compassion. ``Thou seest, Conrade, how this holy work distresses him. To this can the light look of woman, aided by the Prince of the Powers of this world, bring a valiant and worthy knight!---Seest thou he cannot look upon us; he cannot look upon her; and who knows by what impulse from his tormentor his hand forms these cabalistic lines upon the floor?---It may be our life and safety are thus aimed at; but we spit at and defy the foul enemy. _Semper Leo percutiatur!''

This was communicated apart to his confidential follower, Conrade Mont-Fitchet. The Grand Master then raised his voice, and addressed the assembly.

``Reverend and valiant men, Knights, Preceptors, and Companions of this Holy Order, my brethren and my children!---you also, well-born and pious Esquires, who aspire to wear this holy Cross! ---and you also, Christian brethren, of every degree! ---Be it known to you, that it is not defect of power in us which hath occasioned the assembling of this congregation; for, however unworthy in our person, yet to us is committed, with this batoon, full power to judge and to try all that regards the weal of this our Holy Order. Holy Saint Bernard, in the rule of our knightly and religious profession, hath said, in the fifty-ninth capital,*

* The reader is again referred to the Rules of the Poor Military * Brotherhood of the Temple, which occur in the Works of * St Bernard.---L. T.

that he would not that brethren be called together in council, save at the will and command of the Master; leaving it free to us, as to those more worthy fathers who have preceded us in this our office, to judge, as well of the occasion as of the time and place in which a chapter of the whole Order, or of any part thereof, may be convoked. Also, in all such chapters, it is our duty to hear the advice of our brethren, and to proceed according to our own pleasure. But when the raging wolf hath made an inroad upon the flock, and carried off one member thereof, it is the duty of the kind shepherd to call his comrades together, that with bows and slings they may quell the invader, according to our well-known rule, that the lion is ever to be beaten down. We have therefore summoned to our presence a Jewish woman, by name Rebecca, daughter of Isaac of York---a woman infamous for sortileges and for witcheries; whereby she hath maddened the blood, and besotted the brain, not of a churl, but of a Knight---not of a secular Knight, but of one devoted to the service of the Holy Temple---not of a Knight Companion, but of a Preceptor of our Order, first in honour as in place. Our brother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, is well known to ourselves, and to all degrees who now hear me, as a true and zealous champion of the Cross, by whose arm many deeds of valour have been wrought in the Holy Land, and the holy places purified from pollution by the blood of those infidels who defiled them. Neither have our brother's sagacity and prudence been less in repute among his brethren than his valour and discipline; in so much, that knights, both in eastern and western lands, have named De Bois-Guilbert as one who may well be put in nomination as successor to this batoon, when it shall please Heaven to release us from the toil of bearing it. If we were told that such a man, so honoured, and so honourable, suddenly casting away regard for his character, his vows, his brethren, and his prospects, had associated to himself a Jewish damsel, wandered in this lewd company, through solitary places, defended her person in preference to his own, and, finally, was so utterly blinded and besotted by his folly, as to bring her even to one of our own Preceptories, what should we say but that the noble knight was possessed by some evil demon, or influenced by some wicked spell?---If we could suppose it otherwise, think not rank, valour, high repute, or any earthly consideration, should prevent us from visiting him with punishment, that the evil thing might be removed, even according to the text, _Auferte malum ex vobis_. For various and heinous are the acts of transgression against the rule of our blessed Order in this lamentable history.---1st, He hath walked according to his proper will, contrary to capital 33, _Quod nullus juxta propriam voluntatem incedat_. ---2d, He hath held communication with an excommunicated person, capital 57, _Ut fratres non participent cum excommunicatis_, and therefore hath a portion in _Anathema Maranatha_.---3d, He hath conversed with strange women, contrary to the capital, _Ut fratres non conversantur cum extraneis mulieribus. ---4th, He hath not avoided, nay, he hath, it is to be feared, solicited the kiss of woman; by which, saith the last rule of our renowned Order, _Ut fugiantur oscula_, the soldiers of the Cross are brought into a snare. For which heinous and multiplied guilt, Brian de Bois-Guilbert should be cut off and cast out from our congregation, were he the right hand and right eye thereof.''

He paused. A low murmur went through the assembly. Some of the younger part, who had been inclined to smile at the statute _De osculis fugiendis_, became now grave enough, and anxiously waited what the Grand Master was next to propose.

``Such,'' he said, ``and so great should indeed be the punishment of a Knight Templar, who wilfully offended against the rules of his Order in such weighty points. But if, by means of charms and of spells, Satan had obtained dominion over the Knight, perchance because he cast his eyes too lightly upon a damsel's beauty, we are then rather to lament than chastise his backsliding; and, imposing on him only such penance as may purify him from his iniquity, we are to turn the full edge of our indignation upon the accursed instrument, which had so wellnigh occasioned his utter falling away. ---Stand forth, therefore, and bear witness, ye who have witnessed these unhappy doings, that we may judge of the sum and bearing thereof; and judge whether our justice may be satisfied with the punishment of this infidel woman, or if we must go on, with a bleeding heart, to the further proceeding against our brother.''

Several witnesses were called upon to prove the risks to which Bois-Guilbert exposed himself in endeavouring to save Rebecca from the blazing castle, and his neglect of his personal defence in attending to her safety. The men gave these details with the exaggerations common to vulgar minds which have been strongly excited by any remarkable event, and their natural disposition to the marvellous was greatly increased by the satisfaction which their evidence seemed to afford to the eminent person for whose information it had been delivered. Thus the dangers which Bois-Guilbert surmounted, in themselves sufficiently great, became portentous in their narrative. The devotion of the Knight to Rebecca's defence was exaggerated beyond the bounds, not only of discretion, but even of the most frantic excess of chivalrous zeal; and his deference to what she said, even although her language was often severe and upbraiding, was painted as carried to an excess, which, in a man of his haughty temper, seemed almost preternatural.

The Preceptor of Templestowe was then called on to describe the manner in which Bois-Guilbert and the Jewess arrived at the Preceptory. The evidence of Malvoisin was skilfully guarded. But while he apparently studied to spare the feelings of Bois-Guilbert, he threw in, from time to time, such hints, as seemed to infer that he laboured under some temporary alienation of mind, so deeply did he appear to be enamoured of the damsel whom he brought along with him. With sighs of penitence, the Preceptor avowed his own contrition for having admitted Rebecca and her lover within the walls of the Preceptory---``But my defence,'' he concluded, ``has been made in my confession to our most reverend father the Grand Master; he knows my motives were not evil, though my conduct may have been irregular. Joyfully will I submit to any penance he shall assign me.''

``Thou hast spoken well, Brother Albert,'' said Beaumanoir; ``thy motives were good, since thou didst judge it right to arrest thine erring brother in his career of precipitate folly. But thy conduct was wrong; as he that would stop a runaway steed, and seizing by the stirrup instead of the bridle, receiveth injury himself, instead of accomplishing his purpose. Thirteen paternosters are assigned by our pious founder for matins, and nine for vespers; be those services doubled by thee. Thrice a-week are Templars permitted the use of flesh; but do thou keep fast for all the seven days. This do for six weeks to come, and thy penance is accomplished.''

With a hypocritical look of the deepest submission, the Preceptor of Templestowe bowed to the ground before his Superior, and resumed his seat.

``Were it not well, brethren,'' said the Grand Master, ``that we examine something into the former life and conversation of this woman, specially that we may discover whether she be one likely to use magical charms and spells, since the truths which we have heard may well incline us to suppose, that in this unhappy course our erring brother has been acted upon by some infernal enticement and delusion?''

Herman of Goodalricke was the Fourth Preceptor present; the other three were Conrade, Malvoisin, and Bois-Guilbert himself. Herman was an ancient warrior, whose face was marked with sears inflicted by the sabre of the Moslemah, and had great rank and consideration among his brethren. He arose and bowed to the Grand Master, who instantly granted him license of speech. ``I would crave to know, most Reverend Father, of our valiant brother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, what he says to these wondrous accusations, and with what eye he himself now regards his unhappy intercourse with this Jewish maiden?''

``Brian de Bois-Guilbert,'' said the Grand Master, ``thou hearest the question which our Brother of Goodalricke desirest thou shouldst answer. I command thee to reply to him.''

Bois-Guilbert turned his head towards the Grand Master when thus addressed, and remained silent.

``He is possessed by a dumb devil,'' said the Grand Master. ``Avoid thee, Sathanus!---Speak, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, I conjure thee, by this symbol of our Holy Order.''

Bois-Guilbert made an effort to suppress his rising scorn and indignation, the expression of which, he was well aware, would have little availed him. ``Brian de Bois-Guilbert,'' he answered, ``replies not, most Reverend Father, to such wild and vague charges. If his honour be impeached, he will defend it with his body, and with that sword which has often fought for Christendom.''

``We forgive thee, Brother Brian,'' said the Grand Master; ``though that thou hast boasted thy warlike achievements before us, is a glorifying of thine own deeds, and cometh of the Enemy, who tempteth us to exalt our own worship. But thou hast our pardon, judging thou speakest less of thine own suggestion than from the impulse of him whom by Heaven's leave, we will quell and drive forth from our assembly.'' A glance of disdain flashed from the dark fierce eyes of Bois-Guilbert, but he made no reply.---``And now,'' pursued the Grand Master, ``since our Brother of Goodalricke's question has been thus imperfectly answered, pursue we our quest, brethren, and with our patron's assistance, we will search to the bottom this mystery of iniquity.---Let those who have aught to witness of the life and conversation of this Jewish woman, stand forth before us.'' There was a bustle in the lower part of the hall, and when the Grand Master enquired the reason, it was replied, there was in the crowd a bedridden man, whom the prisoner had restored to the perfect use of his limbs, by a miraculous balsam.

The poor peasant, a Saxon by birth, was dragged forward to the bar, terrified at the penal consequences which he might have incurred by the guilt of having been cured of the palsy by a Jewish damsel. Perfectly cured be certainly was not, for he supported himself forward on crutches to give evidence. Most unwilling was his testimony, and given with many tears; but he admitted that two years since, when residing at York, he was suddenly afflicted with a sore disease, while labouring for Isaac the rich Jew, in his vocation of a joiner; that he had been unable to stir from his bed until the remedies applied by Rebecca's directions, and especially a warming and spicy-smelling balsam, had in some degree restored him to the use of his limbs. Moreover, he said, she had given him a pot of that precious ointment, and furnished him with a piece of money withal, to return to the house of his father, near to Templestowe. ``And may it please your gracious Reverence,'' said the man, ``I cannot think the damsel meant harm by me, though she hath the ill hap to be a Jewess; for even when I used her remedy, I said the Pater and the Creed, and it never operated a whit less kindly---''

``Peace, slave,'' said the Grand Master, ``and begone! It well suits brutes like thee to be tampering and trinketing with hellish cures, and to be giving your labour to the sons of mischief. I tell thee, the fiend can impose diseases for the very purpose of removing them, in order to bring into credit some diabolical fashion of cure. Hast thou that unguent of which thou speakest?''

The peasant, fumbling in his bosom with a trembling hand, produced a small box, bearing some Hebrew characters on the lid, which was, with most of the audience, a sure proof that the devil had stood apothecary. Beaumanoir, after crossing himself, took the box into his hand, and, learned in most of the Eastern tongues, read with ease the motto on the lid,---_The Lion of the tribe of Judah hath conquered_. ``Strange powers of Sathanas.'' said he, ``which can convert Scripture into blasphemy, mingling poison with our necessary food!---Is there no leech here who can tell us the ingredients of this mystic unguent?''

Two mediciners, as they called themselves, the one a monk, the other a barber, appeared, and avouched they knew nothing of the materials, excepting that they savoured of myrrh and camphire, which they took to be Oriental herbs. But with the true professional hatred to a successful practitioner of their art, they insinuated that, since the medicine was beyond their own knowledge, it must necessarily have been compounded from an unlawful and magical pharmacopeia; since they themselves, though no conjurors, fully understood every branch of their art, so far as it might be exercised with the good faith of a Christian. When this medical research was ended, the Saxon peasant desired humbly to have back the medicine which he had found so salutary; but the Grand Master frowned severely at the request. ``What is thy name, fellow?'' said he to the cripple.

``Higg, the son of Snell,'' answered the peasant.

``Then Higg, son of Snell,'' said the Grand Master, ``I tell thee it is better to be bedridden, than to accept the benefit of unbelievers' medicine that thou mayest arise and walk; better to despoil infidels of their treasure by the strong hand, than to accept of them benevolent gifts, or do them service for wages. Go thou, and do as I have said.''

``Alack,'' said the peasant, ``an it shall not displease your Reverence, the lesson comes too late for me, for I am but a maimed man; but I will tell my two brethren, who serve the rich Rabbi Nathan Ben Samuel, that your mastership says it is more lawful to rob him than to render him faithful service.''

``Out with the prating villain!'' said Beaumanoir, who was not prepared to refute this practical application of his general maxim.

Higg, the son of Snell, withdrew into the crowd, but, interested in the fate of his benefactress, lingered until he should learn her doom, even at the risk of again encountering the frown of that severe judge, the terror of which withered his very heart within him.

At this period of the trial, the Grand Master commanded Rebecca to unveil herself. Opening her lips for the first time, she replied patiently, but with dignity,---``That it was not the wont of the daughters of her people to uncover their faces when alone in an assembly of strangers.'' The sweet tones. of her voice, and the softness of her reply, impressed on the audience a sentiment of pity and sympathy. But Beaumanoir, in whose mind the suppression of each feeling of humanity which could interfere with his imagined duty, was a virtue of itself, repeated his commands that his victim should be unveiled. The guards were about to remove her veil accordingly, when she stood up before the Grand Master and said, ``Nay, but for the love of your own daughters---Alas,'' she said, recollecting herself, ``ye have no daughters!---yet for the remembrance of your mothers---for the love of your sisters, and of female decency, let me not be thus handled in your presence; it suits not a maiden to be disrobed by such rude grooms. I will obey you,'' she added, with an expression of patient sorrow in her voice, which had almost melted the heart of Beaumanoir himself; ``ye are elders among your people, and at your command I will show the features of an ill-fated maiden.''

She withdrew her veil, and looked on them with a countenance in which bashfulness contended with dignity. Her exceeding beauty excited a murmur of surprise, and the younger knights told each other with their eyes, in silent correspondence, that Brian's best apology was in the power of her real charms, rather than of her imaginary witchcraft. But Higg, the son of Snell, felt most deeply the effect produced by the sight of the countenance of his benefactress. ``Let me go forth,'' he said to the warders at the door of the hall,---``let me go forth!---To look at her again will kill me, for I have had a share in murdering her.''

``Peace, poor man,'' said Rebecca, when she heard his exclamation; ``thou hast done me no harm by speaking the truth---thou canst not aid me by thy complaints or lamentations. Peace, I pray thee---go home and save thyself.''

Higg was about to be thrust out by the compassion of the warders, who were apprehensive lest his clamorous grief should draw upon them reprehension, and upon himself punishment. But he promised to be silent, and was permitted to remain. The two men-at-arms, with whom Albert Malvoisin had not failed to communicate upon the import of their testimony, were now called forward. Though both were hardened and inflexible villains, the sight of the captive maiden, as well as her excelling beauty, at first appeared to stagger them; but an expressive glance from the Preceptor of Templestowe restored them to their dogged composure; and they delivered, with a precision which would have seemed suspicious to more impartial judges, circumstances either altogether fictitious or trivial, and natural in themselves, but rendered pregnant with suspicion by the exaggerated manner in which they were told, and the sinister commentary which the witnesses added to the facts. The circumstances of their evidence would have been, in modern days, divided into two classes---those which were immaterial, and those which were actually and physically impossible. But both were, in those ignorant and superstitions times, easily credited as proofs of guilt.---The first class set forth, that Rebecca was heard to mutter to herself in an unknown tongue ---that the songs she sung by fits were of a strangely sweet sound, which made the ears of the hearer tingle, and his heart throb---that she spoke at times to herself, and seemed to look upward for a reply ---that her garments were of a strange and mystic form, unlike those of women of good repute---that she had rings impressed with cabalistical devices, and that strange characters were broidered on her veil.

All these circumstances, so natural and so trivial, were gravely listened to as proofs, or, at least, as affording strong suspicions that Rebecca had unlawful correspondence with mystical powers.

But there was less equivocal testimony, which the credulity of the assembly, or of the greater part, greedily swallowed, however incredible. One of the soldiers had seen her work a cure upon a wounded man, brought with them to the castle of Torquilstone. She did, he said, make certain signs upon the wound, and repeated certain mysterious words, which he blessed God he understood not, when the iron head of a square cross-bow bolt disengaged itself from the wound, the bleeding was stanched, the wound was closed, and the dying man was, within a quarter of an hour, walking upon the ramparts, and assisting the witness in managing a mangonel, or machine for hurling stones. This legend was probably founded upon the fact, that Rebecca had attended on the wounded Ivanhoe when in the castle of Torquilstone. But it was the more difficult to dispute the accuracy of the witness, as, in order to produce real evidence in support of his verbal testimony, he drew from his pouch the very bolt-head, which, according to his story, had been miraculously extracted from the wound; and as the iron weighed a full ounce, it completely confirmed the tale, however marvellous.

His comrade had been a witness from a neighbouring battlement of the scene betwixt Rebecca and Bois-Guilbert, when she was upon the point of precipitating herself from the top of the tower. Not to be behind his companion, this fellow stated, that he had seen Rebecca perch herself upon the parapet of the turret, and there take the form of a milk-white swan, under which appearance she flitted three times round the castle of Torquilstone; then again settle on the turret, and once more assume the female form.

Less than one half of this weighty evidence would have been sufficient to convict any old woman, poor and ugly, even though she had not been a Jewess. United with that fatal circumstance, the body of proof was too weighty for Rebecca's youth, though combined with the most exquisite beauty.

The Grand Master had collected the suffrages, and now in a solemn tone demanded of Rebecca what she had to say against the sentence of condemnation, which he was about to pronounce.

``To invoke your pity,'' said the lovely Jewess, with a voice somewhat tremulous with emotion, ``would, I am aware, be as useless as I should hold it mean. To state that to relieve the sick and wounded of another religion, cannot be displeasing to the acknowledged Founder of both our faiths, were also unavailing; to plead that many things which these men (whom may Heaven pardon!) have spoken against me are impossible, would avail me but little, since you believe in their possibility; and still less would it advantage me to explain, that the peculiarities of my dress, language, and manners, are those of my people---I had wellnigh said of my country, but alas! we have no country. Nor will I even vindicate myself at the expense of my oppressor, who stands there listening to the fictions and surmises which seem to convert the tyrant into the victim.---God be judge between him and me! but rather would I submit to ten such deaths as your pleasure may denounce against me, than listen to the suit which that man of Belial has urged upon me---friendless, defenceless, and his prisoner. But he is of your own faith, and his lightest affirmance would weigh down the most solemn protestations of the distressed Jewess. I will not therefore return to himself the charge brought against me---but to himself---Yes, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, to thyself I appeal, whether these accusations are not false? as monstrous and calumnious as they are deadly?''

There was a pause; all eyes turned to Brain de Bois-Guilbert. He was silent.

``Speak,'' she said, ``if thou art a man---if thou art a Christian, speak!---I conjure thee, by the habit which thou dost wear, by the name thou dost inherit---by the knighthood thou dost vaunt---by the honour of thy mother---by the tomb and the bones of thy father---I conjure thee to say, are these things true?''

``Answer her, brother,'' said the Grand Master, ``if the Enemy with whom thou dost wrestle will give thee power.''

In fact, Bois-Guilbert seemed agitated by contending passions, which almost convulsed his features, and it was with a constrained voice that at last he replied, looking to Rebecca,---``The scroll! ---the scroll!''

``Ay,'' said Beaumanoir, ``this is indeed testimony! The victim of her witcheries can only name the fatal scroll, the spell inscribed on which is, doubtless, the cause of his silence.''

But Rebecca put another interpretation on the words extorted as it were from Bois-Guilbert, and glancing her eye upon the slip of parchment which she continued to hold in her hand, she read written thereupon in the Arabian character, _Demand a Champion!_ The murmuring commentary which ran through the assembly at the strange reply of Bois-Guilbert, gave Rebecca leisure to examine and instantly to destroy the scroll unobserved. When the whisper had ceased, the Grand Master spoke.

``Rebecca, thou canst derive no benefit from the evidence of this unhappy knight, for whom, as we well perceive, the Enemy is yet too powerful. Hast thou aught else to say?''

``There is yet one chance of life left to me,'' said Rebecca, ``even by your own fierce laws. Life has been miserable---miserable, at least, of late---but I will not cast away the gift of God, while he affords me the means of defending it. I deny this charge ---I maintain my innocence, and I declare the falsehood of this accusation---I challenge the privilege of trial by combat, and will appear by my champion.''

``And who, Rebecca,'' replied the Grand Master, ``will lay lance in rest for a sorceress? who will be the champion of a Jewess?''

``God will raise me up a champion,'' said Rebecca--- ``It cannot be that in merry England---the hospitable, the generous, the free, where so many are ready to peril their lives for honour, there will not be found one to fight for justice. But it is enough that I challenge the trial by combat---there lies my gage.''

She took her embroidered glove from her hand, and flung it down before the Grand Master with an air of mingled simplicity and dignity, which excited universal surprise and admiration.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

------There I throw my gage, To prove it on thee to the extremest point Of martial daring. _Richard II._

Even Lucas Beaumanoir himself was affected by the mien and appearance of Rebecca. He was not originally a cruel or even a severe man; but with passions by nature cold, and with a high, though mistaken, sense of duty, his heart had been gradually hardened by the ascetic life which he pursued, the supreme power which he enjoyed, and the supposed necessity of subduing infidelity and eradicating heresy, which he conceived peculiarly incumbent on him. His features relaxed in their usual severity as he gazed upon the beautiful creature before him, alone, unfriended, and defending herself with so much spirit and courage. He crossed himself twice, as doubting whence arose the unwonted softening of a heart, which on such occasions used to resemble in hardness the steel of his sword. At length he spoke.

``Damsel,'' he said, ``if the pity I feel for thee arise from any practice thine evil arts have made on me, great is thy guilt. But I rather judge it the kinder feelings of nature, which grieves that so goodly a form should be a vessel of perdition. Repent, my daughter---confess thy witchcrafts---turn thee from thine evil faith---embrace this holy emblem, and all shall yet be well with thee here and hereafter. In some sisterhood of the strictest order, shalt thou have time for prayer and fitting penance, and that repentance not to be repented of. This do and live---what has the law of Moses done for thee that thou shouldest die for it?''

``It was the law of my fathers,'' said Rebecca; ``it was delivered in thunders and in storms upon the mountain of Sinai, in cloud and in fire. This, if ye are Christians, ye believe---it is, you say, recalled; but so my teachers have not taught me.''

``Let our chaplain,'' said Beaumanoir, ``stand forth, and tell this obstinate infidel---''

``Forgive the interruption,'' said Rebecca, meekly; ``I am a maiden, unskilled to dispute for my religion, but I can die for it, if it be God's will.--- Let me pray your answer to my demand of a champion.''

``Give me her glove,'' said Beaumanoir. ``This is indeed,'' he continued, as he looked at the flimsy texture and slender fingers, ``a slight and frail gage for a purpose so deadly!---Seest thou, Rebecca, as this thin and light glove of thine is to one of our heavy steel gauntlets, so is thy cause to that of the Temple, for it is our Order which thou hast defied.''

``Cast my innocence into the scale,'' answered Rebecca, ``and the glove of silk shall outweigh the glove of iron.''

``Then thou dost persist in thy refusal to confess thy guilt, and in that bold challenge which thou hast made?''

``I do persist, noble sir,'' answered Rebecca.

``So be it then, in the name of Heaven,'' said the Grand Master; ``and may God show the right!''

``Amen,'' replied the Preceptors around him, and the word was deeply echoed by the whole assembly.

``Brethren,'' said Beaumanoir, ``you are aware that we might well have refused to this woman the benefit of the trial by combat---but though a Jewess and an unbeliever, she is also a stranger and defenceless, and God forbid that she should ask the benefit of our mild laws, and that it should be refused to her. Moreover, we are knights and soldiers as well as men of religion, and shame it were to us upon any pretence, to refuse proffered combat. Thus, therefore, stands the case. Rebecca, the daughter of Isaac of York, is, by many frequent and suspicious circumstances, defamed of sorcery practised on the person of a noble knight of our holy Order, and hath challenged the combat in proof of her innocence. To whom, reverend brethren, is it your opinion that we should deliver the gage of battle, naming him, at the same time, to be our champion on the field?''

``To Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whom it chiefly concerns,'' said the Preceptor of Goodalricke, ``and who, moreover, best knows how the truth stands in this matter.''

``But if,'' said the Grand Master, ``our brother Brian be under the influence of a charm or a spell ---we speak but for the sake of precaution, for to the arm of none of our holy Order would we more willingly confide this or a more weighty cause.''

``Reverend father,'' answered the Preceptor of Goodalricke, ``no spell can effect the champion who comes forward to fight for the judgment of God.''

``Thou sayest right, brother,'' said the Grand Master. ``Albert Malvoisin, give this gage of battle to Brian de Bois-Guilbert.---It is our charge to thee, brother,'' he continued, addressing himself to Bois-Guilbert, ``that thou do thy battle manfully, nothing doubting that the good cause shall triumph. ---And do thou, Rebecca, attend, that we assign thee the third day from the present to find a champion.''

``That is but brief space,'' answered Rebecca, ``for a stranger, who is also of another faith, to find one who will do battle, wagering life and honour for her cause, against a knight who is called an approved soldier.''

``We may not extend it,'' answered the Grand Master; ``the field must be foughten in our own presence, and divers weighty causes call us on the fourth day from hence.''

``God's will be done!'' said Rebecca; ``I put my trust in Him, to whom an instant is as effectual to save as a whole age.''

``Thou hast spoken well, damsel,'' said the Grand Master; ``but well know we who can array himself like an angel of light. It remains but to name a fitting place of combat, and, if it so hap, also of execution. ---Where is the Preceptor of this house?''

Albert Malvoisin, still holding Rebecca's glove in his hand, was speaking to Bois-Guilbert very earnestly, but in a low voice.

``How!'' said the Grand Master, ``will he not receive the gage?''

``He will---he doth, most Reverend Father,'' said Malvoisin, slipping the glove under his own mantle. ``And for the place of combat, I hold the fittest to be the lists of Saint George belonging to this Preceptory, and used by us for military exercise.''

``It is well,'' said the Grand Master.---``Rebecca, in those lists shalt thou produce thy champion; and if thou failest to do so, or if thy champion shall be discomfited by the judgment of God, thou shalt then die the death of a sorceress, according to doom.---Let this our judgment be recorded, and the record read aloud, that no one may pretend ignorance.''

One of the chaplains, who acted as clerks to the chapter, immediately engrossed the order in a huge volume, which contained the proceedings of the Templar Knights when solemnly assembled on such occasions; and when he had finished writing, the other read aloud the sentence of the Grand Master, which, when translated from the Norman-French in which it was couched, was expressed as follows.---

``Rebecca, a Jewess, daughter of Isaac of York, being attainted of sorcery, seduction, and other damnable practices, practised on a Knight of the most Holy Order of the Temple of Zion, doth deny the same; and saith, that the testimony delivered against her this day is false, wicked, and disloyal; and that by lawful _essoine_* of her body as being

* _Essoine_ signifies excuse, and here relates to the appellant's * privilege of appearing by her champion, in excuse of her own * person on account of her sex.

unable to combat in her own behalf, she doth offer, by a champion instead thereof, to avouch her case, he performing his loyal _devoir_ in all knightly sort, with such arms as to gage of battle do fully appertain, and that at her peril and cost. And therewith she proffered her gage. And the gage having been delivered to the noble Lord and Knight, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, of the Holy Order of the Temple of Zion, he was appointed to do this battle, in behalf of his Order and himself, as injured and impaired by the practices of the appellant. Wherefore the most reverend Father and puissant Lord, Lucas Marquis of Beaumanoir, did allow of the said challenge, and of the said _essoine_ of the appellant's body, and assigned the third day for the said combat, the place being the enclosure called the lists of Saint George, near to the Preceptory of Templestowe. And the Grand Master appoints the appellant to appear there by her champion, on pain of doom, as a person convicted of sorcery or seduction; and also the defendant so to appear, under the penalty of being held and adjudged recreant in case of default; and the noble Lord and most reverend Father aforesaid appointed the battle to be done in his own presence, and according to all that is commendable and profitable in such a case. And may God aid the just cause!''

``Amen!'' said the Grand Master; and the word was echoed by all around. Rebecca spoke not, but she looked up to heaven, and, folding her hands, remained for a minute without change of attitude. She then modestly reminded the Grand Master, that she ought to be permitted some opportunity of free communication with her friends, for the purpose of making her condition known to them, and procuring, if possible, some champion to fight in her behalf.

``It is just and lawful,'' said the Grand Master; ``choose what messenger thou shalt trust, and he shall have free communication with thee in thy prison-chamber.''

``Is there,'' said Rebecca, ``any one here, who, either for love of a good cause, or for ample hire, will do the errand of a distressed being?''

All were silent; for none thought it safe, in the presence of the Grand Master, to avow any interest in the calumniated prisoner, lest he should be suspected of leaning towards Judaism. Not even the prospect of reward, far less any feelings of compassion alone, could surmount this apprehension.

Rebecca stood for a few moments in indescribable anxiety, and then exclaimed, ``Is it really thus? ---And, in English land, am I to be deprived of the poor chance of safety which remains to me, for want of an act of charity which would not be refused to the worst criminal?''

Higg, the son of Snell, at length replied, ``I am but a maimed man, but that I can at all stir or move was owing to her charitable assistance.---I will do thine errand,'' he added, addressing Rebecca, ``as well as a crippled object can, and happy were my limbs fleet enough to repair the mischief done by my tongue. Alas! when I boasted of thy charity, I little thought I was leading thee into danger!''

``God,'' said Rebecca, ``is the disposer of all. He can turn back the captivity of Judah, even by the weakest instrument. To execute his message the snail is as sure a messenger as the falcon. Seek out Isaac of York---here is that will pay for horse and man---let him have this scroll.---I know not if it be of Heaven the spirit which inspires me, but most truly do I judge that I am not to die this death, and that a champion will be raised up for me. Farewell!---Life and death are in thy haste.''

The peasant took the scroll, which contained only a few lines in Hebrew. Many of the crowd would have dissuaded him from touching a document so suspicious; but Higg was resolute in the service of his benefactress. She had saved his body, he said, and he was confident she did not mean to peril his soul.

``I will get me,'' he said, ``my neighbour Buthan's good capul,* and I will be at York within as

* _Capul_, i.e. horse; in a more limited sense, work-horse.

brief space as man and beast may.''

But as it fortuned, he had no occasion to go so far, for within a quarter of a mile from the gate of the Preceptory he met with two riders, whom, by their dress and their huge yellow caps, he knew to be Jews; and, on approaching more nearly, discovered that one of them was his ancient employer, Isaac of York. The other was the Rabbi Ben Samuel; and both had approached as near to the Preceptory as they dared, on hearing that the Grand Master had summoned a chapter for the trial of a sorceress.

``Brother Ben Samuel,'' said Isaac, ``my soul is disquieted, and I wot not why. This charge of necromancy is right often used for cloaking evil practices on our people.''

``Be of good comfort, brother,'' said the physician; ``thou canst deal with the Nazarenes as one possessing the mammon of unrighteousness, and canst therefore purchase immunity at their hands ---it rules the savage minds of those ungodly men, even as the signet of the mighty Solomon was said to command the evil genii.---But what poor wretch comes hither upon his crutches, desiring, as I think, some speech of me?---Friend,'' continued the physician, addressing Higg, the son of Snell, ``I refuse thee not the aid of mine art, but I relieve not with one asper those who beg for alms upon the highway. Out upon thee!---Hast thou the palsy in thy legs? then let thy hands work for thy livelihood; for, albeit thou best unfit for a speedy post, or for a careful shepherd, or for the warfare, or for the service of a hasty master, yet there be occupations ---How now, brother?'' said he, interrupting his harangue to look towards Isaac, who had but glanced at the scroll which Higg offered, when, uttering a deep groan, he fell from his mule like a dying man, and lay for a minute insensible.

The Rabbi now dismounted in great alarm, and hastily applied the remedies which his art suggested for the recovery of his companion. He had even taken from his pocket a cupping apparatus, and was about to proceed to phlebotomy, when the object of his anxious solicitude suddenly revived; but it was to dash his cap from his head, and to throw dust on his grey hairs. The physician was at first inclined to ascribe this sudden and violent emotion to the effects of insanity; and, adhering to his original purpose, began once again to handle his implements. But Isaac soon convinced him of his error.

``Child of my sorrow,'' he said, ``well shouldst thou be called Benoni, instead of Rebecca! Why should thy death bring down my grey hairs to the grave, till, in the bitterness of my heart, I curse God and die!''

``Brother,'' said the Rabbi, in great surprise, ``art thou a father in Israel, and dost thou utter words like unto these?---I trust that the child of thy house yet liveth?''

``She liveth,'' answered Isaac; ``but it is as Daniel, who was called Beltheshazzar, even when within the den of the lions. She is captive unto those men of Belial, and they will wreak their cruelty upon her, sparing neither for her youth nor her comely favour. O! she was as a crown of green palms to my grey locks; and she must wither in a night, like the gourd of Jonah!---Child of my love! ---child of my old age!---oh, Rebecca, daughter of Rachel! the darkness of the shadow of death hath encompassed thee.''

``Yet read the scroll,'' said the Rabbi; ``peradventure it may be that we may yet find out a way of deliverance.''

``Do thou read, brother,'' answered Isaac, ``for mine eyes are as a fountain of water.''

The physician read, but in their native language, the following words:---

``To Isaac, the son of Adonikam, whom the Gentiles call Isaac of York, peace and the blessing of the promise be multiplied unto thee!---My father, I am as one doomed to die for that which my soul knoweth not---even for the crime of witchcraft. My father, if a strong man can be found to do battle for my cause with sword and spear, according to the custom of the Nazarenes, and that within the lists of Templestowe, on the third day from this time, peradventure our fathers' God will give him strength to defend the innocent, and her who hath none to help her. But if this may not be, let the virgins of our people mourn for me as for one cast off, and for the hart that is stricken by the hunter, and for the flower which is cut down by the scythe of the mower. Wherefore look now what thou doest, and whether there be any rescue. One Nazarene warrior might indeed bear arms in my behalf, even Wilfred, son of Cedric, whom the Gentiles call Ivanhoe. But he may not yet endure the weight of his armour. Nevertheless, send the tidings unto him, my father; for he hath favour among the strong men of his people, and as he was our companion in the house of bondage, he may find some one to do battle for my sake. And say unto him, even unto him, even unto Wilfred, the son of Cedric, that if Rebecca live, or if Rebecca die, she liveth or dieth wholly free of the guilt she is charged withal. And if it be the will of God that thou shalt be deprived of thy daughter, do not thou tarry, old man, in this land of bloodshed and cruelty; but betake thyself to Cordova, where thy brother liveth in safety, under the shadow of the throne, even of the throne of Boabdil the Saracen; for less cruel are the cruelties of the Moors unto the race of Jacob, than the cruelties of the Nazarenes of England.''

Isaac listened with tolerable composure while Ben Samuel read the letter, and then again resumed the gestures and exclamations of Oriental sorrow, tearing his garments, besprinkling his head with dust, and ejaculating, ``My daughter! my daughter! flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bone!''

``Yet,'' said the Rabbi, ``take courage, for this grief availeth nothing. Gird up thy loins, and seek out this Wilfred, the son of Cedric. It may be he will help thee with counsel or with strength; for the youth hath favour in the eyes of Richard, called of the Nazarenes C<oe>ur-de-Lion, and the tidings that he hath returned are constant in the land. It may be that be may obtain his letter, and his signet, commanding these men of blood, who take their name from the Temple to the dishonour thereof, that they proceed not in their purposed wickedness.''

``I will seek him out,'' said Isaac, ``for he is a good youth, and hath compassion for the exile of Jacob. But he cannot bear his armour, and what other Christian shall do battle for the oppressed of Zion?''

``Nay, but,'' said the Rabbi, ``thou speakest as one that knoweth not the Gentiles. With gold shalt thou buy their valour, even as with gold thou buyest thine own safety. Be of good courage, and do thou set forward to find out this Wilfred of Ivanhoe. I will also up and be doing, for great sin it were to leave thee in thy calamity. I will hie me to the city of York, where many warriors and strong men are assembled, and doubt not I will find among them some one who will do battle for thy daughter; for gold is their god, and for riches will they pawn their lives as well as their lands.--- Thou wilt fulfil, my brother, such promise as I may make unto them in thy name?''

``Assuredly, brother,'' said Isaac, ``and Heaven be praised that raised me up a comforter in my misery. Howbeit, grant them not their full demand at once, for thou shalt find it the quality of this accursed people that they will ask pounds, and peradventure accept of ounces---Nevertheless, be it as thou willest, for I am distracted in this thing, and what would my gold avail me if the child of my love should perish!''

``Farewell,'' said the physician, ``and may it be to thee as thy heart desireth.''

They embraced accordingly, and departed on their several roads. The crippled peasant remained for some time looking after them.

``These dog-Jews!'' said he; ``to take no more notice of a free guild-brother, than if I were a bond slave or a Turk, or a circumcised Hebrew like themselves! They might have flung me a mancus or two, however. I was not obliged to bring their unhallowed scrawls, and run the risk of being bewitched, as more folks than one told me. And what care I for the bit of gold that the wench gave me, if I am to come to harm from the priest next Easter at confession, and be obliged to give him twice as much to make it up with him, and be called the Jew's flying post all my life, as it may hap, into the bargain? I think I was bewitched in earnest when I was beside that girl!---But it was always so with Jew or Gentile, whosoever came near her---none could stay when she had an errand to go---and still, whenever I think of her, I would give shop and tools to save her life.''

CHAPTER XXXIX

O maid, unrelenting and cold as thou art, My bosom is proud as thine own. _Seward_.

It was in the twilight of the day when her trial, if it could be called such, had taken place, that a low knock was heard at the door of Rebecca's prison-chamber. It disturbed not the inmate, who was then engaged in the evening prayer recommended by her religion, and which concluded with a hymn we have ventured thus to translate into English.

When Israel, of the Lord beloved, Out of the land of bondage came, Her father's God before her moved, An awful guide, in smoke and flame. By day, along the astonish'd lands The cloudy pillar glided slow; By night, Arabia's crimson'd sands Return'd the fiery column's glow.

There rose the choral hymn of praise, And trump and timbrel answer'd keen, And Zion's daughters pour'd their lays, With priest's and warrior's voice between. No portents now our foes amaze, Forsaken Israel wanders lone; Our fathers would not know =Thy= ways, And =Thou= hast left them to their own.

But, present still, though now unseen; When brightly shines the prosperous day, Be thoughts of =Thee= a cloudy screen To temper the deceitful ray. And oh, when stoops on Judah's path In shade and storm the frequent night, Be =Thou=, long-suffering, slow to wrath, A burning, and a shining light!

Our harps we left by Babel's streams, The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn; No censer round our altar beams, And mute our timbrel, trump, and horn. But =Thou= hast said, the blood of goat, The flesh of rams, I will not prize; A contrite heart, and humble thought, Are mine accepted sacrifice.

When the sounds of Rebecca's devotional hymn had died away in silence, the low knock at the door was again renewed. ``Enter,'' she said, ``if thou art a friend; and if a foe, I have not the means of refusing thy entrance.''

``I am,'' said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, entering the apartment, ``friend or foe, Rebecca, as the event of this interview shall make me.''

Alarmed at the sight of this man, whose licentious passion she considered as the root of her misfortunes, Rebecca drew backward with a cautious and alarmed, yet not a timorous demeanour, into the farthest corner of the apartment, as if determined to retreat as far as she could, but to stand her ground when retreat became no longer possible. She drew herself into an attitude not of defiance, but of resolution, as one that would avoid provoking assault, yet was resolute to repel it, being offered, to the utmost of her power.

``You have no reason to fear me, Rebecca,'' said the Templar; ``Or if I must so qualify my speech, you have at least _now_ no reason to fear me.''

``I fear you not, Sir Knight,'' replied Rebecca, although her short-drawn breath seemed to belie the heroism of her accents my trust is strong, and I fear thee not.''

``You have no cause,'' answered Bois-Guilbert, gravely; ``my former frantic attempts you have not now to dread. Within your call are guards, over whom I have no authority. They are designed to conduct you to death, Rebecca, yet would not suffer you to be insulted by any one, even by me, were my frenzy---for frenzy it is---to urge me so far.''

``May Heaven be praised!'' said the Jewess; ``death is the least of my apprehensions in this den of evil.''

``Ay,'' replied the Templar, ``the idea of death is easily received by the courageous mind, when the road to it is sudden and open. A thrust with a lance, a stroke with a sword, were to me little--- To you, a spring from a dizzy battlement, a stroke with a sharp poniard, has no terrors, compared with what either thinks disgrace. Mark me---I say this---perhaps mine own sentiments of honour are not less fantastic, Rebecca, than thine are; but we know alike how to die for them.''

``Unhappy man,'' said the Jewess; ``and art thou condemned to expose thy life for principles, of which thy sober judgment does not acknowledge the solidity? Surely this is a parting with your treasure for that which is not bread---but deem not so of me. Thy resolution may fluctuate on the wild and changeful billows of human opinion, but mine is anchored on the Rock of Ages.''

``Silence, maiden,'' answered the Templar; ``such discourse now avails but little. Thou art condemned to die not a sudden and easy death, such as misery chooses, and despair welcomes, but a slow, wretched, protracted course of torture, suited to what the diabolical bigotry of these men calls thy crime.''

``And to whom---if such my fate---to whom do I owe this?'' said Rebecca ``surely only to him, who, for a most selfish and brutal cause, dragged me hither, and who now, for some unknown purpose of his own, strives to exaggerate the wretched fate to which he exposed me.''

``Think not,'' said the Templar, ``that I have so exposed thee; I would have bucklered thee against such danger with my own bosom, as freely as ever I exposed it to the shafts which had otherwise reached thy life.''

``Had thy purpose been the honourable protection of the innocent,'' said Rebecca, ``I had thanked thee for thy care---as it is, thou hast claimed merit for it so often, that I tell thee life is worth nothing to me, preserved at the price which thou wouldst exact for it.''

``Truce with thine upbraidings, Rebecca,'' said the Templar; ``I have my own cause of grief, and brook not that thy reproaches should add to it.''

``What is thy purpose, then, Sir Knight?'' said the Jewess; ``speak it briefly.---If thou hast aught to do, save to witness the misery thou hast caused, let me know it; and then, if so it please you, leave me to myself---the step between time and eternity is short but terrible, and I have few moments to prepare for it.''

``I perceive, Rebecca,'' said Bois-Guilbert, ``that thou dost continue to burden me with the charge of distresses, which most fain would I have prevented.''

``Sir Knight,'' said Rebecca, ``I would avoid reproaches---But what is more certain than that I owe my death to thine unbridled passion?''

``You err---you err,''---said the Templar, hastily, ``if you impute what I could neither foresee nor prevent to my purpose or agency.---Could I guess the unexpected arrival of yon dotard, whom some flashes of frantic valour, and the praises yielded by fools to the stupid self-torments of an ascetic, have raised for the present above his own merits, above common sense, above me, and above the hundreds of our Order, who think and feel as men free from such silly and fantastic prejudices as are the grounds of his opinions and actions?''

``Yet,'' said Rebecca, ``you sate a judge upon me, innocent---most innocent---as you knew me to be---you concurred in my condemnation, and, if I aright understood, are yourself to appear in arms to assert my guilt, and assure my punishment.''

``Thy patience, maiden,'' replied the Templar. ``No race knows so well as thine own tribes how to submit to the time, and so to trim their bark as to make advantage even of an adverse wind.''

``Lamented be the hour,'' said Rebecca, ``that has taught such art to the House of Israel! but adversity bends the heart as fire bends the stubborn steel, and those who are no longer their own governors, and the denizens of their own free independent state, must crouch before strangers. It is our curse, Sir Knight, deserved, doubtless, by our own misdeeds and those of our fathers; but you--- you who boast your freedom as your birthright, how much deeper is your disgrace when you stoop to soothe the prejudices of others, and that against your own conviction?''

``Your words are bitter, Rebecca,'' said Bois-Guilbert, pacing the apartment with impatience, ``but I came not hither to bandy reproaches with you.---Know that Bois-Guilbert yields not to created man, although circumstances may for a time induce him to alter his plan. His will is the mountain stream, which may indeed be turned for a little space aside by the rock, but fails not to find its course to the ocean. That scroll which warned thee to demand a champion, from whom couldst thou think it came, if not from Bois-Guilbert? In whom else couldst thou have excited such interest?''

``A brief respite from instant death,'' said Rebecca, ``which will little avail me---was this all thou couldst do for one, on whose head thou hast heaped sorrow, and whom thou hast brought near even to the verge of the tomb?''

``No maiden,'' said Bois-Guilbert, ``this was _not_ all that I purposed. Had it not been for the accursed interference of yon fanatical dotard, and the fool of Goodalricke, who, being a Templar, affects to think and judge according to the ordinary rules of humanity, the office of the Champion Defender had devolved, not on a Preceptor, but on a Companion of the Order. Then I myself---such was my purpose---had, on the sounding of the trumpet, appeared in the lists as thy champion, disguised indeed in the fashion of a roving knight, who seeks adventures to prove his shield and spear; and then, let Beaumanoir have chosen not one, but two or three of the brethren here assembled, I had not doubted to cast them out of the saddle with my single lance. Thus, Rebecca, should thine innocence have been avouched, and to thine own gratitude would I have trusted for the reward of my victory.''

``This, Sir Knight,'' said Rebecca, ``is but idle boasting---a brag of what you would have done had you not found it convenient to do otherwise. You received my glove, and my champion, if a creature so desolate can find one, must encounter your lance in the lists---yet you would assume the air of my friend and protector!''

``Thy friend and protector,'' said the Templar, gravely, ``I will yet be---but mark at what risk, or rather at what certainty, of dishonour; and then blame me not if I make my stipulations, before I offer up all that I have hitherto held dear, to save the life of a Jewish maiden.''

``Speak,'' said Rebecca; ``I understand thee not.''

``Well, then,'' said Bois-Guilbert, ``I will speak as freely as ever did doting penitent to his ghostly father, when placed in the tricky confessional.--- Rebecca, if I appear not in these lists I lose fame and rank---lose that which is the breath of my nostrils, the esteem, I mean, in which I am held by my brethren, and the hopes I have of succeeding to that mighty authority, which is now wielded by the bigoted dotard Lucas de Beaumanoir, but of which I should make a different use. Such is my certain doom, except I appear in arms against thy cause. Accursed be he of Goodalricke, who baited this trap for me! and doubly accursed Albert de Malvoisin, who withheld me from the resolution I had formed, of hurling back the glove at the face of the superstitious and superannuated fool, who listened to a charge so absurd, and against a creature so high in mind, and so lovely in form as thou art!''

``And what now avails rant or flattery?'' answered Rebecca. ``Thou hast made thy choice between causing to be shed the blood of an innocent woman, or of endangering thine own earthly state and earthly hopes---What avails it to reckon together?---thy choice is made.''

``No, Rebecca,'' said the knight, in a softer tone, and drawing nearer towards her; ``my choice is =not= made---nay, mark, it is thine to make the election. If I appear in the lists, I must maintain my name in arms; and if I do so, championed or unchampioned, thou diest by the stake and faggot, for there lives not the knight who hath coped with me in arms on equal issue, or on terms of vantage, save Richard C<oe>ur-de-Lion, and his minion of Ivanhoe. Ivanhoe, as thou well knowest, is unable to bear his corslet, and Richard is in a foreign prison. If I appear, then thou diest, even although thy charms should instigate some hot-headed youth to enter the lists in thy defence.''

``And what avails repeating this so often?'' said Rebecca.

``Much,'' replied the Templar; ``for thou must learn to look at thy fate on every side.''

``Well, then, turn the tapestry,'' said the Jewess, ``and let me see the other side.''

``If I appear,'' said Bois-Guilbert, ``in the fatal lists, thou diest by a slow and cruel death, in pain such as they say is destined to the guilty hereafter. But if I appear not, then am I a degraded and dishonoured knight, accused of witchcraft and of communion with infidels---the illustrious name which bas grown yet more so under my wearing, becomes a hissing and a reproach. I lose fame, I lose honour, I lose the prospect of such greatness as scarce emperors attain to---I sacrifice mighty ambition, I destroy schemes built as high as the mountains with which heathens say their heaven was once nearly scaled---and yet, Rebecca,'' he added, throwing himself at her feet, ``this greatness will I sacrifice, this fame will I renounce, this power will I forego, even now when it is half within my grasp, if thou wilt say, Bois-Guilbert, I receive thee for my lover.''

``Think not of such foolishness, Sir Knight,'' answered Rebecca, ``but hasten to the Regent, the Queen Mother, and to Prince John---they cannot, in honour to the English crown, allow of the proceedings of your Grand Master. So shall you give me protection without sacrifice on your part, or the pretext of requiring any requital from me.''

``With these I deal not,'' he continued, holding the train of her robe---``it is thee only I address; and what can counterbalance thy choice? Bethink thee, were I a fiend, yet death is a worse, and it is death who is my rival.''

``I weigh not these evils,'' said Rebecca, afraid to provoke the wild knight, yet equally determined neither to endure his passion, nor even feign to endure it. ``Be a man, be a Christian! If indeed thy faith recommends that mercy which rather your tongues than your actions pretend, save me from this dreadful death, without seeking a requital which would change thy magnanimity into base barter.''

``No, damsel!'' said the proud Templar, springing up, ``thou shalt not thus impose on me---if I renounce present fame and future ambition, I renounce it for thy sake, and we will escape in company. Listen to me, Rebecca,'' he said, again softening his tone; ``England,---Europe,---is not the world. There are spheres in which we may act, ample enough even for my ambition. We will go to Palestine, where Conrade, Marquis of Montserrat, is my friend---a friend free as myself from the doting scruples which fetter our free-born reason ----rather with Saladin will we league ourselves, than endure the scorn of the bigots whom we contemn. ---I will form new paths to greatness,'' he continued, again traversing the room with hasty strides ---``Europe shall hear the loud step of him she has driven from her sons!---Not the millions whom her crusaders send to slaughter, can do so much to defend Palestine---not the sabres of the thousands and ten thousands of Saracens can hew their way so deep into that land for which nations are striving, as the strength and policy of me and those brethren, who, in despite of yonder old bigot, will adhere to me in good and evil. Thou shalt be a queen, Rebecca---on Mount Carmel shall we pitch the throne which my valour will gain for you, and I will exchange my long-desired batoon for a sceptre!''

``A dream,'' said Rebecca; ``an empty vision of the night, which, were it a waking reality, affects me not. Enough, that the power which thou mightest acquire, I will never share; nor hold I so light of country or religious faith, as to esteem him who is willing to barter these ties, and cast away the bonds of the Order of which he is a sworn member, in order to gratify an unruly passion for the daughter of another people.---Put not a price on my deliverance, Sir Knight---sell not a deed of generosity ---protect the oppressed for the sake of charity, and not for a selfish advantage---Go to the throne of England; Richard will listen to my appeal from these cruel men.''

``Never, Rebecca!'' said the Templar, fiercely. ``If I renounce my Order, for thee alone will I renounce it---Ambition shall remain mine, if thou refuse my love; I will not be fooled on all hands. ---Stoop my crest to Richard?---ask a boon of that heart of pride?---Never, Rebecca, will I place the Order of the Temple at his feet in my person. I may forsake the Order, I never will degrade or betray it.''

``Now God be gracious to me,'' said Rebecca, ``for the succour of man is wellnigh hopeless!''

``It is indeed,'' said the Templar; ``for, proud as thou art, thou hast in me found thy match. If I enter the lists with my spear in rest, think not any human consideration shall prevent my putting forth my strength; and think then upon thine own fate---to die the dreadful death of the worst of criminals ---to be consumed upon a blazing pile---dispersed to the elements of which our strange forms are so mystically composed---not a relic left of that graceful frame, from which we could say this lived and moved!---Rebecca, it is not in woman to sustain this prospect---thou wilt yield to my suit.''

``Bois-Guilbert,'' answered the Jewess, ``thou knowest not the heart of woman, or hast only conversed with those who are lost to her best feelings. I tell thee, proud Templar, that not in thy fiercest battles hast thou displayed more of thy vaunted courage, than has been shown by woman when called upon to suffer by affection or duty. I am myself a woman, tenderly nurtured, naturally fearful of danger, and impatient of pain---yet, when we enter those fatal lists, thou to fight and I to suffer, I feel the strong assurance within me, that my courage shall mount higher than thine. Farewell ---I waste no more words on thee; the time that remains on earth to the daughter of Jacob must be otherwise spent---she must seek the Comforter, who may hide his face from his people, but who ever opens his ear to the cry of those who seek him in sincerity and in truth.''

``We part then thus?'' said the Templar, after a short pause; ``would to Heaven that we had never met, or that thou hadst been noble in birth and Christian in faith!---Nay, by Heaven! when I gaze on thee, and think when and how we are next to meet, I could even wish myself one of thine own degraded nation; my hand conversant with ingots and shekels, instead of spear and shield; my head bent down before each petty noble, and my look only terrible to the shivering and bankrupt debtor ---this could I wish, Rebecca, to be near to thee in life, and to escape the fearful share I must have in thy death.''

``Thou hast spoken the Jew,'' said Rebecca, ``as the persecution of such as thou art has made him. Heaven in ire has driven him from his country, but industry has opened to him the only road to power and to influence, which oppression has left unbarred. Read the ancient history of the people of God, and tell me if those, by whom Jehovah wrought such marvels among the nations, were then a people of misers and of usurers!---And know, proud knight, we number names amongst us to which your boasted northern nobility is as the gourd compared with the cedar---names that ascend far back to those high times when the Divine Presence shook the mercy-seat between the cherubim, and which derive their splendour from no earthly prince, but from the awful Voice, which bade their fathers be nearest of the congregation to the Vision---Such were the princes of the House of Jacob.''

Rebecca's colour rose as she boasted the ancient glories of her race, but faded as she added, with at sigh, ``Such _were_ the princes of Judah, now such no more!---They are trampled down like the shorn grass, and mixed with the mire of the ways. Yet are there those among them who shame not such high descent, and of such shall be the daughter of Isaac the son of Adonikam! Farewell!---I envy not thy blood-won honours---I envy not thy barbarous descent from northern heathens---I envy thee not thy faith, which is ever in thy mouth, but never in thy heart nor in thy practice.''

``There is a spell on me, by Heaven!'' said Bois-Guilbert. ``I almost think yon besotted skeleton spoke truth, and that the reluctance with which I part from thee hath something in it more than is natural.---Fair creature!'' he said, approaching near her, but with great respect,---``so young, so beautiful, so fearless of death! and yet doomed to die, and with infamy and agony. Who would not weep for thee?---The tear, that has been a stranger to these eyelids for twenty years, moistens them as I gaze on thee. But it must be---nothing may now save thy life. Thou and I are but the blind instruments of some irresistible fatality, that hurries us along, like goodly vessels driving before the storm, which are dashed against each other, and so perish. Forgive me, then, and let us part at least as friends part. I have assailed thy resolution in vain, and mine own is fixed as the adamantine decrees of fate.''

``Thus,'' said Rebecca, ``do men throw on fate the issue of their own wild passions. But I do forgive thee, Bois-Guilbert, though the author of my early death. There are noble things which cross over thy powerful mind; but it is the garden of the sluggard, and the weeds have rushed up, and conspired to choke the fair and wholesome blossom.''

``Yes,'' said the Templar, ``I am, Rebecca, as thou hast spoken me, untaught, untamed---and proud, that, amidst a shoal of empty fools and crafty bigots, I have retained the preeminent fortitude that places me above them. I have been a child of battle from my youth upward, high in my views, steady and inflexible in pursuing them. Such must I remain---proud, inflexible, and unchanging; and of this the world shall have proof.---But thou forgivest me, Rebecca?''

``As freely as ever victim forgave her executioner.''

``Farewell, then,'' said the Templar, and left the apartment.

The Preceptor Albert waited impatiently in an adjacent chamber the return of Bois-Guilbert.

``Thou hast tarried long,'' he said; ``I have been as if stretched on red-hot iron with very impatience. What if the Grand Master, or his spy Conrade, had come hither? I had paid dear for my complaisance.---But what ails thee, brother?--- Thy step totters, thy brow is as black as night. Art thou well, Bois-Guilbert?''

``Ay,'' answered the Templar, ``as well as the wretch who is doomed to die within an hour.---Nay, by the rood, not half so well---for there be those in such state, who can lay down life like a cast-off garment. By Heaven, Malvoisin, yonder girl hath wellnigh unmanned me. I am half resolved to go to the Grand Master, abjure the Order to his very teeth, and refuse to act the brutality which his tyranny has imposed on me.''

``Thou art mad,'' answered Malvoisin; ``thou mayst thus indeed utterly ruin thyself, but canst not even find a chance thereby to save the life of this Jewess, which seems so precious in thine eyes. Beaumanoir will name another of the Order to defend his judgment in thy place, and the accused will as assuredly perish as if thou hadst taken the duty imposed on thee.''

``'Tis false---I will myself take arms in her behalf,'' answered the Templar, haughtily; ``and, should I do so, I think, Malvoisin, that thou knowest not one of the Order, who will keep his saddle before the point of my lance.''

``Ay, but thou forgettest,'' said the wily adviser, ``thou wilt have neither leisure nor opportunity to execute this mad project. Go to Lucas Beaumanoir, and say thou hast renounced thy vow of obedience, and see how long the despotic old man will leave thee in personal freedom. The words shall scarce have left thy lips, ere thou wilt either be an hundred feet under ground, in the dungeon of the Preceptory, to abide trial as a recreant knight; or, if his opinion holds concerning thy possession, thou wilt be enjoying straw, darkness, and chains, in some distant convent cell, stunned with exorcisms, and drenched with holy water, to expel the foul fiend which hath obtained dominion over thee. Thou must to the lists, Brian, or thou art a lost and dishonoured man.''

``I will break forth and fly,'' said Bois-Guilbert ---``fly to some distant land, to which folly and fanaticism have not yet found their way. No drop of the blood of this most excellent creature shall be spilled by my sanction.''

``Thou canst not fly,'' said the Preceptor; ``thy ravings have excited suspicion, and thou wilt not be permitted to leave the Preceptory. Go and make the essay---present thyself before the gate, and command the bridge to be lowered, and mark what answer thou shalt receive.---Thou are surprised and offended; but is it not the better for thee? Wert thou to fly, what would ensue but the reversal of thy arms, the dishonour of thine ancestry, the degradation of thy rank?---Think on it. Where shall thine old companions in arms hide their heads when Brian de Bois-Guilbert, the best lance of the Templars, is proclaimed recreant, amid the hisses of the assembled people? What grief will be at the Court of France! With what joy will the haughty Richard hear the news, that the knight that set him hard in Palestine, and well-nigh darkened his renown, has lost fame and honour for a Jewish girl, whom he could not even save by so costly a sacrifice!''

``Malvoisin,'' said the Knight, ``I thank thee--- thou hast touched the string at which my heart most readily thrills!---Come of it what may, recreant shall never be added to the name of Bois-Guilbert. Would to God, Richard, or any of his vaunting minions of England, would appear in these lists! But they will be empty---no one will risk to break a lance for the innocent, the forlorn.''

``The better for thee, if it prove so,'' said the Preceptor; ``if no champion appears, it is not by thy means that this unlucky damsel shall die, but by the doom of the Grand Master, with whom rests all the blame, and who will count that blame for praise and commendation.''

``True,'' said Bois-Guilbert; ``if no champion appears, I am but a part of the pageant, sitting indeed on horseback in the lists, but having no part in what is to follow.''

``None whatever,'' said Malvoisin; ``no more than the armed image of Saint George when it makes part of a procession.''

``Well, I will resume my resolution,'' replied the haughty Templar. ``She has despised me--- repulsed me---reviled me---And wherefore should I offer up for her whatever of estimation I have in the opinion of others? Malvoisin, I will appear in the lists.''

He left the apartment hastily as he uttered these words, and the Preceptor followed, to watch and confirm him in his resolution; for in Bois-Guilbert's fame he had himself a strong interest, expecting much advantage from his being one day at the head of the Order, not to mention the preferment of which Mont-Fitchet had given him hopes, on condition he would forward the condemnation of the unfortunate Rebecca. Yet although, in combating his friend's better feelings, he possessed all the advantage which a wily, composed, selfish disposition has over a man agitated by strong and contending passions, it required all Malvoisin's art to keep Bois-Guilbert steady to the purpose he had prevailed on him to adopt. He was obliged to watch him closely to prevent his resuming his purpose of flight, to intercept his communication with the Grand Master, lest he should come to an open rupture with his Superior, and to renew, from time to time, the various arguments by which he endeavoured to show, that, in appearing as champion on this occasion, Bois-Guilbert, without either accelerating or ensuring the fate of Rebecca, would follow the only course by which be could save himself from degradation and disgrace.

CHAPTER XL

Shadows avaunt!---Richard's himself again. _Richard III._

When the Black Knight---for it becomes necessary to resume the train of his adventures---left the Trysting-tree of the generous Outlaw, he held his way straight to a neighbouring religious house, of small extent and revenue, called the Priory of Saint Botolph, to which the wounded Ivanhoe had been removed when the castle was taken, under the guidance of the faithful Gurth, and the magnanimous Wamba. It is unnecessary at present to mention what took place in the interim betwixt Wilfred and his deliverer; suffice it to say, that after long and grave communication, messengers were dispatched by the Prior in several directions, and that on the succeeding morning the Black Knight was about to set forth on his journey, accompanied by the jester Wamba, who attended as his guide.

``We will meet,'' he said to Ivanhoe, ``at Coningsburgh, the castle of the deceased Athelstane, since there thy father Cedric holds the funeral feast for his noble relation. I would see your Saxon kindred together, Sir Wilfred, and become better acquainted with them than heretofore. Thou also wilt meet me; and it shall be my task to reconcile thee to thy father.''

So saying, he took an affectionate farewell of Ivanhoe, who expressed an anxious desire to attend upon his deliverer. But the Black Knight would not listen to the proposal.

``Rest this day; thou wilt have scarce strength enough to travel on the next. I will have no guide with me but honest Wamba, who can play priest or fool as I shall be most in the humour.''

``And I,'' said Wamba, ``will attend you with all my heart. I would fain see the feasting at the funeral of Athelstane; for, if it be not full and frequent, he will rise from the dead to rebuke cook, sewer, and cupbearer; and that were a sight worth seeing. Always, Sir Knight, I will trust your valour with making my excuse to my master Cedric, in case mine own wit should fail.''

``And how should my poor valour succeed, Sir Jester, when thy light wit halts?---resolve me that.''

``Wit, Sir Knight,'' replied the Jester, ``may do much. He is a quick, apprehensive knave, who sees his neighbours blind side, and knows how to keep the lee-gage when his passions are blowing high. But valour is a sturdy fellow, that makes all split. He rows against both wind and tide, and makes way notwithstanding; and, therefore, good Sir Knight, while I take advantage of the fair weather in our noble master's temper, I will expect you to bestir yourself when it grows rough.''

``Sir Knight of the Fetterlock, since it is your pleasure so to be distinguished,'' said Ivanhoe, ``I fear me you have chosen a talkative and a troublesome fool to be your guide. But he knows every path and alley in the woods as well as e'er a hunter who frequents them; and the poor knave, as thou hast partly seen, is as faithful as steel.'' ``Nay,'' said the Knight, ``an he have the gift of showing my road, I shall not grumble with him that he desires to make it pleasant.---Fare thee well, kind Wilfred---I charge thee not to attempt to travel till to-morrow at earliest.''

So saying, he extended his hand to Ivanhoe, who pressed it to his lips, took leave of the Prior, mounted his horse, and departed, with Wamba for his companion. Ivanhoe followed them with his eyes, until they were lost in the shades of the surrounding forest, and then returned into the convent.

But shortly after matin-song, he requested to see the Prior. The old man came in haste, and enquired anxiously after the state of his health.

``It is better,'' he said, ``than my fondest hope could have anticipated; either my wound has been slighter than the effusion of blood led me to suppose, or this balsam hath wrought a wonderful cure upon it. I feel already as if I could bear my corslet; and so much the better, for thoughts pass in my mind which render me unwilling to remain here longer in inactivity.''

``Now, the saints forbid,'' said the Prior, ``that the son of the Saxon Cedric should leave our convent ere his wounds were healed! It were shame to our profession were we to suffer it.''

``Nor would I desire to leave your hospitable roof, venerable father,'' said Ivanhoe, ``did I not feel myself able to endure the journey, and compelled to undertake it.''

``And what can have urged you to so sudden a departure?'' said the Prior.

``Have you never, holy father,'' answered the Knight, ``felt an apprehension of approaching evil, for which you in vain attempted to assign a cause? ---Have you never found your mind darkened, like the sunny landscape, by the sudden cloud, which augurs a coming tempest?---And thinkest thou not that such impulses are deserving of attention, as being the hints of our guardian spirits, that danger is impending?''

``I may not deny,'' said the Prior, crossing himself, ``that such things have been, and have been of Heaven; but then such communications have had a visibly useful scope and tendency. But thou, wounded as thou art, what avails it thou shouldst follow the steps of him whom thou couldst not aid, were he to be assaulted?''

``Prior,'' said Ivanhoe, ``thou dost mistake---I am stout enough to exchange buffets with any who will challenge me to such a traffic---But were it otherwise, may I not aid him were he in danger, by other means than by force of arms? It is but too well known that the Saxons love not the Norman race, and who knows what may be the issue, if he break in upon them when their hearts are irritated by the death of Athelstane, and their heads heated by the carousal in which they will indulge themselves? I hold his entrance among them at such a moment most perilous, and I am resolved to share or avert the danger; which, that I may the better do, I would crave of thee the use of some palfrey whose pace may be softer than that of my _destrier_.''*

* _Destrier_---war-horse.

``Surely,'' said the worthy churchman; ``you shall have mine own ambling jennet, and I would it ambled as easy for your sake as that of the Abbot of Saint Albans. Yet this will I say for Malkin, for so I call her, that unless you were to borrow a ride on the juggler's steed that paces a hornpipe amongst the eggs, you could not go a journey on a creature so gentle and smooth-paced. I have composed many a homily on her back, to the edification of my brethren of the convent, and many poor Christian souls.''

``I pray you, reverend father,'' said Ivanhoe, ``let Malkin be got ready instantly, and bid Gurth attend me with mine arms.''

``Nay, but fair sir,'' said the Prior, ``I pray you to remember that Malkin hath as little skill in arms as her master, and that I warrant not her enduring the sight or weight of your full panoply. O, Malkin, I promise you, is a beast of judgment, and will contend against any undue weight---I did but borrow the _Fructus Temporum_ from the priest of Saint Bees, and I promise you she would not stir from the gate until I had exchanged the huge volume for my little breviary.''

``Trust me, holy father,'' said Ivanhoe, ``I will not distress her with too much weight; and if she calls a combat with me, it is odds but she has the worst.''

This reply was made while Gurth was buckling on the, Knight's heels a pair of large gilded spurs, capable of convincing any restive horse that his best safety lay in being conformable to the will of his rider.

The deep and sharp rowels with which Ivanhoe's. heels were now armed, began to make the worthy Prior repent of his courtesy, and ejaculate,---``Nay, but fair sir, now I bethink me, my Malkin abideth not the spur---Better it were that you tarry for the mare of our manciple down at the Grange, which may be had in little more than an hour, and cannot but be tractable, in respect that she draweth much of our winter fire-wood, and eateth no corn.''

``I thank you, reverend father, but will abide by your first offer, as I see Malkin is already led forth to the gate. Gurth shall carry mine armour; and for the rest, rely on it, that as I will not overload Malkin's back, she shall not overcome my patience. And now, farewell!''

Ivanhoe now descended the stairs more hastily and easily than his wound promised, and threw himself upon the jennet, eager to escape the importunity of the Prior, who stuck as closely to his side as his age and fatness would permit, now singing the praises of Malkin, now recommending caution to the Knight in managing her.

``She is at the most dangerous period for maidens as well as mares,'' said the old man, laughing at his own jest, ``being barely in her fifteenth year.''

Ivanhoe, who had other web to weave than to stand canvassing a palfrey's paces with its owner, lent but a deaf ear to the Prior's grave advices and facetious jests, and having leapt on his mare, and commanded his squire (for such Gurth now called himself) to keep close by his side, he followed the track of the Black Knight into the forest, while the Prior stood at the gate of the convent looking after him, and ejaculating,---``Saint Mary! how prompt and fiery be these men of war! I would I had not trusted Malkin to his keeping, for, crippled as I am with the cold rheum, I am undone if aught but good befalls her. And yet,'' said he, recollecting himself, ``as I would not spare my own old and disabled limbs in the good cause of Old England, so Malkin must e'en run her hazard on the same venture; and it may be they will think our poor house worthy of some munificent guerdon---or, it may be, they will send the old Prior a pacing nag. And if they do none of these, as great men will forget little men's service, truly I shall hold me well repaid in having done that which is right. And it is now wellnigh the fitting time to summon the brethren to breakfast in the refectory---Ah! I doubt they obey that call more cheerily than the bells for primes and matins.''

So the Prior of Saint Botolph's hobbled back again into the refectory, to preside over the stockfish and ale, which was just serving out for the friars' breakfast. Pursy and important, he sat him down at the table, and many a dark word he threw out, of benefits to be expected to the convent, and high deeds of service done by himself, which, at another season, would have attracted observation. But as the stockfish was highly salted, and the ale reasonably powerful, the jaws of the brethren were too anxiously employed to admit of their making much use of their ears; nor do we read of any of the fraternity, who was tempted to speculate upon the mysterious hints of their Superior, except Father Diggory, who was severely afflicted by the toothache, so that be could only eat on one side of his jaws.

In the meantime, the Black Champion and his guide were pacing at their leisure through the recesses of the forest; the good Knight whiles humming to himself the lay of some enamoured troubadour, sometimes encouraging by questions the prating disposition of his attendant, so that their dialogue formed a whimsical mixture of song and jest, of which we would fain give our readers some idea. You are then to imagine this Knight, such as we have already described him, strong of person, tall, broad-shouldered, and large of bone, mounted on his mighty black charger, which seemed made on purpose to bear his weight, so easily he paced forward under it, having the visor of his helmet raised, in order to admit freedom of breath, yet keeping the beaver, or under part, closed, so that his features could be but imperfectly distinguished. But his ruddy embrowned cheek-bones could be plainly seen, and the large and bright blue eyes, that flashed from under the dark shade of the raised visor; and the whole gesture and look of the champion expressed careless gaiety and fearless confidence--- a mind which was unapt to apprehend danger, and prompt to defy it when most imminent--- yet with whom danger was a familiar thought, as with one whose trade was war and adventure.

The Jester wore his usual fantastic habit, but late accidents had led him to adopt a good cutting falchion, instead of his wooden sword, with a targe to match it; of both which weapons he had, notwithstanding his profession, shown himself a skilful master during the storming of Torquilstone. Indeed, the infirmity of Wamba's brain consisted chiefly in a kind of impatient irritability, which suffered him not long to remain quiet in any posture, or adhere to any certain train of ideas, although he was for a few minutes alert enough in performing any immediate task, or in apprehending any immediate topic. On horseback, therefore, he was perpetually swinging himself backwards and forwards, now on the horse's ears, then anon on the very rump of the animal,---now hanging both his legs on one side, and now sitting with his face to the tail, moping, mowing, and making a thousand apish gestures, until his palfrey took his freaks so much to heart, as fairly to lay him at his length on the green grass---an incident which greatly amused the Knight, but compelled his companion to ride more steadily thereafter.

At the point of their journey at which we take them up, this joyous pair were engaged in singing a virelai, as it was called, in which the clown bore a mellow burden, to the better instructed Knight of the Fetterlock. And thus run the ditty:---

Anna-Marie, love, up is the sun, Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun, Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free, Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie. Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn, The hunter is winding blithe sounds on his horn, The echo rings merry from rock and from tree, 'Tis time to arouse thee, love, Anna-Marie.

Wamba.

O Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet, Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit, For what are the joys that in waking we prove, Compared with these visions, O, Tybalt, my love? Let the birds to the rise of the mist carol shrill, Let the hunter blow out his load horn on the hill, Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I prove,--- But think not I dreamt of thee, Tybalt, my love.

``A dainty song,'' said Wamba, when they had finished their carol, ``and I swear by my bauble, a pretty moral!---I used to sing it with Gurth, once my playfellow, and now, by the grace of God and his master, no less than a freemen; and we once came by the cudgel for being so entranced by the melody, that we lay in bed two hours after sunrise, singing the ditty betwixt sleeping and waking--- my bones ache at thinking of the tune ever since. Nevertheless, I have played the part of Anna-Marie, to please you, fair sir.''

The Jester next struck into another carol, a sort of comic ditty, to which the Knight, catching up the tune, replied in the like manner.

Knight and Wamba.

There came three merry men from south, west, and north, Ever more sing the roundelay; To win the Widow of Wycombe forth, And where was the widow might say them nay?

The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came, Ever more sing the roundelay; And his fathers, God save us, were men of great faine, And where was the widow might say him nay?

Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire, He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay; She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire, For she was the widow would say him nay.

Wamba.

The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails, Merrily sing the roundelay; Hur's a gentleman, God wot, and hur's lineage was of Wales, And where wall the widow might say him nay?

Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay She said that one widow for so many was too few, And she bade the Welshman wend his way.

But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent, Jollily singing his roundelay; He spoke to the widow of living and rent, And where was the widow could say him nay?

Both.

So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire, There for to sing their roundelay; For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent, There never was a widow could say him nay.

``I would, Wamba,'' said the knight, ``that our host of the Trysting-tree, or the jolly Friar, his chaplain, heard this thy ditty in praise of our bluff yeoman.''

``So would not I,'' said Wamba---``but for the horn that hangs at your baldric.''

``Ay,'' said the Knight,---``this is a pledge of Locksley's good-will, though I am not like to need it. Three mots on this bugle will, I am assured, bring round, at our need, a jolly band of yonder honest yeomen.''

``I would say, Heaven forefend,'' said the Jester, ``were it not that that fair gift is a pledge they would let us pass peaceably.''

``Why, what meanest thou?'' said the Knight; ``thinkest thou that but for this pledge of fellowship they would assault us?''

``Nay, for me I say nothing,'' said Wamba; ``for green trees have ears as well as stone walls. But canst thou construe me this, Sir Knight---When is thy wine-pitcher and thy purse better empty than full?''

``Why, never, I think,'' replied the Knight.

``Thou never deservest to have a full one in thy hand, for so simple an answer! Thou hadst best empty thy pitcher ere thou pass it to a Saxon, and leave thy money at home ere thou walk in the greenwood.''

``You hold our friends for robbers, then?'' said the Knight of the Fetterlock.

``You hear me not say so, fair sir,'' said Wamba; ``it may relieve a man's steed to take of his mail when he hath a long journey to make; and, certes, it may do good to the rider's soul to ease him of that which is the root of evil; therefore will I give no hard names to those who do such services. Only I would wish my mail at home, and my purse in my chamber, when I meet with these good fellows, because it might save them some trouble.''

``_We_ are bound to pray for them, my friend, notwithstanding the fair character thou dost afford them.''

``Pray for them with all my heart,'' said Wamba; ``but in the town, not in the greenwood, like the Abbot of Saint Bees, whom they caused to say mass with an old hollow oak-tree for his stall.''

``Say as thou list, Wamba,'' replied the Knight, ``these yeomen did thy master Cedric yeomanly service at Torquilstone.''

``Ay, truly,'' answered Wamba; ``but that was in the fashion of their trade with Heaven.''

``Their trade, Wamba! how mean you by that?'' replied his companion.

``Marry, thus,'' said the Jester. ``They make up a balanced account with Heaven, as our old cellarer used to call his ciphering, as fair as Isaac the Jew keeps with his debtors, and, like him, give out a very little, and take large credit for doing so; reckoning, doubtless, on their own behalf the seven-fold usury which the blessed text hath promised to charitable loans.''

``Give me an example of your meaning, Wamba, ---I know nothing of ciphers or rates of usage,'' answered the Knight.

``Why,'' said Wamba, ``an your valour be so dull, you will please to learn that those honest fellows balance a good deed with one not quite so laudable; as a crown given to a begging friar with an hundred byzants taken from a fat abbot, or a wench kissed in the greenwood with the relief of a poor widow.''

``Which of these was the good deed, which was the felony?'' interrupted the Knight.

``A good gibe! a good gibe!'' said Wamba; ``keeping witty company sharpeneth the apprehension. You said nothing so well, Sir Knight, I will be sworn, when you held drunken vespers with the bluff Hermit.---But to go on. The merry-men of the forest set off the building of a cottage with the burning of a castle,---the thatching of a choir against the robbing of a church,---the setting free a poor prisoner against the murder of a proud sheriff; or, to come nearer to our point, the deliverance of a Saxon franklin against the burning alive of a Norman baron. Gentle thieves they are, in short, and courteous robbers; but it is ever the luckiest to meet with them when they are at the worst.''

``How so, Wamba?'' said the Knight.

``Why, then they have some compunction, and are for making up matters with Heaven. But when they have struck an even balance, Heaven help them with whom they next open the account! The travellers who first met them after their good service at Torquilstone would have a woful flaying. ---And yet,'' said Wamba, coming close up to the Knight's side, ``there be companions who are far more dangerous for travellers to meet than yonder outlaws.''

``And who may they be, for you have neither bears nor wolves, I trow?'' said the Knight.

``Marry, sir, but we have Malvoisin's men-at-arms,'' said Wamba; ``and let me tell you, that, in time of civil war, a halfscore of these is worth a band of wolves at any time. They are now expecting their harvest, and are reinforced with the soldiers that escaped from Torquilstone. So that, should we meet with a band of them, we are like to pay for our feats of arms.---Now, I pray you, Sir Knight, what would you do if we met two of them?''

``Pin the villains to the earth with my lance, Wamba, if they offered us any impediment.''

``But what if there were four of them?''

``They should drink of the same cup,'' answered the Knight.

``What if six,'' continued Wamba, ``and we as we now are, barely two---would you not remember Locksley's horn?''

``What! sound for aid,'' exclaimed the Knight, ``against a score of such rascaille as these, whom one good knight could drive before him, as the wind drives the withered leaves?''

``Nay, then,'' said Wamba, ``I will pray you for a close sight of that same horn that hath so powerful a breath.''

The Knight undid the clasp of the baldric, and indulged his fellow-traveller, who immediately hung the bugle round his own neck.

``Tra-lira-la,'' said he, whistling the notes; ``nay, I know my gamut as well as another.''

``How mean you, knave?'' said the Knight; ``restore me the bugle.''

``Content you, Sir Knight, it is in safe keeping. When Valour and Folly travel, Folly should bear the horn, because she can blow the best.''

``Nay but, rogue,'' said the Black Knight, ``this exceedeth thy license---Beware ye tamper not with my patience.''

``Urge me not with violence, Sir Knight,'' said the Jester, keeping at a distance from the impatient champion, ``or Folly will show a clean pair of heels, and leave Valour to find out his way through the wood as best he may.''

``Nay, thou hast hit me there,'' said the Knight; ``and, sooth to say, I have little time to jangle with thee. Keep the horn an thou wilt, but let us proceed on our journey.''

``You will not harm me, then?'' said Wamba.

``I tell thee no, thou knave!''

``Ay, but pledge me your knightly word for it,'' continued Wamba, as he approached with great caution.

``My knightly word I pledge; only come on with thy foolish self.''

``Nay, then, Valour and Folly are once more boon companions,'' said the Jester, coming up frankly to the Knight's side; ``but, in truth, I love not such buffets as that you bestowed on the burly Friar, when his holiness rolled on the green like a king of the nine-pins. And now that Folly wears the horn, let Valour rouse himself, and shake his mane; for, if I mistake not, there are company in yonder brake that are on the look-out for us.''

``What makes thee judge so?'' said the Knight.

``Because I have twice or thrice noticed the glance of a motion from amongst the green leaves. Had they been honest men, they had kept the path. But yonder thicket is a choice chapel for the Clerks of Saint Nicholas.''

``By my faith,'' said the Knight, closing his visor, ``I think thou best in the right on't.''

And in good time did he close it, for three arrows, flew at the same instant from the suspected spot against his head and breast, one of which would have penetrated to the brain, had it not been turned aside by the steel visor. The other two were averted by the gorget, and by the shield which hung around his neck.

``Thanks, trusty armourers,'' said the Knight.--- ``Wamba, let us close with them,''---and he rode straight to the thicket. He was met by six or seven men-at-arms, who ran against him with their lances at full career. Three of the weapons struck against him, and splintered with as little effect as if they had been driven against a tower of steel. The Black Knight's eyes seemed to flash fire even through the aperture of his visor. He raised himself in his stirrups with an air of inexpressible dignity, and exclaimed, ``What means this, my masters!'' ---The men made no other reply than by drawing their swords and attacking him on every side, crying, ``Die, tyrant!''

``Ha! Saint Edward! Ha! Saint George!'' said the Black Knight, striking down a man at every invocation; ``have we traitors here?''

His opponents, desperate as they were, bore back from an arm which carried death in every blow, and it seemed as if the terror of his single strength was about to gain the battle against such odds, when a knight, in blue armour, who had hitherto kept himself behind the other assailants, spurred forward with his lance, and taking aim, not at the rider but at the steed, wounded the noble animal mortally.

``That was a felon stroke!'' exclaimed the Black Knight, as the steed fell to the earth, bearing his rider along with him.

And at this moment, Wamba winded the bugle, for the whole had passed so speedily, that he had not time to do so sooner. The sudden sound made the murderers bear back once more, and Wamba, though so imperfectly weaponed, did not hesitate to rush in and assist the Black Knight to rise.

``Shame on ye, false cowards!'' exclaimed he in the blue harness, who seemed to lead the assailants, ``do ye fly from the empty blast of a horn blown by a Jester?''

Animated by his words, they attacked the Black Knight anew, whose best refuge was now to place his back against an oak, and defend himself with his sword. The felon knight, who had taken another spear, watching the moment when his formidable antagonist was most closely pressed, galloped against him in hopes to nail him with his lance against the tree, when his purpose was again intercepted by Wamba. The Jester, making up by agility the want of strength, and little noticed by the men-at-arms, who were busied in their more important object, hovered on the skirts of the fight, and effectually checked the fatal career of the Blue Knight, by hamstringing his horse with a stroke of his sword. Horse and man went to the ground; yet the situation of the Knight of the Fetterlock continued very precarious, as he was pressed close by several men completely armed, and began to be fatigued by the violent exertions necessary to defend himself on so many points at nearly the same moment, when a grey-goose shaft suddenly stretched on the earth one of the most formidable of his assailants, and a band of yeomen broke forth from the glade, headed by Locksley and the jovial Friar, who, taking ready and effectual part in the fray, soon disposed of the ruffians, all of whom lay on the spot dead or mortally wounded. The Black Knight thanked his deliverers with a dignity they had not observed in his former bearing, which hitherto had seemed rather that of a blunt bold soldier, than of a person of exalted rank.

``It concerns me much,'' he said, ``even before I express my full gratitude to my ready friends, to discover, if I may, who have been my unprovoked enemies.---Open the visor of that Blue Knight, Wamba, who seems the chief of these villains.''

The Jester instantly made up to the leader of the assassins, who, bruised by his fall, and entangled under the wounded steed, lay incapable either of flight or resistance.

``Come, valiant sir,'' said Wamba, ``I must be your armourer as well as your equerry---I have dismounted you, and now I will unhelm you.''

So saying, with no very gentle hand he undid the helmet of the Blue Knight, which, rolling to a distance on the grass, displayed to the Knight of the Fetterlock grizzled locks, and a countenance he did not expect to have seen under such circumstances.

``Waldemar Fitzurse!'' he said in astonishment; ``what could urge one of thy rank and seeming worth to so foul an undertaking? ''

``Richard,'' said the captive Knight, looking up to him, ``thou knowest little of mankind, if thou knowest not to what ambition and revenge can lead every child of Adam.''

``Revenge?'' answered the Black Knight; ``I never wronged thee---On me thou hast nought to revenge.''

``My daughter, Richard, whose alliance thou didst scorn---was that no injury to a Norman, whose blood is noble as thine own?''

``Thy daughter?'' replied the Black Knight; ``a proper cause of enmity, and followed up to a bloody issue!---Stand back, my masters, I would speak to him alone.---And now, Waldemar Fitzurse, say me the truth---confess who set thee on this traitorous deed.''

``Thy father's son,'' answered Waldemar, ``who, in so doing, did but avenge on thee thy disobedience to thy father.''

Richard's eyes sparkled with indignation, but his better nature overcame it. He pressed his hand against his brow, and remained an instant gazing on the face of the humbled baron, in whose features pride was contending with shame.

``Thou dost not ask thy life, Waldemar,'' said the King.

``He that is in the lion's clutch,'' answered Fitzurse, ``knows it were needless.''

``Take it, then, unasked,'' said Richard; ``the lion preys not on prostrate carcasses.---Take thy life, but with this condition, that in three days thou shalt leave England, and go to hide thine infamy in thy Norman castle, and that thou wilt never mention the name of John of Anjou as connected with thy felony. If thou art found on English ground after the space I have allotted thee, thou diest---or if thou breathest aught that can attaint the honour of my house, by Saint George! not the altar itself shall be a sanctuary. I will hang thee out to feed the ravens, from the very pinnacle of thine own castle.---Let this knight have a steed, Locksley, for I see your yeomen have caught those which were running loose, and let him depart unharmed.''

``But that I judge I listen to a voice whose behests must not be disputed,'' answered the yeoman, ``I would send a shaft after the skulking villain that should spare him the labour of a long journey.''

``Thou bearest an English heart, Locksley,'' said the Black Knight, ``and well dost judge thou art the more bound to obey my behest---I am Richard of England!''

At these words, pronounced in a tone of majesty suited to the high rank, and no less distinguished character of C<oe>ur-de-Lion, the yeomen at once kneeled down before him, and at the same time tendered their allegiance, and implored pardon for their offences.

``Rise, my friends,'' said Richard, in a gracious tone, looking on them with a countenance in which his habitual good-humour had already conquered the blaze of hasty resentment, and whose features retained no mark of the late desperate conflict, excepting the flush arising from exertion,---``Arise,'' he said, ``my friends!---Your misdemeanours, whether in forest or field, have been atoned by the loyal services you rendered my distressed subjects before the walls of Torquilstone, and the rescue you have this day afforded to your sovereign. Arise, my liegemen, and be good subjects in future.---And thou, brave Locksley---''

``Call me no longer Locksley, my Liege, but know me under the name, which, I fear, fame hath blown too widely not to have reached even your royal ears---I am Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest.''*

* From the ballads of Robin Hood, we learn that this celebrated * outlaw, when in disguise, sometimes assumed the name of * Locksley, from a village where he was born, but where situated * we are not distinctly told.

``King of Outlaws, and Prince of good fellows!'' said the King, ``who hath not heard a name that has been borne as far as Palestine? But be assured, brave Outlaw, that no deed done in our absence, and in the turbulent times to which it hath given rise, shall be remembered to thy disadvantage.''

``True says the proverb,'' said Wamba, interposing his word, but with some abatement of his usual petulance,---

`When the cat is away, The mice will play.' ''

``What, Wamba, art thou there?'' said Richard; ``I have been so long of hearing thy voice, I thought thou hadst taken flight.''

``I take flight!'' said Wamba; ``when do you ever find Folly separated from Valour? There lies the trophy of my sword, that good grey gelding, whom I heartily wish upon his legs again, conditioning his master lay there houghed in his place. It is true, I gave a little ground at first, for a motley jacket does not brook lance-heads, as a steel doublet will. But if I fought not at sword's point, you will grant me that I sounded the onset.''

``And to good purpose, honest Wamba,'' replied the King. ``Thy good service shall not be forgotten.''

``_Confiteor! Confiteor!_''---exclaimed, in a submissive tone, a voice near the King's side---``my Latin will carry me no farther---but I confess my deadly treason, and pray leave to have absolution before I am led to execution!''

Richard looked around, and beheld the jovial Friar on his knees, telling his rosary, while his quarter-staff, which had not been idle during the skirmish, lay on the grass beside him. His countenance was gathered so as be thought might best express the most profound contrition, his eyes being turned up, and the corners of his mouth drawn down, as Wamba expressed it, like the tassels at the mouth of a purse. Yet this demure affectation of extreme penitence was whimsically belied by a ludicrous meaning which lurked in his huge features, and seemed to pronounce his fear and repentance alike hypocritical.

``For what art thou cast down, mad Priest?'' said Richard; ``art thou afraid thy diocesan should learn how truly thou dost serve Our Lady and Saint Dunstan?---Tush, man! fear it not; Richard of England betrays no secrets that pass over the flagon.''

``Nay, most gracious sovereign,'' answered the Hermit, (well known to the curious in penny-histories of Robin Hood, by the name of Friar Tuck,) ``it is not the crosier I fear, but the sceptre.---Alas! that my sacrilegious fist should ever have been applied to the ear of the Lord's anointed!''

``Ha! ha!'' said Richard, ``sits the wind there? ---In truth I had forgotten the buffet, though mine ear sung after it for a whole day. But if the cuff was fairly given, I will be judged by the good men around, if it was not as well repaid---or, if thou thinkest I still owe thee aught, and will stand forth for another counterbuff---''

``By no means,'' replied Friar Tuck, ``I had mine own returned, and with usury---may your Majesty ever pay your debts as fully!''

``If I could do so with cuffs,'' said the King, ``my creditors should have little reason to complain of an empty exchequer.''

``And yet,'' said the Friar, resuming his demure hypocritical countenance, ``I know not what penance I ought to perform for that most sacrilegious blow!------''

``Speak no more of it, brother,'' said the King; ``after having stood so many cuffs from Paynims and misbelievers, I were void of reason to quarrel with the buffet of a clerk so holy as he of Copmanhurst. Yet, mine honest Friar, I think it would be best both for the church and thyself, that I should procure a license to unfrock thee, and retain thee as a yeoman of our guard, serving in care of our person, as formerly in attendance upon the altar of Saint Dunstan.''

``My Liege,'' said the Friar, ``I humbly crave your pardon; and you would readily grant my excuse, did you but know how the sin of laziness has beset me. Saint Dunstan---may he be gracious to us!---stands quiet in his niche, though I should forget my orisons in killing a fat buck---I stay out of my cell sometimes a night, doing I wot not what---Saint Dunstan never complains---a quiet master he is, and a peaceful, as ever was made of wood.---But to be a yeoman in attendance on my sovereign the King---the honour is great, doubtless--- yet, if I were but to step aside to comfort a widow in one corner, or to kill a deer in another, it would be, `where is the dog Priest?' says one. `Who has seen the accursed Tuck?' says another. `The unfrocked villain destroys more venison than half the country besides,' says one keeper; `And is hunting after every shy doe in the country!' quoth a second.---In fine, good my Liege, I pray you to leave me as you found me; or, if in aught you desire to extend your benevolence to me, that I may be considered as the poor Clerk of Saint Dunstan's cell in Copmanhurst, to whom any small donation will be most thankfully acceptable.''

``I understand thee,'' said the King, ``and the Holy Clerk shall have a grant of vert and venison in my woods of Warncliffe. Mark, however, I will but assign thee three bucks every season; but if that do not prove an apology for thy slaying thirty, I am no Christian knight nor true king.''

``Your Grace may be well assured,'' said the Friar, ``that, with the grace of Saint Dunstan, I shall find the way of multiplying your most bounteous gift.''

``I nothing doubt it, good brother,'' said the King; ``and as venison is but dry food, our cellarer shall have orders to deliver to thee a butt of sack, a runlet of Malvoisie, and three hogsheads of ale of the first strike, yearly---If that will not quench thy thirst, thou must come to court, and become acquainted with my butler.''

``But for Saint Dunstan?'' said the Friar---

``A cope, a stole, and an altar-cloth shalt thou also have,'' continued the King, crossing himself---``But we may not turn our game into earnest, lest God punish us for thinking more on our follies than on his honour and worship.''

``I will answer for my patron,'' said the Priest, joyously.

``Answer for thyself, Friar,'' said King Richard, something sternly; but immediately stretching out his hand to the Hermit, the latter, somewhat abashed, bent his knee, and saluted it. ``Thou dost less honour to my extended palm than to my clenched fist,'' said the Monarch; ``thou didst only kneel to the one, and to the other didst prostrate thyself.''

But the Friar, afraid perhaps of again giving offence by continuing the conversation in too jocose a style---a false step to be particularly guarded against by those who converse with monarchs--- bowed profoundly, and fell into the rear.

At the same time, two additional personages appeared on the scene.