Ivanhoe by Walter Scott (world best books to read .TXT) 📖

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 he could save

himself from degradation and disgrace.

CHAPTER XL

Shadows avaunt!---Richard’s himself again.

Richard III

When the Black Knight---for it becomes necessary to resume the

train of his adventures---left the Trysting-tree of the generous

Outlaw, he held his way straight to a neighbouring religious

house, of small extent and revenue, called the Priory of Saint

Botolph, to which the wounded Ivanhoe had been removed when the

castle was taken, under the guidance of the faithful Gurth, and

the magnanimous Wamba. It is unnecessary at present to mention

what took place in the interim betwixt Wilfred and his deliverer;

suffice it to say, that after long and grave communication,

messengers were dispatched by the Prior in several directions,

and that on the succeeding morning the Black Knight was about to

set forth on his journey, accompanied by the jester Wamba, who

attended as his guide.

“We will meet,” he said to Ivanhoe, “at Coningsburgh, the castle

of the deceased Athelstane, since there thy father Cedric holds

the funeral feast for his noble relation. I would see your

Saxon kindred together, Sir Wilfred, and become better acquainted

with them than heretofore. Thou also wilt meet me; and it shall

be my task to reconcile thee to thy father.”

So saying, he took an affectionate farewell of Ivanhoe, who

expressed an anxious desire to attend upon his deliverer. But

the Black Knight would not listen to the proposal.

“Rest this day; thou wilt have scarce strength enough to travel

on the next. I will have no guide with me but honest Wamba, who

can play priest or fool as I shall be most in the humour.”

“And I,” said Wamba, “will attend you with all my heart. I would

fain see the feasting at the funeral of Athelstane; for, if it be

not full and frequent, he will rise from the dead to rebuke cook,

sewer, and cupbearer; and that were a sight worth seeing.

Always, Sir Knight, I will trust your valour with making my

excuse to my master Cedric, in case mine own wit should fail.”

“And how should my poor valour succeed, Sir Jester, when thy

light wit halts?---resolve me that.”

“Wit, Sir Knight,” replied the Jester, “may do much. He is a

quick, apprehensive knave, who sees his neighbours blind side,

and knows how to keep the lee-gage when his passions are blowing

high. But valour is a sturdy fellow, that makes all split. He

rows against both wind and tide, and makes way notwithstanding;

and, therefore, good Sir Knight, while I take advantage of the

fair weather in our noble master’s temper, I will expect you to

bestir yourself when it grows rough.”

“Sir Knight of the Fetterlock, since it is your pleasure so to be

distinguished,” said Ivanhoe, “I fear me you have chosen a

talkative and a troublesome fool to be your guide. But he knows

every path and alley in the woods as well as e’er a hunter who

frequents them; and the poor knave, as thou hast partly seen, is

as faithful as steel.”

“Nay,” said the Knight, “an he have the gift of showing my road,

I shall not grumble with him that he desires to make it pleasant.

---Fare thee well, kind Wilfred---I charge thee not to attempt to

travel till to-morrow at earliest.”

So saying, he extended his hand to Ivanhoe, who pressed it to his

lips, took leave of the Prior, mounted his horse, and departed,

with Wamba for his companion. Ivanhoe followed them with his

eyes, until they were lost in the shades of the surrounding

forest, and then returned into the convent.

But shortly after matin-song, he requested to see the Prior. The

old man came in haste, and enquired anxiously after the state of

his health.

“It is better,” he said, “than my fondest hope could have

anticipated; either my wound has been slighter than the effusion

of blood led me to suppose, or this balsam hath wrought a

wonderful cure upon it. I feel already as if I could bear my

corslet; and so much the better, for thoughts pass in my mind

which render me unwilling to remain here longer in inactivity.”

“Now, the saints forbid,” said the Prior, “that the son of the

Saxon Cedric should leave our convent ere his wounds were healed!

It were shame to our profession were we to suffer it.”

“Nor would I desire to leave your hospitable roof, venerable

father,” said Ivanhoe, “did I not feel myself able to endure the

journey, and compelled to undertake it.”

“And what can have urged you to so sudden a departure?” said the

Prior.

“Have you never, holy father,” answered the Knight, “felt an

apprehension of approaching evil, for which you in vain attempted

to assign a cause?---Have you never found your mind darkened,

like the sunny landscape, by the sudden cloud, which augurs a

coming tempest?---And thinkest thou not that such impulses are

deserving of attention, as being the hints of our guardian

spirits, that danger is impending?”

“I may not deny,” said the Prior, crossing himself, “that such

things have been, and have been of Heaven; but then such

communications have had a visibly useful scope and tendency. But

thou, wounded as thou art, what avails it thou shouldst follow

the steps of him whom thou couldst not aid, were he to be

assaulted?”

“Prior,” said Ivanhoe, “thou dost mistake---I am stout enough to

exchange buffets with any who will challenge me to such a traffic

---But were it otherwise, may I not aid him were he in danger, by

other means than by force of arms? It is but too well known that

the Saxons love not the Norman race, and who knows what may be

the issue, if he break in upon them when their hearts are

irritated by the death of Athelstane, and their heads heated by

the carousal in which they will indulge themselves? I hold his

entrance among them at such a moment most perilous, and I am

resolved to share or avert the danger; which, that I may the

better do, I would crave of thee the use of some palfrey whose

pace may be softer than that of my ‘destrier’.”*

“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