Ivanhoe Walter Scott (best desktop ebook reader .TXT) 📖

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 courtyard. 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!”37

“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 be’st 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-Boeuf. 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 melee, neglected his own safety while