Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott

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``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.''