Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott

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``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 Cur-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.

CHAPTER XLI

All hail to the lordlings of high degree,
Who live not more happy, though greater than we!
Our pastimes to see,
Under every green tree,
In all the gay woodland, right welcome ye be.
_Macdonald_.

The new comers were Wilfred of Ivanhoe,
on the Prior of Botolph's palfrey, and Gurth,
who attended him, on the Knight's own war-horse.
The astonishment of Ivanhoe was beyond bounds,
when he saw his master besprinkled with blood,
and six or seven dead bodies lying around
in the little glade in which the battle had taken place.
Nor was he less surprised to see Richard surrounded
by so many silvan attendants, the outlaws, as they seemed
to be, of the forest, and a perilous retinue therefore
for a prince. He hesitated whether to address
the King as the Black Knight-errant, or in what
other manner to demean himself towards him.
Richard saw his embarrassment.

``Fear not, Wilfred,'' he said, ``to address Richard
Plantagenet as himself, since thou seest him
in the company of true English hearts, although it
may be they have been urged a few steps aside by
warm English blood.''

``Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe,'' said the gallant Outlaw,
stepping forward, ``my assurances can add nothing
to those of our sovereign; yet, let me say somewhat proudly,
that of men who have suffered much, he hath not truer subjects
than those who now stand around him.''

``I cannot doubt it, brave man,'' said Wilfred,
``since thou art of the number---But what mean
these marks of death and danger? these slain men,
and the bloody armour of my Prince?''

``Treason hath been with us, Ivanhoe,'' said the
King; ``but, thanks to these brave men, treason
hath met its meed---But, now I bethink me, thou
too art a traitor,'' said Richard, smiling; ``a most
disobedient traitor; for were not our orders positive,
that thou shouldst repose thyself at Saint
Botolph's until thy wound was healed?''

``It is healed,'' said Ivanhoe; ``it is not of more
consequence than the scratch of a bodkin. But why,
oh why, noble Prince, will you thus vex the hearts
of your faithful servants, and expose your life by
lonely journeys and rash adventures, as if it were of
no more value than that of a mere knight-errant,
who has no interest on earth but what lance and
sword may procure him?''

``And Richard Plantagenet,'' said the King,
``desires no more fame than his good lance and
sword may acquire him---and Richard Plantagenet
is prouder of achieving an adventure, with only his
good sword, and his good arm to speed, than if he
led to battle an host of an hundred thousand armed men.''

``But your kingdom, my Liege,'' said Ivanhoe,
``your kingdom is threatened with dissolution and
civil war---your subjects menaced with every species
of evil, if deprived of their sovereign in some
of those dangers which it is your daily pleasure to
incur, and from which you have but this moment
narrowly escaped.''

``Ho! ho! my kingdom and my subjects?'' answered
Richard, impatiently; ``I tell thee, Sir Wilfred,
the best of them are most willing to repay my
follies in kind---For example, my very faithful servant,
Wilfred of Ivanhoe, will not obey my positive
commands, and yet reads his king a homily,
because he does not walk exactly by his advice.
Which of us has most reason to upbraid the other?
---Yet forgive me, my faithful Wilfred. The time
I have spent, and am yet to spend in concealment,
is, as I explained to thee at Saint Botolph's, necessary
to give my friends and faithful nobles time to
assemble their forces, that when Richard's return
is announced, he should be at the head of such a
force as enemies shall tremble to face, and thus subdue
the meditated treason, without even unsheathing
a sword. Estoteville and Bohun will not be
strong enough to move forward to York for twenty-four
hours. I must have news of Salisbury from
the south; and of Beauchamp, in Warwickshire;
and of Multon and Percy in the north. The
Chancellor must make sure of London. Too sudden
an appearance would subject me to dangers,
other than my lance and sword, though backed by
the bow of bold Robin, or the quarter-staff of Friar
Tuck, and the horn of the sage Wamba, may be
able to rescue me from.''

Wilfred bowed in submission, well knowing how
vain it was to contend with the wild spirit of chivalry
which so often impelled his master upon dangers
which he might easily have avoided, or rather,
which it was unpardonable in him to have sought
out. The young knight sighed, therefore, and held
his peace; while Richard, rejoiced at having silenced
his counsellor, though his heart acknowledged the
justice of the charge he had brought against him,
went on in conversation with Robin Hood.---``King
of Outlaws,'' he said, ``have you no refreshment
to offer to your brother sovereign? for these dead
knaves have found me both in exercise and appetite.''

``In troth,'' replied the Outlaw, ``for I scorn to
lie to your Grace, our larder is chiefly supplied
with---'' He stopped, and was somewhat embarrassed.

``With venison, I suppose?'' said Richard, gaily;
``better food at need there can be none---and truly,
if a king will not remain at home and slay his
own game, methinks he should not brawl too loud
if he finds it killed to his hand.''

``If your Grace, then,'' said Robin, ``will again
honour with your presence one of Robin Hood's
places of rendezvous, the venison shall not be lacking;
and a stoup of ale, and it may be a cup of
reasonably good wine, to relish it withal.''

The Outlaw accordingly led the way, followed by
the buxom Monarch, more happy, probably, in this
chance meeting with Robin Hood and his foresters,
than he would have been in again assuming his
royal state, and presiding over a splendid circle of
peers and nobles. Novelty in society and adventure
were the zest of life to Richard Cur-de-Lion, and
it had its highest relish when enhanced by dangers
encountered and surmounted. In the lion-hearted
King, the brilliant, but useless character, of a knight
of romance, was in a great measure realized and
revived; and the personal glory which he acquired
by his own deeds of arms, was far more dear to his
excited imagination, than that which a course of
policy and wisdom would have spread around his
government. Accordingly, his reign was like the
course of a brilliant and rapid meteor, which shoots
along the face of Heaven, shedding around an unnecessary
and portentous light, which is instantly
swallowed up by universal darkness; his feats of
chivalry furnishing themes for bards and minstrels,
but affording none of those solid benefits to his
country on which history loves to pause, and hold
up as an example to posterity. But in his present
company Richard showed to the greatest imaginable
advantage. He was gay, good-humoured, and
fond of manhood in every rank of life.

Beneath a huge oak-tree the silvan repast was
hastily prepared for the King of England, surrounded
by men outlaws to his government, but
who now formed his court and his guard. As the
flagon went round, the rough foresters soon lost
their awe for the presence of Majesty. The song
and the jest were exchanged---the stories of former
deeds were told with advantage; and at length, and
while boasting of their successful infraction of the
laws, no one recollected they were speaking in presence
of their natural guardian. The merry King,
nothing heeding his dignity any more than his company,
laughed, quaffed, and jested among the jolly
band. The natural and rough sense of Robin Hood
led him to be desirous that the scene should be closed
ere any thing should occur to disturb its harmony,
the more especially that he observed Ivanhoe's
brow clouded with anxiety. ``We are honoured,''
he said to Ivanhoe, apart, ``by the presence of our
gallant Sovereign; yet I would not that he dallied
with time, which the circumstances of his kingdom
may render precious.''

``It is well and wisely spoken, brave Robin
Hood,'' said Wilfred, apart; ``and know, moreover,
that they who jest with Majesty even in its gayest
mood are but toying with the lion's whelp, which,
on slight provocation, uses both fangs and claws.''

``You have touched the very cause of my fear,''
said the Outlaw; ``my men are rough by practice
and nature, the King is hasty as well as good-humoured;
nor know I how soon cause of offence may
arise, or how warmly it may be received---it is
time this revel were broken off.''

``It must be by your management then, gallant
yeoman,'' said Ivanhoe; ``for each hint I have essayed
to give him serves only to induce him to prolong
it.''

``Must I so soon risk the pardon and favour of
my Sovereign?'' said Robin Hood, pausing for all
instant; ``but by Saint Christopher, it shall be so.
I were undeserving his grace did I not peril it for
his good.---Here, Scathlock, get thee behind yonder
thicket, and wind me a Norman blast on thy
bugle, and without an instant's delay on peril of
your life.''

Scathlock obeyed his captain, and in less than
five minutes the revellers were startled by the sound
of his horn.

``It is the bugle of Malvoisin,'' said the Miller,
starting to his feet, and seizing his bow. The Friar
dropped the flagon, and grasped his quarter-staff
Wamba stopt short in the midst of a jest, and betook
himself to sword and target. All the others
stood to their weapons.

Men of their precarious course of life change
readily from the banquet to the battle; and, to
Richard, the exchange seemed but a succession of
pleasure. He called for his helmet and the most
cumbrous parts of his armour, which he had laid
aside; and while Gurth was putting them on, he
laid his strict injunctions on Wilfred, under pain
of his highest displeasure, not to engage in the
skirmish which he supposed was approaching.