Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott

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``Thou hast fought for me an hundred times,
Wilfred,---and I have seen it. Thou shalt this day
look on, and see how Richard will fight for his
friend and liegeman.''

In the meantime, Robin Hood had sent off several
of his followers in different directions, as if to
reconnoitre the enemy; and when he saw the company
effectually broken up, he approached Richard,
who was now completely armed, and, kneeling
down on one knee, craved pardon of his Sovereign.

``For what, good yeoman?'' said Richard, somewhat
impatiently. ``Have we not already granted
thee a full pardon for all transgressions? Thinkest
thou our word is a feather, to be blown backward
and forward between us? Thou canst not have had
time to commit any new offence since that time?''

``Ay, but I have though,'' answered the yeoman,
``if it be an offence to deceive my prince for his
own advantage. The bugle you have heard was
none of Malvoisin's, but blown by my direction, to
break off the banquet, lest it trenched upon hours
of dearer import than to be thus dallied with.''

He then rose from his knee, folded his arm on
his bosom, and in a manner rather respectful than
submissive, awaited the answer of the King,---like
one who is conscious he may have given offence,
yet is confident in the rectitude of his motive.
The blood rushed in anger to the countenance of
Richard; but it was the first transient emotion,
and his sense of justice instantly subdued it.

``The King of Sherwood,'' he said, ``grudges
his venison and his wine-flask to the King of England?
It is well, bold Robin!---but when you come
to see me in merry London, I trust to be a less
niggard host. Thou art right, however, good fellow.
Let us therefore to horse and away---Wilfred
has been impatient this hour. Tell me, bold
Robin, hast thou never a friend in thy band, who,
not content with advising, will needs direct thy
motions, and look miserable when thou dost presume
to act for thyself?''

``Such a one,'' said Robin, ``is my Lieutenant,
Little John, who is even now absent on an expedition
as far as the borders of Scotland; and I will
own to your Majesty, that I am sometimes displeased
by the freedom of his councils---but, when I
think twice, I cannot be long angry with one who
can have no motive for his anxiety save zeal for
his master's service.''

``Thou art right, good yeoman,'' answered Richard;
``and if I had Ivanhoe, on the one hand, to
give grave advice, and recommend it by the sad
gravity of his brow, and thee, on the other, to trick
me into what thou thinkest my own good, I should
have as little the freedom of mine own will as any
king in Christendom or Heathenesse.---But come,
sirs, let us merrily on to Coningsburgh, and think
no more on't.''

Robin Hood assured them that he had detached
a party in the direction of the road they were to
pass, who would not fail to discover and apprize
them of any secret ambuscade; and that he had
little doubt they would find the ways secure, or,
if otherwise, would receive such timely notice of
the danger as would enable them to fall back on a
strong troop of archers, with which he himself proposed
to follow on the same route.

The wise and attentive precautions adopted for
his safety touched Richard's feelings, and removed
any slight grudge which he might retain on account
of the deception the Outlaw Captain had practised
upon him. He once more extended his hand to
Robin Hood, assured him of his full pardon and
future favour, as well as his firm resolution to restrain
the tyrannical exercise of the forest rights
and other oppressive laws, by which so many English
yeomen were driven into a state of rebellion.
But Richard's good intentions towards the bold Outlaw
were frustrated by the King's untimely death;
and the Charter of the Forest was extorted from
the unwilling hands of King John when he succeeded
to his heroic brother. As for the rest of
Robin Hood's career, as well as the tale of his
treacherous death, they are to be found in those
black-letter garlands, once sold at the low and easy
rate of one halfpenny,

``Now cheaply purchased at their weight in gold.''

The Outlaw's opinion proved true; and the King,
attended by Ivanhoe, Gurth, and Wamba, arrived,
without any interruption, within view of the Castle
of Coningsburgh, while the sun was yet in the horizon.

There are few more beautiful or striking scenes
in England, than are presented by the vicinity of
this ancient Saxon fortress. The soft and gentle
river Don sweeps through an amphitheatre, in which
cultivation is richly blended with woodland, and on
a mount, ascending from the river, well defended
by walls and ditches, rises this ancient edifice,
which, as its Saxon name implies, was, previous to
the Conquest, a royal residence of the kings of
England. The outer walls have probably been added
by the Normans, but the inner keep bears token
of very great antiquity. It is situated on a mount
at one angle of the inner court, and forms a complete
circle of perhaps twenty-five feet in diameter.
The wall is of immense thickness, and is propped
or defended by six huge external buttresses which
project from the circle, and rise up against the sides
of the tower is if to strengthen or to support it.
These massive buttresses are solid when they arise
from the foundation, and a good way higher up;
but are hollowed out towards the top, and terminate
in a sort of turrets communicating with the
interior of the keep itself. The distant appearance
of this huge building, with these singular accompaniments,
is as interesting to the lovers of the
picturesque, as the interior of the castle is to the
eager antiquary, whose imagination it carries back
to the days of the heptarchy. A barrow, in the
vicinity of the castle, is pointed out as the tomb of
the memorable Hengist; and various monuments,
of great antiquity and curiosity, are shown in the
neighbouring churchyard.*

* Note I. Castle of Coningsburgh.

When Cur-de-Lion and his retinue approached
this rude yet stately building, it was not, as at
present, surrounded by external fortifications. The
Saxon architect had exhausted his art in rendering
the main keep defensible, and there was no other
circumvallation than a rude barrier of palisades.

A huge black banner, which floated from the top
of the tower, announced that the obsequies of the
late owner were still in the act of being solemnized.
It bore no emblem of the deceased's birth or quality,
for armorial bearings were then a novelty among
the Norman chivalry themselves and, were totally
unknown to the Saxons. But above the gate was
another banner, on which the figure of a white
horse, rudely painted, indicated the nation and rank
of the deceased, by the well-known symbol of Hengist
and his Saxon warriors.

All around the castle was a scene of busy commotion;
for such funeral banquets were times of
general and profuse hospitality, which not only
every one who could claim the most distant connexion
with the deceased, but all passengers whatsoever,
were invited to partake. The wealth and
consequence of the deceased Athelstane, occasioned
this custom to be observed in the fullest extent.

Numerous parties, therefore, were seen ascending
and descending the hill on which the castle was
situated; and when the King and his attendants
entered the open and unguarded gates of the external
barrier, the space within presented a scene
not easily reconciled with the cause of the assemblage.
In one place cooks were toiling to roast
huge oxen, and fat sheep; in another, hogsheads
of ale were set abroach, to be drained at the freedom
of all comers. Groups of every description
were to be seen devouring the food and swallowing
the liquor thus abandoned to their discretion. The
naked Saxon serf was drowning the sense of his
half-year's hunger and thirst, in one day of gluttony
and drunkenness---the more pampered burgess
and guild-brother was eating his morsel with gust,
or curiously criticising the quantity of the malt
and the skill of the brewer. Some few of the poorer
Norman gentry might also be seen, distinguished
by their shaven chins and short cloaks, and not
less so by their keeping together, and looking with
great scorn on the whole solemnity, even while
condescending to avail themselves of the good cheer
which was so liberally supplied.

Mendicants were of course assembled by the
score, together with strolling soldiers returned
from Palestine, (according to their own account at
least,) pedlars were displaying their wares, travelling
mechanics were enquiring after employment,
and wandering palmers, hedge-priests, Saxon
minstrels, and Welsh bards, were muttering prayers,
and extracting mistuned dirges from their harps,
crowds, and rotes.* One sent forth the praises

* The crowth, or crowd, was a species of violin. The rote a
* sort of guitar, or rather hurdy-gurdy, the strings of which were
* managed by a wheel, from which the instrument took its name.

of Athelstane in a doleful panegyric; another, in
a Saxon genealogical poem, rehearsed the uncouth
and harsh names of his noble ancestry. Jesters
and jugglers were not awanting, nor was the occasion
of the assembly supposed to render the exercise
of their profession indecorous or improper.
Indeed the ideas of the Saxons on these occasions
were as natural as they were rude. If sorrow was
thirsty, there was drink---if hungry, there was food
---if it sunk down upon and saddened the heart,
here were the means supplied of mirth, or at least
of amusement. Nor did the assistants scorn to avail
themselves of those means of consolation, although,
every now and then, as if suddenly recollecting the
cause which had brought them together, the men
groaned in unison, while the females, of whom many
were present, raised up their voices and shrieked
for very woe.

Such was the scene in the castle-yard at Coningsburgh
when it was entered by Richard and his followers.
The seneschal or steward deigned not to
take notice of the groups of inferior guests who
were perpetually entering and withdrawing, unless
so far as was necessary to preserve order; nevertheless
he was struck by the good mien of the Monarch
and Ivanhoe, more especially as he imagined
the features of the latter were familiar to him. Besides,
the approach of two knights, for such their
dress bespoke them, was a rare event at a Saxon
solemnity, and could not but be regarded as a sort
of honour to the deceased and his family. And in
his sable dress, and holding in his hand his white
wand of office, this important personage made way
through the miscellaneous assemblage of guests,
thus conducting Richard and Ivanhoe to the entrance
of the tower. Gurth and Wamba speedily
found acquaintances in the court-yard, nor presumed
to intrude themselves any farther until their
presence should be required.

CHAPTER XLII

I find them winding of Marcello's corpse.
And there was such a solemn melody,
'Twixt doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies,---
Such as old grandames, watching by the dead,
Are wont to outwear the night with.
_Old Play._

The mode of entering the great tower of Coningsburgh
Castle is very peculiar, and partakes of
the rude simplicity of the early times in which it
was erected. A flight of steps, so deep and narrow
as to be almost precipitous, leads up to a low portal
in the south side of the tower, by which the adventurous
antiquary may still, or at least could a few
years since, gain access to a small stair within the
thickness of the main wall of the tower, which leads
up to the third story of the building,---the two
lower being dungeons or vaults, which neither receive
air nor light, save by a square hole in the third
story, with which they seem to have communicated
by a ladder. The access to the upper apartments
in the tower which consist in all of four stories, is
given by stairs which are carried up through the
external buttresses.

By this difficult and complicated entrance, the
good King Richard, followed by his faithful Ivanhoe,
was ushered into the round apartment which
occupies the whole of the third story from the
ground. Wilfred, by the difficulties of the ascent,
gained time to muffle his face in his mantle, as it
had been held expedient that he should not present
himself to his father until the King should give
him the signal.

There were assembled in this apartment, around
a large oaken table, about a dozen of the most distinguished
representatives of the Saxon families in
the adjacent counties. They were all old, or, at
least, elderly men; for the younger race, to the
great displeasure of the seniors, had, like Ivanhoe,
broken down many of the barriers which separated
for half a century the Norman victors from the
vanquished Saxons. The downcast and sorrowful
looks of these venerable men, their silence and their
mournful posture, formed a strong contrast to the
levity of the revellers on the outside of the castle.
Their grey locks and long full beards, together
with their antique tunics and loose black mantles,
suited well with the singular and rude apartment
in which they were seated, and gave the appearance
of a band of ancient worshippers of Woden,
recalled to life to mourn over the decay of their
national glory.

Cedric, seated in equal rank among his countrymen,
seemed yet, by common consent, to act as
chief of the assembly. Upon the entrance of Richard
(only known to him as the valorous Knight
of the Fetterlock) he arose gravely, and gave him
welcome by the ordinary salutation, _Waes hael_,
raising at the same time a goblet to his head. The
King, no stranger to the customs of his English
subjects, returned the greeting with the appropriate
words, _Drinc hael_, and partook of a cup which
was handed to him by the sewer. The same courtesy
was offered to Ivanhoe, who pledged his father
in silence, supplying the usual speech by an inclination
of his head, lest his voice should have been
recognised.

When this introductory ceremony was performed,
Cedric arose, and, extending his hand to Richard,
conducted him into a small and very rude chapel,
which was excavated, as it were, out of one of the
external buttresses. As there was no opening,
saving a little narrow loop-hole, the place would
have been nearly quite dark but for two flambeaux
or torches, which showed, by a red and smoky light,
the arched roof and naked walls, the rude altar of
stone, and the crucifix of the same material.

Before this altar was placed a bier, and on each
side of this bier kneeled three priests, who told
their beads, and muttered their prayers, with the
greatest signs of external devotion. For this service
a splendid _soul-scat_ was paid to the convent of
Saint Edmund's by the mother of the deceased;
and, that it might be fully deserved, the whole
brethren, saving the lame Sacristan, had transferred
themselves to Coningsburgh, where, while six of
their number were constantly on guard in the performance
of divine rites by the bier of Athelstane,
the others failed not to take their share of the refreshments
and amusements which went on at the
castle. In maintaining this pious watch and ward,
the good monks were particularly careful not to interrupt
their hymns for an instant, lest Zernebock,
the ancient Saxon Apollyon, should lay his clutches
on the departed Athelstane. Now were they less
careful to prevent any unhallowed layman from
touching the pall, which, having been that used at
the funeral of Saint Edmund, was liable to be desecrated,
if handled by the profane. If, in truth,
these attentions could be of any use to the deceased,
he had some right to expect them at the hands of
the brethren of Saint Edmund's, since, besides a
hundred mancuses of gold paid down as the soul-ransom,
the mother of Athelstane had announced
her intention of endowing that foundation with the
better part of the lands of the deceased, in order
to maintain perpetual prayers for his soul, and that
of her departed husband.
Richard and Wilfred followed the Saxon Cedric
into the apartment of death, where, as their guide
pointed with solemn air to the untimely bier of
Athelstane, they followed his example in devoutly
crossing themselves, and muttering a brief prayer
for the weal of the departed soul.

This act of pious charity performed, Cedric again
motioned them to follow him, gliding over the
stone floor with a noiseless tread; and, after ascending
a few steps, opened with great caution the door
of a small oratory, which adjoined to the chapel.
It was about eight feet square, hollowed, like the
chapel itself, out of the thickness of the wall; and
the loop-hole, which enlightened it, being to the
west, and widening considerably as it sloped inward,
a beam of the setting sun found its way into
its dark recess, and showed a female of a dignified
mien, and whose countenance retained the marked
remains of majestic beauty. Her long mourning
robes and her flowing wimple of black cypress, enhanced
the whiteness of her skin, and the beauty
of her light-coloured and flowing tresses, which
time had neither thinned nor mingled with silver.
Her countenance expressed the deepest sorrow that
is consistent with resignation. On the stone table
before her stood a crucifix of ivory, beside which
was laid a missal, having its pages richly illuminated,
and its boards adorned with clasps of gold,
and bosses of the same precious metal.

``Noble Edith,'' said Cedric, after having stood
a moment silent, as if to give Richard and Wilfred
time to look upon the lady of the mansion, ``these
are worthy strangers, come to take a part in thy
sorrows. And this, in especial, is the valiant Knight
who fought so bravely for the deliverance of him
for whom we this day mourn.'

``His bravery has my thanks,'' returned the
lady; ``although it be the will of Heaven that it
should be displayed in vain. I thank, too, his
courtesy, and that of his companion, which hath
brought them hither to behold the widow of Adeling,
the mother of Athelstane, in her deep hour
of sorrow and lamentation. To your care, kind
kinsman, I intrust them, satisfied that they will
want no hospitality which these sad walls can yet
afford.''

The guests bowed deeply to the mourning parent,
and withdrew from their hospitable guide.

Another winding stair conducted them to an
apartment of the same size with that which they
had first entered, occupying indeed the story immediately
above. From this room, ere yet the door
was opened, proceeded a low and melancholy strain
of vocal music. When they entered, they found
themselves in the presence of about twenty matrons
and maidens of distinguished Saxon lineage. Four
maidens, Rowena leading the choir, raised a hymn
for the soul of the deceased, of which we have only
been able to decipher two or three stanzas:---

Dust unto dust,
To this all must;
The tenant hath resign'd
The faded form
To waste and worm---
Corruption claims her kind.

Through paths unknown
Thy soul hath flown,
To seek the realms of woe,
Where fiery pain
Shall purge the stain
Of actions done below.

In that sad place,
By Mary's grace,
Brief may thy dwelling be
Till prayers and alms,
And holy psalms,
Shall set the captive free.

While this dirge was sang, in a low and melancholy
tone, by the female choristers, the others were
divided into two bands, of which one was engaged
in bedecking, with such embroidery as their skill
and taste could compass, a large silken pall, destined
to cover the bier of Athelstane, while the
others busied themselves in selecting, from baskets
of flowers placed before them, garlands, which they
intended for the same mournful purpose. The behaviour
of the maidens was decorous, if not marked
with deep affliction; but now and then a whisper
or a smile called forth the rebuke of the severer
matrons, and here and there might be seen a damsel
more interested in endeavouring to find out how
her mourning-robe became her, than in the dismal
ceremony for which they were preparing. Neither
was this propensity (if we must needs confess the
truth) at all diminished by the appearance of two
strange knights, which occasioned some looking up,
peeping, and whispering. Rowena alone, too proud
to be vain, paid her greeting to her deliverer with
a graceful courtesy. Her demeanour was serious,
but not dejected; and it may be doubted whether
thoughts of Ivanhoe, and of the uncertainty of his
fate, did not claim as great a share in her gravity
as the death of her kinsman.

To Cedric, however, who, as we have observed,
was not remarkably clear-sighted on such occasions,
the sorrow of his ward seemed so much deeper than
any of the other maidens, that he deemed it proper
to whisper the explanation---``She was the affianced
bride of the noble Athelstane.''---It may
be doubted whether this communication went a far
way to increase Wilfred's disposition to sympathize
with the mourners of Coningsburgh.

Having thus formally introduced the guests to
the different chambers in which the obsequies of
Athelstane were celebrated under different forms,
Cedric conducted them into a small room, destined,
as he informed them, for the exclusive accomodation
of honourable guests, whose more slight connexion
with the deceased might render them unwilling
to join those who were immediately effected
by the unhappy event. He assured them of
every accommodation, and was about to withdraw
when the Black Knight took his hand.

``I crave to remind you, noble Thane,'' he said,
that when we last parted, you promised, for the
service I had the fortune to render you, to grant
me a boon.''

``It is granted ere named, noble Knight,'' said
Cedric; ``yet, at this sad moment------''

``Of that also,'' said the King, ``I have bethought
me---but my time is brief---neither does it seem to
me unfit, that, when closing the grave on the noble
Athelstane, we should deposit therein certain prejudices
and hasty opinions.''

``Sir Knight of the Fetterlock,'' said Cedric,
colouring, and interrupting the King in his turn,
``I trust your boon regards yourself and no other;
for in that which concerns the honour of my house,
it is scarce fitting that a stranger should mingle.''

``Nor do I wish to mingle,'' said the King, mildly,
``unless in so far as you will admit me to have
an interest. As yet you have known me but as
the Black Knight of the Fetterlock---Know me
now as Richard Plantagenet.''

``Richard of Anjou!'' exclaimed Cedric, stepping
backward with the utmost astonishment.

``No, noble Cedric---Richard of England!---
whose deepest interest---whose deepest wish, is to
see her sons united with each other.---And, how
now, worthy Thane! hast thou no knee for thy
prince?''

``To Norman blood,'' said Cedric, ``it hath never
bended.''

``Reserve thine homage then,'' said the Monarch,
``until I shall prove my right to it by my
equal protection of Normans and English.''

``Prince,'' answered Cedric, ``I have ever done
justice to thy bravery and thy worth---Nor am I
ignorant of thy claim to the crown through thy
descent from Matilda, niece to Edgar Atheling,
and daughter to Malcolm of Scotland. But Matilda,
though of the royal Saxon blood, was not the
heir to the monarchy.''

``I will not dispute my title with thee, noble
Thane,'' said Richard, calmly; ``but I will bid thee
look around thee, and see where thou wilt find another
to be put into the scale against it.''

``And hast thou wandered hither, Prince, to
tell me so?'' said Cedric---``To upbraid me with
the ruin of my race, ere the grave has closed o'er
the last scion of Saxon royalty?''---His countenance
darkened as he spoke.---``It was boldly---it
was rashly done!''

``Not so, by the holy rood!'' replied the King;
``it was done in the frank confidence which one
brave man may repose in another, without a shadow
of danger.''

``Thou sayest well, Sir King---for King I own
thou art, and wilt be, despite of my feeble opposition.
---I dare not take the only mode to prevent it,
though thou hast placed the strong temptation
within my reach!''

``And now to my boon,'' said the King, ``which
I ask not with one jot the loss confidence, that thou
hast refused to acknowledge my lawful sovereignty.
I require of thee, as a man of thy word, on
pain of being held faithless, man-sworn, and _nidering_,*

* Infamous.

to forgive and receive to thy paternal affection
the good knight, Wilfred of Ivanhoe. In this
reconciliation thou wilt own I have an interest---
the happiness of my friend, and the quelling of
dissension among my faithful people.''

``And this is Wilfred!'' said Cedric, pointing to
his son.

``My father!---my father!'' said Ivanhoe, prostrating
himself at Cedric's feet, ``grant me thy forgiveness!''

``Thou hast it, my son,'' said Cedric, raising him
up. ``The son of Hereward knows how to keep
his word, even when it has been passed to a Norman.
But let me see thee use the dress and costume of thy
English ancestry---no short cloaks, no gay bonnets,
no fantastic plumage in my decent household. He
that would be the son of Cedric, must show himself
of English ancestry.---Thou art about to speak,'' he
added, sternly, ``and I guess the topic. The Lady
Rowena must complete two years' mourning, as
for a betrothed husband---all our Saxon ancestors
would disown us were we to treat of a new union
for her ere the grave of him she should have wedded---
him, so much the most worthy of her hand
by birth and ancestry---is yet closed. The ghost
of Athelstane himself would burst his bloody cerements
and stand before us to forbid such dishonour
to his memory.''