Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott

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At length the drawbridge fell, the gates opened,
and a knight, bearing the great standard of the
Order, sallied from the castle, preceded by six
trumpets, and followed by the Knights Preceptors,
two and two, the Grand Master coming last, mounted
on a stately horse, whose furniture was of the
simplest kind. Behind him came Brian de Bois-Guilbert,
armed cap-a-pie in bright armour, but
without his lance, shield, and sword, which were
borne by his two esquires behind him. His face,
though partly hidden by a long plume which floated
down from his barrel-cap, bore a strong and
mingled expression of passion, in which pride seemed
to contend with irresolution. He looked ghastly
pale, as if he had not slept for several nights, yet
reined his pawing war-horse with the habitual ease
and grace proper to the best lance of the Order of
the Temple. His general appearance was grand
and commanding; but, looking at him with attention,
men read that in his dark features, from which
they willingly withdrew their eyes.

On either side rode Conrade of Mont-Fitchet,
and Albert de Malvoisin, who acted as godfathers
to the champion. They were in their robes of peace,
the white dress of the Order. Behind them followed
other Companions of the Temple, with a long
train of esquires and pages clad in black, aspirants
to the honour of being one day Knights of the Order.
After these neophytes came a guard of warders
on foot, in the same sable livery, amidst whose
partisans might be seen the pale form of the accused,
moving with a slow but undismayed step towards
the scene of her fate. She was stript of all her ornaments,
lest perchance there should be among them
some of those amulets which Satan was supposed
to bestow upon his victims, to deprive them of the
power of confession even when under the torture.
A coarse white dress, of the simplest form, had been
substituted for her Oriental garments; yet there
was such an exquisite mixture of courage and resignation
in her look, that even in this garb, and with
no other ornament than her long black tresses, each
eye wept that looked upon her, and the most hardened
bigot regretted the fate that had converted a
creature so goodly into a vessel of wrath, and a
waged slave of the devil.

A crowd of inferior personages belonging to the
Preceptory followed the victim, all moving with
the utmost order, with arms folded, and looks bent
upon the ground.

This slow procession moved up the gentle eminence,
on the summit of which was the tiltyard,
and, entering the lists, marched once around them
from right to left, and when they had completed
the circle, made a halt. There was then a momentary
bustle, while the Grand Master and all his attendants,
excepting the champion and his godfathers,
dismounted from their horses, which were
immediately removed out of the lists by the esquires,
who were in attendance for that purpose.

The unfortunate Rebecca was conducted to the
black chair placed near the pile. On her first glance
at the terrible spot where preparations were making
for a death alike dismaying to the mind and painful
to the body, she was observed to shudder and
shut her eyes, praying internally doubtless, for her
lips moved though no speech was heard. In the
space of a minute she opened her eyes, looked fixedly
on the pile as if to familiarize her mind with
the object, and then slowly and naturally turned
away her head.

Meanwhile, the Grand Master had assumed his
seat; and when the chivalry of his order was placed
around and behind him, each in his due rank, a loud
and long flourish of the trumpets announced that
the Court were seated for judgment. Malvoisin,
then, acting as godfather of the champion, stepped
forward, and laid the glove of the Jewess, which
was the pledge of battle, at the feet of the Grand
Master.

``Valorous Lord, and reverend Father,'' said he,
here standeth the good Knight, Brian de Bois-Guilbert,
Knight Preceptor of the Order of the
Temple, who, by accepting the pledge of battle
which I now lay at your reverence's feet, hath become
bound to do his devoir in combat this day, to
maintain that this Jewish maiden, by name Rebecca,
hath justly deserved the doom passed upon her
in a Chapter of this most Holy Order of the Temple
of Zion, condemning her to die as a sorceress;
---here, I say, he standeth, such battle to do, knightly
and honourable, if such be your noble and sanctified
pleasure.''

``Hath he made oath,'' said the Grand Master,
``that his quarrel is just and honourable? Bring
forward the Crucifix and the _Te igitur_.''

``Sir, and most reverend father,'' answered Malvoisin,
readily, ``our brother here present hath already
sworn to the truth of his accusation in the
hand of the good Knight Conrade de Mont-Fitchet;
and otherwise he ought not to be sworn, seeing
that his adversary is an unbeliever, and may take
no oath.''

This explanation was satisfactory, to Albert's
great joy; for the wily knight had foreseen the
great difficulty, or rather impossibility, of prevailing
upon Brian de Bois-Guilbert to take such an
oath before the assembly, and had invented this excuse
to escape the necessity of his doing so.

The Grand Master, having allowed the apology
of Albert Malvoisin, commanded the herald to stand
forth and do his devoir. The trumpets then again
flourished, and a herald, stepping forward, proclaimed
aloud,---``Oyez, oyez, oyez.---Here standeth
the good Knight, Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert,
ready to do battle with any knight of free blood,
who will sustain the quarrel allowed and allotted to
the Jewess Rebecca, to try by champion, in respect
of lawful essoine of her own body; and to such
champion the reverend and valorous Grand Master
here present allows a fair field, and equal partition
of sun and wind, and whatever else appertains to a
fair combat.'' The trumpets again sounded, and
there was a dead pause of many minutes.

``No champion appears for the appellant,'' said
the Grand Master. ``Go, herald, and ask her whether
she expects any one to do battle for her in
this her cause.'' The herald went to the chair in
which Rebecca was seated, and Bois-Guilbert suddenly
turning his horse's head toward that end of
the lists, in spite of hints on either side from Malvoisin
and Mont-Fitchet, was by the side of Rebecca's
chair as soon as the herald.

``Is this regular, and according to the law of
combat?'' said Malvoisin, looking to the Grand
Master.

``Albert de Malvoisin, it is,'' answered Beaumanoir;
``for in this appeal to the judgment of God,
we may not prohibit parties from having that communication
with each other, which may best tend to
bring forth the truth of the quarrel.''
In the meantime, the herald spoke to Rebecca in
these terms:---``Damsel, the Honourable and Reverend
the Grand Master demands of thee, if thou
art prepared with a champion to do battle this day
in thy behalf, or if thou dost yield thee as one justly
condemned to a deserved doom?''

``Say to the Grand Master,'' replied Rebecca,
``that I maintain my innocence, and do not yield
me as justly condemned, lest I become guilty of mine
own blood. Say to him, that I challenge such delay
as his forms will permit, to see if God, whose opportunity
is in man's extremity, will raise me up a
deliverer; and when such uttermost space is passed,
may His holy will be done!'' The herald retired
to carry this answer to the Grand Master.

``God forbid,'' said Lucas Beaumanoir, ``that
Jew or Pagan should impeach us of injustice!---
Until the shadows be cast from the west to the
eastward, will we wait to see if a champion shall
appear for this unfortunate woman. When the day
is so far passed, let her prepare for death.''

The herald communicated the words of the Grand
Master to Rebecca, who bowed her head submissively,
folded her arms, and, looking up towards
heaven, seemed to expect that aid from above which
she could scarce promise herself from man. During
this awful pause, the voice of Bois-Guilbert broke
upon her ear---it was but a whisper, yet it startled
her more than the summons of the herald had appeared
to do.

``Rebecca,'' said the Templar, ``dost thou hear
me?''

``I have no portion in thee, cruel, hard-hearted
man,'' said the unfortunate maiden.

``Ay, but dost thou understand my words?''
said the Templar; ``for the sound of my voice is
frightful in mine own ears. I scarce know on what
ground we stand, or for what purpose they have
brought us hither.---This listed space---that chair
---these faggots---I know their purpose, and yet it
appears to me like something unreal---the fearful
picture of a vision, which appals my sense with
hideous fantasies, but convinces not my reason.''

``My mind and senses keep touch and time,''
answered Rebecca, ``and tell me alike that these
faggots are destined to consume my earthly body,
and open a painful but a brief passage to a better
world.''
``Dreams, Rebecca,---dreams,'' answered the
Templar; ``idle visions, rejected by the wisdom of
your own wiser Sadducees. Hear me, Rebecca,'' he
said, proceeding with animation; ``a better chance
hast thou for life and liberty than yonder knaves
and dotard dream of. Mount thee behind me on
my steed---on Zamor, the gallant horse that never
failed his rider. I won him in single fight from
the Soldan of Trebizond---mount, I say, behind me
---in one short hour is pursuit and enquiry far behind
---a new world of pleasure opens to thee---to
me a new career of fame. Let them speak the
doom which I despise, and erase the name of Bois-Guilbert
from their list of monastic slaves! I will
wash out with blood whatever blot they may dare
to cast on my scutcheon.''

``Tempter,'' said Rebecca, ``begone!---Not in
this last extremity canst thou move me one hair's-breadth
from my resting place---surrounded as I am
by foes, I hold thee as my worst and most deadly
enemy---avoid thee, in the name of God!''

Albert Malvoisin, alarmed and impatient at the
duration of their conference, now advanced to interrupt
it.

``Hath the maiden acknowledged her guilt?''
he demanded of Bois-Guilbert; ``or is she resolute
in her denial?''

``She is indeed resolute,'' said Bois-Guilbert.

``Then,'' said Malvoisin, ``must thou, noble
brother, resume thy place to attend the issue---The
shades are changing on the circle of the dial---Come,
brave Bois-Guilbert---come, thou hope of our holy
Order, and soon to be its head.''

As he spoke in this soothing tone, he laid his
hand on the knight's bridle, as if to lead him back
to his station.

``False villain! what meanest thou by thy hand
on my rein?'' said Sir Brian, angrily. And shaking
off his companion's grasp, he rode back to the
upper end of the lists.

``There is yet spirit in him,'' said Malvoisin apart
to Mont-Fitchet, ``were it well directed---but, like
the Greek fire, it burns whatever approaches it.''

The Judges had now been two hours in the lists,
awaiting in vain the appearance of a champion.

``And reason good,'' said Friar Tuck, ``seeing
she is a Jewess---and yet, by mine Order, it is hard
that so young and beautiful a creature should perish
without one blow being struck in her behalf! Were
she ten times a witch, provided she were but the
least bit of a Christian, my quarter-staff should ring
noon on the steel cap of yonder fierce Templar, ere
he carried the matter off thus.''

It was, however, the general belief that no one
could or would appear for a Jewess, accused of sorcery;
and the knights, instigated by Malvoisin,
whispered to each other, that it was time to declare
the pledge of Rebecca forfeited. At this instant a
knight, urging his horse to speed, appeared on the
plain advancing towards the lists. A hundred
voices exclaimed, ``A champion! a champion!''
And despite the prepossessions and prejudices of
the multitude, they shouted unanimously as the
knight rode into the tiltyard, The second glance,
however, served to destroy the hope that his timely
arrival had excited. His horse, urged for many
miles to its utmost speed, appeared to reel from fatigue,
and the rider, however undauntedly he presented
himself in the lists, either from weakness,
weariness, or both, seemed scarce able to support
himself in the saddle.

To the summons of the herald, who demanded
his rank, his name, and purpose, the stranger knight
answered readily and boldly, ``I am a good knight
and noble, come hither to sustain with lance and
sword the just and lawful quarrel of this damsel,
Rebecca, daughter of Isaac of York; to uphold the
doom pronounced against her to be false and truthless,
and to defy Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as a
traitor, murderer, and liar; as I will prove in this
field with my body against his, by the aid of God,
of Our Lady, and of Monseigneur Saint George,
the good knight.''

``The stranger must first show,'' said Malvoisin,
``that he is good knight, and of honourable lineage.
The Temple sendeth not forth her champions
against nameless men.''

``My name,'' said the Knight, raising his helmet,
``is better known, my lineage more pure, Malvoisin,
than thine own. I am Wilfred of Ivanhoe.''

``I will not fight with thee at present,'' said the
Templar, in a changed and hollow voice. ``Get thy
wounds healed, purvey thee a better horse, and it
may be I will hold it worth my while to scourge
out of thee this boyish spirit of bravade.''

``Ha! proud Templar,'' said Ivanhoe, ``hast
thou forgotten that twice didst thou fall before this
lance? Remember the lists at Acre---remember the
Passage of Arms at Ashby---remember thy proud
vaunt in the halls of Rotherwood, and the gage of
your gold chain against my reliquary, that thou
wouldst do battle with Wilfred of Ivanhoe, and recover
the honour thou hadst lost! By that reliquary
and the holy relic it contains, I will proclaim thee,
Templar, a coward in every court in Europe---in
every Preceptory of thine Order--unless thou do
battle without farther delay.''

Bois-Guilbert turned his countenance irresolutely
towards Rebecca, and then exclaimed, looking
fiercely at Ivanhoe, ``Dog of a Saxon! take thy
lance, and prepare for the death thou hast drawn
upon thee!''

``Does the Grand Master allow me the combat?''
said Ivanhoe.

``I may not deny what thou hast challenged,''
said the Grand Master, ``provided the maiden accepts
thee as her champion. Yet I would thou wert
in better plight to do battle. An enemy of our
Order hast thou ever been, yet would I have thee
honourably met with.''

``Thus---thus as I am, and not otherwise,'' said
Ivanhoe; ``it is the judgment of God---to his keeping
I commend myself.---Rebecca,'' said he, riding
up to the fatal chair, ``dost thou accept of me for
thy champion?''

``I do,'' she said---``I do,'' fluttered by an emotion
which the fear of death had been unable to
produce, ``I do accept thee as the champion whom
Heaven hath sent me. Yet, no---no---thy wounds
are uncured---Meet not that proud man---why
shouldst thou perish also?''

But Ivanhoe was already at his post, and had
closed his visor, and assumed his lance. Bois-Guilbert
did the same; and his esquire remarked, as
he clasped his visor, that his face, which had, notwithstanding
the variety of emotions by which he
had been agitated, continued during the whole
morning of an ashy paleness, was now become suddenly
very much flushed.

The herald, then, seeing each champion in his
place, uplifted his voice, repeating thrice---_Faites
vos devoirs, preux chevaliers!_ After the third cry,
he withdrew to one side of the lists, and again proclaimed,
that none, on peril of instant death, should
dare, by word, cry, or action, to interfere with or
disturb this fair field of combat. The Grand Master,
who held in his hand the gage of battle, Rebecca's
glove, now threw it into the lists, and pronounced
the fatal signal words, _Laissez aller_.

The trumpets sounded, and the knights charged
each other in full career. The wearied horse of
Ivanhoe, and its no less exhausted rider, went down,
as all had expected, before the well-aimed lance and
vigorous steed of the Templar. This issue of the
combat all had foreseen; but although the spear of
Ivanhoe did but, in comparison, touch the shield of
Bois-Guilbert, that champion, to the astonishment
of all who beheld it reeled in his saddle, lost his
stirrups, and fell in the lists.

Ivanhoe, extricating himself from his fallen horse,
was soon on foot, hastening to mend his fortune
with his sword; but his antagonist arose not. Wilfred,
placing his foot on his breast, and the sword's
point to his throat, commanded him to yield him,
or die on the spot. Bois-Guilbert returned no
answer.

``Slay him not, Sir Knight,'' cried the Grand
Master, ``unshriven and unabsolved---kill not body
and soul! We allow him vanquished.''

He descended into the lists, and commanded them
to unhelm the conquered champion. His eyes were
closed---the dark red flush was still on his brow.
As they looked on him in astonishment, the eyes
opened---but they were fixed and glazed. The flush
passed from his brow, and gave way to the pallid
hue of death. Unscathed by the lance of his enemy,
he had died a victim to the violence of his own
contending passions.

``This is indeed the judgment of God,'' said the
Grand Master, looking upwards---``_Fiat voluntas tua!_''

CHAPTER XLIV

So! now 'tis ended, like an old wife's story.
_Webster_.

When the first moments of surprise were over,
Wilfred of Ivanhoe demanded of the Grand Master,
as judge of the field, if he had manfully and
rightfully done his duty in the combat?
``Manfully and rightfully hath it been done,'' said
the Grand Master. ``I pronounce the maiden free
and guiltless---The arms and the body of the deceased
knight are at the will of the victor.''

``I will not despoil him of his weapons,'' said the
Knight of Ivanhoe, ``nor condemn his corpse to
shame---he hath fought for Christendom---God's
arm, no human hand, hath this day struck him down.
But let his obsequies be private, as becomes those
of a man who died in an unjust quarrel.---And for
the maiden---''

He was interrupted by a clattering of horses' feet,
advancing in such numbers, and so rapidly, as to
shake the ground before them; and the Black Knight
galloped into the lists. He was followed by a numerous
band of men-at-arms, and several knights
in complete armour.

``I am too late,'' he said, looking around him. ``I
had doomed Bois-Guilbert for mine own property.
---Ivanhoe, was this well, to take on thee such a
venture, and thou scarce able to keep thy saddle?''

``Heaven, my Liege,'' answered Ivanhoe, ``hath
taken this proud man for its victim. He was not
to be honoured in dying as your will had designed.''

``Peace be with him,'' said Richard, looking steadfastly
on the corpse, ``if it may be so---he was a
gallant knight, and has died in his steel harness full
knightly. But we must waste no time---Bohun, do
thine office!''

A Knight stepped forward from the King's attendants,
and, laying his hand on the shoulder of
Albert de Malvoisin, said, ``I arrest thee of High
Treason.''

The Grand Master had hitherto stood astonished
at the appearance of so many warriors.---He now
spoke.

``Who dares to arrest a Knight of the Temple
of Zion, within the girth of his own Preceptory,
and in the presence of the Grand Master? and by
whose authority is this bold outrage offered?''

``I make the arrest,'' replied the Knight---``I,
Henry Bohun, Earl of Essex, Lord High Constable
of England.''

``And he arrests Malvoisin,'' said the King, raising
his visor, ``by the order of Richard Plantagenet,
here present.---Conrade Mont-Fitchet, it is
well for thee thou art born no subject of mine.---
But for thee, Malvoisin, thou diest with thy brother
Philip, ere the world be a week older.''

``I will resist thy doom,'' said the Grand Master.

``Proud Templar,'' said the King, ``thou canst
not---look up, and behold the Royal Standard of
England floats over thy towers instead of thy Temple
banner!---Be wise, Beaumanoir, and make no
bootless opposition---Thy hand is in the lion's
mouth.''

``I will appeal to Rome against thee,'' said the
Grand Master, ``for usurpation on the immunities
and privileges of our Order.''

``Be it so,'' said the King; ``but for thine own
sake tax me not with usurpation now. Dissolve
thy Chapter, and depart with thy followers to thy
next Preceptory, (if thou canst find one), which has
not been made the scene of treasonable conspiracy
against the King of England---Or, if thou wilt, remain,
to share our hospitality, and behold our justice.''

``To be a guest in the house where I should command?''
said the Templar; ``never!---Chaplains,
raise the Psalm, _Quare fremuerunt Genies?_---
Knights, squires, and followers of the Holy Temple,
prepare to follow the banner of _Beau-seant!_''

The Grand Master spoke with a dignity which
confronted even that of England's king himself, and
inspired courage into his surprised and dismayed
followers. They gathered around him like the
sheep around the watch-dog, when they hear the
baying of the wolf. But they evinced not the timidity
of the scared flock---there were dark brows of
defiance, and looks which menaced the hostility
they dared not to proffer in words. They drew together
in a dark line of spears, from which the
white cloaks of the knights were visible among the
dusky garments of their retainers, like the lighter-coloured
edges of a sable cloud. The multitude,
who had raised a clamorous shout of reprobation,
paused and gazed in silence on the formidable and
experienced body to which they had unwarily bade
defiance, and shrunk back from their front.

The Earl of Essex, when he beheld them pause
in their assembled force, dashed the rowels into his
charger's sides, and galloped backwards and forwards
to array his followers, in opposition to a band
so formidable. Richard alone, as if he loved the
danger his presence had provoked, rode slowly along
the front of the Templars, calling aloud, ``What,
sirs! Among so many gallant knights, will none
dare splinter a spear with Richard?---Sirs of the
Temple! your ladies are but sun-burned, if they
are not worth the shiver of a broken lance?''

``The Brethren of the Temple,'' said the Grand
Master, riding forward in advance of their body,
``fight not on such idle and profane quarrel---and
not with thee, Richard of England, shall a Templar
cross lance in my presence. The Pope and
Princes of Europe shall judge our quarrel, and
whether a Christian prince has done well in bucklering
the cause which thou hast to-day adopted.
If unassailed, we depart assailing no one. To thine
honour we refer the armour and household goods
of the Order which we leave behind us, and on thy
conscience we lay the scandal and offence thou hast
this day given to Christendom.''

With these words, and without waiting a reply,
the Grand Master gave the signal of departure.
Their trumpets sounded a wild march, of an Oriental
character, which formed the usual signal for the
Templars to advance. They changed their array
from a line to a column of march, and moved off as
slowly as their horses could step, as if to show it
was only the will of their Grand Master, and no
fear of the opposing and superior force, which compelled
them to withdraw.

``By the splendour of Our Lady's brow!'' said
King Richard, ``it is pity of their lives that these
Templars are not so trusty as they are disciplined
and valiant.''

The multitude, like a timid cur which waits to
bark till the object of its challenge has turned his
back, raised a feeble shout as the rear of the squadron
left the ground.

During the tumult which attended the retreat of
the Templars, Rebecca saw and heard nothing---she
was locked in the arms of her aged father, giddy,
and almost senseless, with the rapid change of circumstances
around her. But one word from Isaac
at length recalled her scattered feelings.

``Let us go,'' he said, ``my dear daughter, my
recovered treasure---let us go to throw ourselves at
the feet of the good youth.''

``Not so,'' said Rebecca, ``O no---no---no---I
must not at this moment dare to speak to him---
Alas! I should say more than---No, my father,
let us instantly leave this evil place.''
``But, my daughter,'' said Isaac, ``to leave him
who hath come forth like a strong man with his
spear and shield, holding his life as nothing, so he
might redeem thy captivity; and thou, too, the
daughter of a people strange unto him and his---
this is service to be thankfully acknowledged.''

``It is---it is---most thankfully---most devoutly
acknowledged,'' said Rebecca---``it shall be still more
so---but not now---for the sake of thy beloved Rachel,
father, grant my request---not now!''

``Nay, but,'' said Isaac, insisting, ``they will deem
us more thankless than mere dogs!''

``But thou seest, my dear father, that King
Richard is in presence, and that------''

``True, my best---my wisest Rebecca!---Let us
hence---let us hence!---Money he will lack, for he
has just returned from Palestine, and, as they say,
from prison---and pretext for exacting it, should he
need any, may arise out of my simple traffic with
his brother John. Away, away, let us hence!''