Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott

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The music also of the challengers breathed from
time to time wild bursts expressive of triumph or
defiance, while the clowns grudged a holiday which
seemed to pass away in inactivity; and old knights
and nobles lamented in whispers the decay of martial
spirit, spoke of the triumphs of their younger
days, but agreed that the land did not now supply
dames of such transcendent beauty as had animated
the jousts of former times. Prince John began to
talk to his attendants about making ready the banquet,
and the necessity of adjudging the prize to
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had, with a single
spear, overthrown two knights, and foiled a third.

At length, as the Saracenic music of the challengers
concluded one of those long and high flourishes
with which they had broken the silence of
the lists, it was answered by a solitary trumpet,
which breathed a note of defiance from the northern
extremity. All eyes were turned to see the new
champion which these sounds announced, and no
sooner were the barriers opened than he paced into
the lists. As far as could be judged of a man
sheathed in armour, the new adventurer did not
greatly exceed the middle size, and seemed to be
rather slender than strongly made. His suit of
armour was formed of steel, richly inlaid with gold,
and the device on his shield was a young oak-tree
pulled up by the roots, with the Spanish word Desdichado,
signifying Disinherited. He was mounted
on a gallant black horse, and as he passed through
the lists he gracefully saluted the Prince and the
ladies by lowering his lance. The dexterity with
which he managed his steed, and something of
youthful grace which he displayed in his manner,
won him the favour of the multitude, which some of
the lower classes expressed by calling out, ``Touch
Ralph de Vipont's shield---touch the Hospitallers
shield; he has the least sure seat, he is your cheapest
bargain.''

The champion, moving onward amid these well-meant
hints, ascended the platform by the sloping
alley which led to it from the lists, and, to the astonishment
of all present, riding straight up to the
central pavilion, struck with the sharp end of his
spear the shield of Brian de Bois-Guilbert until it
rung again. All stood astonished at his presumption,
but none more than the redoubted Knight
whom he had thus defied to mortal combat, and
who, little expecting so rude a challenge, was standing
carelessly at the door of the pavilion.

``Have you confessed yourself, brother,'' said the
Templar, ``and have you heard mass this morning,
that you peril your life so frankly?''

``I am fitter to meet death than thou art,'' answered
the Disinherited Knight; for by this name
the stranger had recorded himself in the books of
the tourney.

``Then take your place in the lists,'' said Bois-Guilbert,
``and look your last upon the sun; for
this night thou shalt sleep in paradise.''

``Gramercy for thy courtesy,'' replied the Disinherited
Knight, ``and to requite it, I advise thee
to take a fresh horse and a new lance, for by my
honour you will need both.''

Having expressed himself thus confidently, he
reined his horse backward down the slope which
he had ascended, and compelled him in the same
manner to move backward through the lists, till he
reached the northern extremity, where he remained
stationary, in expectation of his antagonist. This
feat of horsemanship again attracted the applause
of the multitude.

However incensed at his adversary for the precautions
which he recommended, Brian de Bois-Guilbert
did not neglect his advice; for his honour
was too nearly concerned, to permit his neglecting
any means which might ensure victory over his presumptuous
opponent. He changed his horse for a
proved and fresh one of great strength and spirit.
He chose a new and a tough spear, lest the wood
of the former might have been strained in the previous
encounters he had sustained. Lastly, he laid
aside his shield, which had received some little
damage, and received another from his squires. His
first had only borne the general device of his rider,
representing two knights riding upon one horse,
an emblem expressive of the original humility and
poverty of the Templars, qualities which they had
since exchanged for the arrogance and wealth that
finally occasioned their suppression. Bois-Guilbert's
new shield bore a raven in full flight, holding
in its claws a skull, and bearing the motto, _Gare le
Corbeau_.

When the two champions stood opposed to each
other at the two extremities of the lists, the public
expectation was strained to the highest pitch. Few
augured the possibility that the encounter could
terminate well for the Disinherited Knight, yet
his courage and gallantry secured the general good
wishes of the spectators.

The trumpets had no sooner given the signal,
than the champions vanished from their posts with
the speed of lightning, and closed in the centre of
the lists with the shock of a thunderbolt. The
lances burst into shivers up to the very grasp, and
it seemed at the moment that both knights had fallen,
for the shock had made each horse recoil backwards
upon its haunches. The address of the riders
recovered their steeds by use of the bridle and spur;
and having glared on each other for an instant with
eyes which seemed to flash fire through the bars of
their visors, each made a demi-volte, and, retiring
to the extremity of the lists, received a fresh lance
from the attendants.

A loud shout from the spectators, waving of
scarfs and handkerchiefs, and general acclamations,
attested the interest taken by the spectators in this
encounter; the most equal, as well as the best performed,
which had graced the day. But no sooner
had the knights resumed their station, than the clamour
of applause was hushed into a silence, so deep
and so dead, that it seemed the multitude were
afraid even to breathe.

A few minutes pause having been allowed, that
the combatants and their horses might recover
breath, Prince John with his truncheon signed to
the trumpets to sound the onset. The champions
a second time sprung from their stations, and closed
in the centre of the lists, with the same speed, the
same dexterity, the same violence, but not the same
equal fortune as before.

In this second encounter, the Templar aimed at
the centre of his antagonist's shield, and struck it
so fair and forcibly, that his spear went to shivers,
and the Disinherited Knight reeled in his saddle.
On the other hand, that champion had, in the beginning
of his career, directed the point of his lance
towards Bois-Guilbert's shield, but, changing his
aim almost in the moment of encounter, he addressed
it to the helmet, a mark more difficult to hit, but
which, if attained, rendered the shock more irresistible.
Fair and true he hit the Norman on the
visor, where his lance's point kept hold of the bars.
Yet, even at this disadvantage, the Templar sustained
his high reputation; and had not the girths of
his saddle burst, he might not have been unhorsed.
As it chanced, however, saddle, horse, and man,
rolled on the ground under a cloud of dust.

To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen
steed, was to the Templar scarce the work of a moment;
and, stung with madness, both at his disgrace
and at the acclamations with which it was hailed by
the spectators, he drew his sword and waved it in
defiance of his conqueror. The Disinherited Knight
sprung from his steed, and also unsheathed his
sword. The marshals of the field, however, spurred
their horses between them, and reminded them,
that the laws of the tournament did not, on the present
occasion, permit this species of encounter.

``We shall meet again, I trust,'' said the Templar,
casting a resentful glance at his antagonist;
``and where there are none to separate us.''

``If we do not,'' said the Disinherited Knight,
``the fault shall not be mine. On foot or horseback,
with spear, with axe, or with sword, I am
alike ready to encounter thee.''

More and angrier words would have been exchanged,
but the marshals, crossing their lances betwixt
them, compelled them to separate. The Disinherited
Knight returned to his first station, and
Bois-Guilbert to his tent, where he remained for
the rest of the day in an agony of despair.

Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror
called for a bowl of wine, and opening the beaver,
or lower part of his helmet, announced that he quaffed
it, ``To all true English hearts, and to the confusion
of foreign tyrants.'' He then commanded
his trumpet to sound a defiance to the challengers,
and desired a herald to announce to them, that he
should make no election, but was willing to encounter
them in the order in which they pleased to
advance against him.

The gigantic Front-de-Buf, armed in sable armour,
was the first who took the field. He bore
on a white shield a black bull's head, half defaced
by the numerous encounters which he had undergone,
and bearing the arrogant motto, _Cave, Adsum_.
Over this champion the Disinherited Knight obtained
a slight but decisive advantage. Both
Knights broke their lances fairly, but Front-de-Buf,
who lost a stirrup in the encounter, was adjudged
to have the disadvantage.

In the stranger's third encounter with Sir Philip
Malvoisin, he was equally successful; striking that
baron so forcibly on the casque, that the laces of the
helmet broke, and Malvoisin, only saved from falling
by being unhelmeted, was declared vanquished
like his companions.

In his fourth combat with De Grantmesnil, the
Disinherited Knight showed as much courtesy as
he had hitherto evinced courage and dexterity. De
Grantmesnil's horse, which was young and violent,
reared and plunged in the course of the career so
as to disturb the rider's aim, and the stranger, declining
to take the advantage which this accident
afforded him, raised his lance, and passing his antagonist
without touching him, wheeled his horse
and rode back again to his own end of the lists, offering
his antagonist, by a herald, the chance of a
second encounter. This De Grantmesnil declined,
avowing himself vanquished as much by the courtesy
as by the address of his opponent.

Ralph de Vipont summed up the list of the
stranger's triumphs, being hurled to the ground
with such force, that the blood gushed from his nose
and his mouth, and he was borne senseless from the
lists.

The acclamations of thousands applauded the
unanimous award of the Prince and marshals,
announcing that day's honours to the Disinherited Knight.

CHAPTER IX

--------In the midst was seen
A lady of a more majestic mien,
By stature and by beauty mark'd their sovereign Queen.
<*> <*> <*> <*> <*> <*>
And as in beauty she surpass'd the choir,
So nobler than the rest was her attire;
A crown of ruddy gold enclosed her brow,
Plain without pomp, and rich without a show;
A branch of Agnus Castus in her hand,
She bore aloft her symbol of command.
_The Flower and the Leaf_.

William de Wyvil and Stephen de Martival,
the marshals of the field, were the first to offer
their congratulations to the victor, praying him, at
the same time, to suffer his helmet to be unlaced,
or, at least, that he would raise his visor ere they
conducted him to receive the prize of the day's
tourney from the hands of Prince John. The Disinherited
Knight, with all knightly courtesy, declined
their request, alleging, that he could not at
this time suffer his face to be seen, for reasons
which he had assigned to the heralds when he entered
the lists. The marshals were perfectly satisfied
by this reply; for amidst the frequent and capricious
vows by which knights were accustomed
to bind themselves in the days of chivalry,
there were none more common than those by which
they engaged to remain incognito for a certain space,
or until some particular adventure was achieved.
The marshals, therefore, pressed no farther into the
mystery of the Disinherited Knight, but, announcing
to Prince John the conqueror's desire to remain
unknown, they requested permission to bring
him before his Grace, in order that he might receive
the reward of his valour.

John's curiosity was excited by the mystery observed
by the stranger; and, being already displeased
with the issue of the tournament, in which the
challengers whom he favoured had been successively
defeated by one knight, he answered haughtily
to the marshals, ``By the light of Our Lady's brow,
this same knight hath been disinherited as well of
his courtesy as of his lands, since he desires to appear
before us without uncovering his face.---Wot
ye, my lords,'' be said, turning round to his train,
``who this gallant can be, that bears himself thus
proudly?''

``I cannot guess,'' answered De Bracy, ``nor did
I think there had been within the four seas that
girth Britain a champion that could bear down
these five knights in one day's jousting. By my
faith, I shall never forget the force with which he
shocked De Vipont. The poor Hospitaller was
hurled from his saddle like a stone from a sling.''

``Boast not of that,'' said a Knight of St John,
who was present; ``your Temple champion had no
better luck. I saw your brave lance, Bois-Guilbert,
roll thrice over, grasping his hands full of sand at
every turn.

De Bracy, being attached to the Templars, would
have replied, but was prevented by Prince John.
``Silence, sirs!'' he said; ``what unprofitable debate
have we here?''

``The victor,'' said De Wyvil, ``still waits the
pleasure of your highness.''

``It is our pleasure,'' answered John, ``that he
do so wait until we learn whether there is not some
one who can at least guess at his name and quality.
Should he remain there till night-fall, he has
had work enough to keep him warm.''

``Your Grace,'' said Waldemar Fitzurse, ``will
do less than due honour to the victor, if you compel
him to wait till we tell your highness that which
we cannot know; at least I can form no guess---
unless he be one of the good lances who accompanied
King Richard to Palestine, and who are now
straggling homeward from the Holy Land.''

``It may be the Earl of Salisbury,'' said De Bracy;
``he is about the same pitch.''

``Sir Thomas de Multon, the Knight of Gilsland,
rather,'' said Fitzurse; ``Salisbury is bigger
in the bones.'' A whisper arose among the train,
but by whom first suggested could not be ascertained.
``It might be the King---it might be
Richard Cur-de-Lion himself!''

``Over God's forbode!'' said Prince John, involuntarily
turning at the same time as pale as death,
and shrinking as if blighted by a flash of lightning;
``Waldemar!---De Bracy! brave knights and gentlemen,
remember your promises, and stand truly
by me!''

``Here is no danger impending,'' said Waldemar
Fitzurse; ``are you so little acquainted with the
gigantic limbs of your father's son, as to think they
can be held within the circumference of yonder suit
of armour?---De Wyvil and Martival, you will best
serve the Prince by bringing forward the victor to
the throne, and ending an error that has conjured
all the blood from his cheeks.---Look at him more
closely,'' he continued, ``your highness will see that
he wants three inches of King Richard's height,
and twice as much of his shoulder-breadth. The
very horse he backs, could not have carried the
ponderous weight of King Richard through a single
course.''

While he was yet speaking, the marshals brought
forward the Disinherited Knight to the foot of a
wooden flight of steps, which formed the ascent
from the lists to Prince John's throne. Still discomposed
with the idea that his brother, so much
injured, and to whom he was so much indebted,
had suddenly arrived in his native kingdom, even
the distinctions pointed out by Fitzurse did not altogether
remove the Prince's apprehensions; and
while, with a short and embarrassed eulogy upon
his valour, he caused to be delivered to him the
war-horse assigned as the prize, he trembled lest
from the barred visor of the mailed form before
him, an answer might be returned, in the deep and
awful accents of Richard the Lion-hearted.

But the Disinherited Knight spoke not a word
in reply to the compliment of the Prince, which
he only acknowledged with a profound obeisance.

The horse was led into the lists by two grooms
richly dressed, the animal itself being fully accoutred
with the richest war-furniture; which, however,
scarcely added to the value of the noble creature
in the eyes of those who were judges. Laying
one hand upon the pommel of the saddle, the Disinherited
Knight vaulted at once upon the back of
the steed without making use of the stirrup, and,
brandishing aloft his lance, rode twice around the
lists, exhibiting the points and paces of the horse
with the skill of a perfect horseman

The appearance of vanity, which might otherwise
have been attributed to this display, was removed
by the propriety shown in exhibiting to the
best advantage the princely reward with which he
had been just honoured, and the Knight was again
greeted by the acclamations of all present.

In the meanwhile, the bustling Prior of Jorvaulx
had reminded Prince John, in a whisper, that the
victor must now display his good judgment, instead
of his valour, by selecting from among the beauties
who graced the galleries a lady, who should fill the
throne of the Queen of Beauty and of Love, and
deliver the prize of the tourney upon the ensuing
day. The Prince accordingly made a sign with
his truncheon, as the Knight passed him in his second
career around the lists. The Knight turned
towards the throne, and, sinking his lance, until the
point was within a foot of the ground, remained
motionless, as if expecting John's commands; while
all admired the sudden dexterity with which he instantly
reduced his fiery steed from a state of violent
emotion and high excitation to the stillness of
an equestrian statue,

``Sir Disinherited Knight,'' said Prince John,
``since that is the only title by which we can address
you, it is now your duty, as well as privilege,
to name the fair lady, who, as Queen of Honour
and of Love, is to preside over next day's festival.
If, as a stranger in our land, you should require
the aid of other judgment to guide your own, we
can only say that Alicia, the daughter of our gallant
knight Waldemar Fitzurse, has at our court
been long held the first in beauty as in place. Nevertheless,
it is your undoubted prerogative to confer
on whom you please this crown, by the delivery
of which to the lady of your choice, the election of
to-morrow's Queen will be formal and complete.---
Raise your lance.''

The Knight obeyed; and Prince John placed
upon its point a coronet of green satin, having
around its edge a circlet of gold, the upper edge of
which was relieved by arrow-points and hearts placed
interchangeably, like the strawberry leaves and
balls upon a ducal crown.

In the broad hint which he dropped respecting
the daughter of Waldemar Fitzurse, John had
more than one motive, each the offspring of a mind,
which was a strange mixture of carelessness and
presumption with low artifice and cunning. He
wished to banish from the minds of the chivalry
around him his own indecent and unacceptable jest
respecting the Jewess Rebecca; he was desirous of
conciliating Alicia's father Waldemar, of whom he
stood in awe, and who had more than once shown
himself dissatisfied during the course of the day's
proceedings. He had also a wish to establish himself
in the good graces of the lady; for John was
at least as licentious in his pleasures as profligate in
his ambition. But besides all these reasons, he
was desirous to raise up against the Disinherited
Knight (towards whom he already entertained a
strong dislike) a powerful enemy in the person of
Waldemar Fitzurse, who was likely, he thought,
highly to resent the injury done to his daughter,
in case, as was not unlikely, the victor should make
another choice.

And so indeed it proved. For the Disinherited
Knight passed the gallery close to that of the
Prince, in which the Lady Alicia was seated in the
full pride of triumphant beauty, and, pacing forwards
as slowly as he had hitherto rode swiftly
around the lists, he seemed to exercise his right of
examining the numerous fair faces which adorned
that splendid circle.

It was worth while to see the different conduct
of the beauties who underwent this examination,
during the time it was proceeding. Some blushed,
some assumed an air of pride and dignity, some
looked straight forward, and essayed to seem utterly
unconscious of what was going on, some drew
back in alarm, which was perhaps affected, some
endeavoured to forbear smiling, and there were two
or three who laughed outright. There were also
some who dropped their veils over their charms;
but, as the Wardour Manuscript says these were
fair ones of ten years standing, it may be supposed
that, having had their full share of such vanities,
they were willing to withdraw their claim, in order
to give a fair chance to the rising beauties of the
age.

At length the champion paused beneath the balcony
in which the Lady Rowena was placed, and
the expectation of the spectators was excited to the
utmost.

It must be owned, that if an interest displayed
in his success could have bribed the Disinherited
Knight, the part of the lists before which he paused
had merited his predilection. Cedric the Saxon,
overjoyed at the discomfiture of the Templar,
and still more so at the, miscarriage of his two malevolent
neighbours, Front-de-Buf and Malvoisin,
had, with his body half stretched over the balcony,
accompanied the victor in each course, not
with his eyes only, but with his whole heart and
soul. The Lady Rowena had watched the progress
of the day with equal attention, though without
openly betraying the same intense interest. Even
the unmoved Athelstane had shown symptoms of
shaking off his apathy, when, calling for a huge
goblet of muscadine, he quaffed it to the health of
the Disinherited Knight.
Another group, stationed under the gallery occupied
by the Saxons, had shown no less interest
in the fate of the day.

``Father Abraham!'' said Isaac of York, when
the first course was run betwixt the Templar and
the Disinherited Knight, ``how fiercely that Gentile
rides! Ah, the good horse that was brought
all the long way from Barbary, he takes no more
care of him than if he were a wild ass's colt---and
the noble armour, that was worth so many zecchins
to Joseph Pareira, the armourer of Milan, besides
seventy in the hundred of profits, he cares for it as
little as if he had found it in the highways!''

``If he risks his own person and limbs, father,''
said Rebecca, ``in doing such a dreadful battle, he
can scarce be expected to spare his horse and armour.''

``Child!'' replied Isaac, somewhat heated, ``thou
knowest not what thou speakest---His neck and
limbs are his own, but his horse and armour belong
to---Holy Jacob! what was I about to say!---
Nevertheless, it is a good youth---See, Rebecca!
see, he is again about to go up to battle against the
Philistine---Pray, child---pray for the safety of the
good youth,---and of the speedy horse, and the rich
armour.---God of my fathers!'' he again exclaimed,
``he hath conquered, and the uncircumcised Philistine
hath fallen before his lance,---even as Og the
King of Bashan, and Sihon, King of the Amorites,
fell before the sword of our fathers!---Surely he
shall take their gold and their silver, and their war-horses,
and their armour of brass and of steel, for
a prey and for a spoil.''

The same anxiety did the worthy Jew display
during every course that was run, seldom failing to
hazard a hasty calculation concerning the value of
the horse and armour which was forfeited to the
champion upon each new success. There had been
therefore no small interest taken in the success of
the Disinherited Knight, by those who occupied the
part of the lists before which he now paused.

Whether from indecision, or some other motive
of hesitation, the champion of the day remained
stationary for more than a minute, while the eyes
of the silent audience were riveted upon his motions;
and then, gradually and gracefully sinking
the point of his lance, he deposited the coronet
Which it supported at the feet of the fair Rowena.
The trumpets instantly sounded, while the heralds
proclaimed the Lady Rowena the Queen of Beauty
and of Love for the ensuing day, menacing with
suitable penalties those who should be disobedient
to her authority. They then repeated their cry of
Largesse, to which Cedric, in the height of his joy,
replied by an ample donative, and to which Athelstane,
though less promptly, added one equally
large.

There was some murmuring among the damsels
of Norman descent, who were as much unused to
see the preference given to a Saxon beauty, as the
Norman nobles were to sustain defeat in the games
of chivalry which they themselves had introduced.
But these sounds of disaffection were drowned by
the popular shout of ``Long live the Lady Rowena,
the chosen and lawful Queen of Love and of Beauty!''
To which many in the lower area added,
``Long live the Saxon Princess! long live the race
of the immortal Alfred!''