"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 Coeur-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." [561]

"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 he 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 a 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 Coeur-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.

"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 as 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. [57]

When Coeur-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. [58]

One sent forth the praises 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 found 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. Nor 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 sung, 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 less 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', [581] 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."

It seemed as if Cedric's words had raised a spectre; for, scarce had
he uttered them ere the door flew open, and Athelstane, arrayed in
the garments of the grave, stood before them, pale, haggard, and like
something arisen from the dead! [59]

The effect of this apparition on the persons present was utterly
appalling. Cedric started back as far as the wall of the apartment would
permit, and, leaning against it as one unable to support himself, gazed
on the figure of his friend with eyes that seemed fixed, and a mouth
which he appeared incapable of shutting. Ivanhoe crossed himself,
repeating prayers in Saxon, Latin, or Norman-French, as they occurred
to his memory, while Richard alternately said, "Benedicite", and swore,
"Mort de ma vie!"

In the meantime, a horrible noise was heard below stairs, some crying,
"Secure the treacherous monks!"--others, "Down with them into the
dungeon!"--others, "Pitch them from the highest battlements!"

"In the name of God!" said Cedric, addressing what seemed the spectre of
his departed friend, "if thou art mortal, speak!--if a departed spirit,
say for what cause thou dost revisit us, or if I can do aught that can
set thy spirit at repose.--Living or dead, noble Athelstane, speak to
Cedric!"

"I will," said the spectre, very composedly, "when I have collected
breath, and when you give me time--Alive, saidst thou?--I am as much
alive as he can be who has fed on bread and water for three days, which
seem three ages--Yes, bread and water, Father Cedric! By Heaven, and all
saints in it, better food hath not passed my weasand for three livelong
days, and by God's providence it is that I am now here to tell it."

"Why, noble Athelstane," said the Black Knight, "I myself saw you struck
down by the fierce Templar towards the end of the storm at Torquilstone,
and as I thought, and Wamba reported, your skull was cloven through the
teeth."

"You thought amiss, Sir Knight," said Athelstane, "and Wamba lied. My
teeth are in good order, and that my supper shall presently find--No
thanks to the Templar though, whose sword turned in his hand, so that
the blade struck me flatlings, being averted by the handle of the good
mace with which I warded the blow; had my steel-cap been on, I had not
valued it a rush, and had dealt him such a counter-buff as would have
spoilt his retreat. But as it was, down I went, stunned, indeed, but
unwounded. Others, of both sides, were beaten down and slaughtered
above me, so that I never recovered my senses until I found myself in
a coffin--(an open one, by good luck)--placed before the altar of the
church of Saint Edmund's. I sneezed repeatedly--groaned--awakened and
would have arisen, when the Sacristan and Abbot, full of terror, came
running at the noise, surprised, doubtless, and no way pleased to find
the man alive, whose heirs they had proposed themselves to be. I asked
for wine--they gave me some, but it must have been highly medicated, for
I slept yet more deeply than before, and wakened not for many hours. I
found my arms swathed down--my feet tied so fast that mine ankles ache
at the very remembrance--the place was utterly dark--the oubliette, as
I suppose, of their accursed convent, and from the close, stifled,
damp smell, I conceive it is also used for a place of sepulture. I had
strange thoughts of what had befallen me, when the door of my dungeon
creaked, and two villain monks entered. They would have persuaded me I
was in purgatory, but I knew too well the pursy short-breathed voice of
the Father Abbot.--Saint Jeremy! how different from that tone with which
he used to ask me for another slice of the haunch!--the dog has feasted
with me from Christmas to Twelfth-night."

"Have patience, noble Athelstane," said the King, "take breath--tell
your story at leisure--beshrew me but such a tale is as well worth
listening to as a romance."

"Ay but, by the rood of Bromeholm, there was no romance in the matter!"
said Athelstane.--"A barley loaf and a pitcher of water--that THEY gave
me, the niggardly traitors, whom my father, and I myself, had enriched,
when their best resources were the flitches of bacon and measures of
corn, out of which they wheedled poor serfs and bondsmen, in exchange
for their prayers--the nest of foul ungrateful vipers--barley bread and
ditch water to such a patron as I had been! I will smoke them out of
their nest, though I be excommunicated!"

"But, in the name of Our Lady, noble Athelstane," said Cedric, grasping
the hand of his friend, "how didst thou escape this imminent danger--did
their hearts relent?"

"Did their hearts relent!" echoed Athelstane.--"Do rocks melt with the
sun? I should have been there still, had not some stir in the Convent,
which I find was their procession hitherward to eat my funeral feast,
when they well knew how and where I had been buried alive, summoned the
swarm out of their hive. I heard them droning out their death-psalms,
little judging they were sung in respect for my soul by those who
were thus famishing my body. They went, however, and I waited long for
food--no wonder--the gouty Sacristan was even too busy with his own
provender to mind mine. At length down he came, with an unstable step
and a strong flavour of wine and spices about his person. Good cheer had
opened his heart, for he left me a nook of pasty and a flask of wine,
instead of my former fare. I ate, drank, and was invigorated; when, to
add to my good luck, the Sacristan, too totty to discharge his duty of
turnkey fitly, locked the door beside the staple, so that it fell ajar.
The light, the food, the wine, set my invention to work. The staple to
which my chains were fixed, was more rusted than I or the villain Abbot
had supposed. Even iron could not remain without consuming in the damps
of that infernal dungeon."

"Take breath, noble Athelstane," said Richard, "and partake of some
refreshment, ere you proceed with a tale so dreadful."

"Partake!" quoth Athelstane; "I have been partaking five times
to-day--and yet a morsel of that savoury ham were not altogether foreign
to the matter; and I pray you, fair sir, to do me reason in a cup of
wine."

The guests, though still agape with astonishment, pledged their
resuscitated landlord, who thus proceeded in his story:--He had indeed
now many more auditors than those to whom it was commenced, for Edith,
having given certain necessary orders for arranging matters within
the Castle, had followed the dead-alive up to the stranger's apartment
attended by as many of the guests, male and female, as could squeeze
into the small room, while others, crowding the staircase, caught up
an erroneous edition of the story, and transmitted it still more
inaccurately to those beneath, who again sent it forth to the vulgar
without, in a fashion totally irreconcilable to the real fact.
Athelstane, however, went on as follows, with the history of his
escape:--

"Finding myself freed from the staple, I dragged myself up stairs as
well as a man loaded with shackles, and emaciated with fasting, might;
and after much groping about, I was at length directed, by the sound of
a jolly roundelay, to the apartment where the worthy Sacristan, an it
so please ye, was holding a devil's mass with a huge beetle-browed,
broad-shouldered brother of the grey-frock and cowl, who looked much
more like a thief than a clergyman. I burst in upon them, and the
fashion of my grave-clothes, as well as the clanking of my chains, made
me more resemble an inhabitant of the other world than of this. Both
stood aghast; but when I knocked down the Sacristan with my fist,
the other fellow, his pot-companion, fetched a blow at me with a huge
quarter-staff."

"This must be our Friar Tuck, for a count's ransom," said Richard,
looking at Ivanhoe.

"He may be the devil, an he will," said Athelstane. "Fortunately he
missed the aim; and on my approaching to grapple with him, took to his
heels and ran for it. I failed not to set my own heels at liberty by
means of the fetter-key, which hung amongst others at the sexton's belt;
and I had thoughts of beating out the knave's brains with the bunch of
keys, but gratitude for the nook of pasty and the flask of wine which
the rascal had imparted to my captivity, came over my heart; so, with a
brace of hearty kicks, I left him on the floor, pouched some baked meat,
and a leathern bottle of wine, with which the two venerable brethren had
been regaling, went to the stable, and found in a private stall mine own
best palfrey, which, doubtless, had been set apart for the holy Father
Abbot's particular use. Hither I came with all the speed the beast could
compass--man and mother's son flying before me wherever I came,
taking me for a spectre, the more especially as, to prevent my being
recognised, I drew the corpse-hood over my face. I had not gained
admittance into my own castle, had I not been supposed to be the
attendant of a juggler who is making the people in the castle-yard
very merry, considering they are assembled to celebrate their lord's
funeral--I say the sewer thought I was dressed to bear a part in the
tregetour's mummery, and so I got admission, and did but disclose myself
to my mother, and eat a hasty morsel, ere I came in quest of you, my
noble friend."

"And you have found me," said Cedric, "ready to resume our brave
projects of honour and liberty. I tell thee, never will dawn a morrow so
auspicious as the next, for the deliverance of the noble Saxon race."

"Talk not to me of delivering any one," said Athelstane; "it is well I
am delivered myself. I am more intent on punishing that villain Abbot.
He shall hang on the top of this Castle of Coningsburgh, in his cope and
stole; and if the stairs be too strait to admit his fat carcass, I will
have him craned up from without."

"But, my son," said Edith, "consider his sacred office."

"Consider my three days' fast," replied Athelstane; "I will have their
blood every one of them. Front-de-Boeuf was burnt alive for a less
matter, for he kept a good table for his prisoners, only put too much
garlic in his last dish of pottage. But these hypocritical, ungrateful
slaves, so often the self-invited flatterers at my board, who gave
me neither pottage nor garlic, more or less, they die, by the soul of
Hengist!"

"But the Pope, my noble friend,"--said Cedric--

"But the devil, my noble friend,"--answered Athelstane; "they die, and
no more of them. Were they the best monks upon earth, the world would go
on without them."

"For shame, noble Athelstane," said Cedric; "forget such wretches in the
career of glory which lies open before thee. Tell this Norman prince,
Richard of Anjou, that, lion-hearted as he is, he shall not hold
undisputed the throne of Alfred, while a male descendant of the Holy
Confessor lives to dispute it."

"How!" said Athelstane, "is this the noble King Richard?"