"By the light of heaven!" said Prince John to Hubert, "an thou suffer
that runagate knave to overcome thee, thou art worthy of the gallows!"

Hubert had but one set speech for all occasions. "An your highness
were to hang me," he said, "a man can but do his best. Nevertheless, my
grandsire drew a good bow--"

"The foul fiend on thy grandsire and all his generation!" interrupted
John, "shoot, knave, and shoot thy best, or it shall be the worse for
thee!"

Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and not neglecting the
caution which he had received from his adversary, he made the necessary
allowance for a very light air of wind, which had just arisen, and
shot so successfully that his arrow alighted in the very centre of the
target.

"A Hubert! a Hubert!" shouted the populace, more interested in a known
person than in a stranger. "In the clout!--in the clout!--a Hubert for
ever!"

"Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley," said the Prince, with an
insulting smile.

"I will notch his shaft for him, however," replied Locksley.

And letting fly his arrow with a little more precaution than before, it
lighted right upon that of his competitor, which it split to shivers.
The people who stood around were so astonished at his wonderful
dexterity, that they could not even give vent to their surprise in their
usual clamour. "This must be the devil, and no man of flesh and blood,"
whispered the yeomen to each other; "such archery was never seen since a
bow was first bent in Britain."

"And now," said Locksley, "I will crave your Grace's permission to plant
such a mark as is used in the North Country; and welcome every brave
yeoman who shall try a shot at it to win a smile from the bonny lass he
loves best."

He then turned to leave the lists. "Let your guards attend me," he said,
"if you please--I go but to cut a rod from the next willow-bush."

Prince John made a signal that some attendants should follow him in
case of his escape: but the cry of "Shame! shame!" which burst from the
multitude, induced him to alter his ungenerous purpose.

Locksley returned almost instantly with a willow wand about six feet in
length, perfectly straight, and rather thicker than a man's thumb. He
began to peel this with great composure, observing at the same time,
that to ask a good woodsman to shoot at a target so broad as had
hitherto been used, was to put shame upon his skill. "For his own part,"
he said, "and in the land where he was bred, men would as soon take for
their mark King Arthur's round-table, which held sixty knights around
it. A child of seven years old," he said, "might hit yonder target with
a headless shaft; but," added he, walking deliberately to the other end
of the lists, and sticking the willow wand upright in the ground, "he
that hits that rod at five-score yards, I call him an archer fit to bear
both bow and quiver before a king, an it were the stout King Richard
himself."

"My grandsire," said Hubert, "drew a good bow at the battle of Hastings,
and never shot at such a mark in his life--and neither will I. If this
yeoman can cleave that rod, I give him the bucklers--or rather, I yield
to the devil that is in his jerkin, and not to any human skill; a man
can but do his best, and I will not shoot where I am sure to miss. I
might as well shoot at the edge of our parson's whittle, or at a wheat
straw, or at a sunbeam, as at a twinkling white streak which I can
hardly see."

"Cowardly dog!" said Prince John.--"Sirrah Locksley, do thou shoot; but,
if thou hittest such a mark, I will say thou art the first man ever
did so. However it be, thou shalt not crow over us with a mere show of
superior skill."

"I will do my best, as Hubert says," answered Locksley; "no man can do
more."

So saying, he again bent his bow, but on the present occasion looked
with attention to his weapon, and changed the string, which he thought
was no longer truly round, having been a little frayed by the two former
shots. He then took his aim with some deliberation, and the multitude
awaited the event in breathless silence. The archer vindicated their
opinion of his skill: his arrow split the willow rod against which it
was aimed. A jubilee of acclamations followed; and even Prince John, in
admiration of Locksley's skill, lost for an instant his dislike to his
person. "These twenty nobles," he said, "which, with the bugle, thou
hast fairly won, are thine own; we will make them fifty, if thou wilt
take livery and service with us as a yeoman of our body guard, and be
near to our person. For never did so strong a hand bend a bow, or so
true an eye direct a shaft."

"Pardon me, noble Prince," said Locksley; "but I have vowed, that if
ever I take service, it should be with your royal brother King Richard.
These twenty nobles I leave to Hubert, who has this day drawn as brave
a bow as his grandsire did at Hastings. Had his modesty not refused the
trial, he would have hit the wand as well I."

Hubert shook his head as he received with reluctance the bounty of the
stranger, and Locksley, anxious to escape further observation, mixed
with the crowd, and was seen no more.

The victorious archer would not perhaps have escaped John's attention
so easily, had not that Prince had other subjects of anxious and more
important meditation pressing upon his mind at that instant. He called
upon his chamberlain as he gave the signal for retiring from the lists,
and commanded him instantly to gallop to Ashby, and seek out Isaac the
Jew. "Tell the dog," he said, "to send me, before sun-down, two thousand
crowns. He knows the security; but thou mayst show him this ring for a
token. The rest of the money must be paid at York within six days. If
he neglects, I will have the unbelieving villain's head. Look that thou
pass him not on the way; for the circumcised slave was displaying his
stolen finery amongst us."

So saying, the Prince resumed his horse, and returned to Ashby, the
whole crowd breaking up and dispersing upon his retreat.




CHAPTER XIV

     In rough magnificence array'd,
     When ancient Chivalry display'd
     The pomp of her heroic games,
     And crested chiefs and tissued dames
     Assembled, at the clarion's call,
     In some proud castle's high arch'd hall.
     --Warton

Prince John held his high festival in the Castle of Ashby. This was
not the same building of which the stately ruins still interest the
traveller, and which was erected at a later period by the Lord Hastings,
High Chamberlain of England, one of the first victims of the tyranny
of Richard the Third, and yet better known as one of Shakspeare's
characters than by his historical fame. The castle and town of Ashby, at
this time, belonged to Roger de Quincy, Earl of Winchester, who, during
the period of our history, was absent in the Holy Land. Prince John, in
the meanwhile, occupied his castle, and disposed of his domains without
scruple; and seeking at present to dazzle men's eyes by his hospitality
and magnificence, had given orders for great preparations, in order to
render the banquet as splendid as possible.

The purveyors of the Prince, who exercised on this and other occasions
the full authority of royalty, had swept the country of all that could
be collected which was esteemed fit for their master's table. Guests
also were invited in great numbers; and in the necessity in which he
then found himself of courting popularity, Prince John had extended his
invitation to a few distinguished Saxon and Danish families, as well as
to the Norman nobility and gentry of the neighbourhood. However
despised and degraded on ordinary occasions, the great numbers of
the Anglo-Saxons must necessarily render them formidable in the civil
commotions which seemed approaching, and it was an obvious point of
policy to secure popularity with their leaders.

It was accordingly the Prince's intention, which he for some time
maintained, to treat these unwonted guests with a courtesy to which they
had been little accustomed. But although no man with less scruple
made his ordinary habits and feelings bend to his interest, it was
the misfortune of this Prince, that his levity and petulance were
perpetually breaking out, and undoing all that had been gained by his
previous dissimulation.

Of this fickle temper he gave a memorable example in Ireland, when sent
thither by his father, Henry the Second, with the purpose of buying
golden opinions of the inhabitants of that new and important acquisition
to the English crown. Upon this occasion the Irish chieftains contended
which should first offer to the young Prince their loyal homage and
the kiss of peace. But, instead of receiving their salutations with
courtesy, John and his petulant attendants could not resist the
temptation of pulling the long beards of the Irish chieftains; a
conduct which, as might have been expected, was highly resented by these
insulted dignitaries, and produced fatal consequences to the English
domination in Ireland. It is necessary to keep these inconsistencies
of John's character in view, that the reader may understand his conduct
during the present evening.

In execution of the resolution which he had formed during his cooler
moments, Prince John received Cedric and Athelstane with distinguished
courtesy, and expressed his disappointment, without resentment, when the
indisposition of Rowena was alleged by the former as a reason for her
not attending upon his gracious summons. Cedric and Athelstane were both
dressed in the ancient Saxon garb, which, although not unhandsome in
itself, and in the present instance composed of costly materials, was
so remote in shape and appearance from that of the other guests, that
Prince John took great credit to himself with Waldemar Fitzurse for
refraining from laughter at a sight which the fashion of the day
rendered ridiculous. Yet, in the eye of sober judgment, the short close
tunic and long mantle of the Saxons was a more graceful, as well as a
more convenient dress, than the garb of the Normans, whose under garment
was a long doublet, so loose as to resemble a shirt or waggoner's frock,
covered by a cloak of scanty dimensions, neither fit to defend the
wearer from cold or from rain, and the only purpose of which appeared
to be to display as much fur, embroidery, and jewellery work, as the
ingenuity of the tailor could contrive to lay upon it. The Emperor
Charlemagne, in whose reign they were first introduced, seems to have
been very sensible of the inconveniences arising from the fashion of
this garment. "In Heaven's name," said he, "to what purpose serve these
abridged cloaks? If we are in bed they are no cover, on horseback they
are no protection from the wind and rain, and when seated, they do not
guard our legs from the damp or the frost."

Nevertheless, spite of this imperial objurgation, the short cloaks
continued in fashion down to the time of which we treat, and
particularly among the princes of the House of Anjou. They were
therefore in universal use among Prince John's courtiers; and the
long mantle, which formed the upper garment of the Saxons, was held in
proportional derision.

The guests were seated at a table which groaned under the quantity of
good cheer. The numerous cooks who attended on the Prince's progress,
having exerted all their art in varying the forms in which the ordinary
provisions were served up, had succeeded almost as well as the modern
professors of the culinary art in rendering them perfectly unlike their
natural appearance. Besides these dishes of domestic origin, there were
various delicacies brought from foreign parts, and a quantity of rich
pastry, as well as of the simnel-bread and wastle cakes, which were only
used at the tables of the highest nobility. The banquet was crowned with
the richest wines, both foreign and domestic.

But, though luxurious, the Norman nobles were not generally speaking
an intemperate race. While indulging themselves in the pleasures of
the table, they aimed at delicacy, but avoided excess, and were apt to
attribute gluttony and drunkenness to the vanquished Saxons, as vices
peculiar to their inferior station. Prince John, indeed, and those who
courted his pleasure by imitating his foibles, were apt to indulge to
excess in the pleasures of the trencher and the goblet; and indeed it is
well known that his death was occasioned by a surfeit upon peaches and
new ale. His conduct, however, was an exception to the general manners
of his countrymen.

With sly gravity, interrupted only by private signs to each other, the
Norman knights and nobles beheld the ruder demeanour of Athelstane
and Cedric at a banquet, to the form and fashion of which they were
unaccustomed. And while their manners were thus the subject of sarcastic
observation, the untaught Saxons unwittingly transgressed several of the
arbitrary rules established for the regulation of society. Now, it is
well known, that a man may with more impunity be guilty of an actual
breach either of real good breeding or of good morals, than appear
ignorant of the most minute point of fashionable etiquette. Thus Cedric,
who dried his hands with a towel, instead of suffering the moisture to
exhale by waving them gracefully in the air, incurred more ridicule than
his companion Athelstane, when he swallowed to his own single share
the whole of a large pasty composed of the most exquisite foreign
delicacies, and termed at that time a "Karum-Pie". When, however, it
was discovered, by a serious cross-examination, that the Thane of
Coningsburgh (or Franklin, as the Normans termed him) had no idea
what he had been devouring, and that he had taken the contents of the
Karum-pie for larks and pigeons, whereas they were in fact beccaficoes
and nightingales, his ignorance brought him in for an ample share of the
ridicule which would have been more justly bestowed on his gluttony.

The long feast had at length its end; and, while the goblet circulated
freely, men talked of the feats of the preceding tournament,--of
the unknown victor in the archery games, of the Black Knight, whose
self-denial had induced him to withdraw from the honours he had
won,--and of the gallant Ivanhoe, who had so dearly bought the honours
of the day. The topics were treated with military frankness, and the
jest and laugh went round the hall. The brow of Prince John alone was
overclouded during these discussions; some overpowering care seemed
agitating his mind, and it was only when he received occasional hints
from his attendants, that he seemed to take interest in what was passing
around him. On such occasions he would start up, quaff a cup of wine
as if to raise his spirits, and then mingle in the conversation by some
observation made abruptly or at random.

"We drink this beaker," said he, "to the health of Wilfred of Ivanhoe,
champion of this Passage of Arms, and grieve that his wound renders him
absent from our board--Let all fill to the pledge, and especially Cedric
of Rotherwood, the worthy father of a son so promising."

"No, my lord," replied Cedric, standing up, and placing on the table his
untasted cup, "I yield not the name of son to the disobedient youth, who
at once despises my commands, and relinquishes the manners and customs
of his fathers."

"'Tis impossible," cried Prince John, with well-feigned astonishment,
"that so gallant a knight should be an unworthy or disobedient son!"

"Yet, my lord," answered Cedric, "so it is with this Wilfred. He left my
homely dwelling to mingle with the gay nobility of your brother's court,
where he learned to do those tricks of horsemanship which you prize so
highly. He left it contrary to my wish and command; and in the days
of Alfred that would have been termed disobedience--ay, and a crime
severely punishable."

"Alas!" replied Prince John, with a deep sigh of affected sympathy,
"since your son was a follower of my unhappy brother, it need not
be enquired where or from whom he learned the lesson of filial
disobedience."

Thus spake Prince John, wilfully forgetting, that of all the sons of
Henry the Second, though no one was free from the charge, he himself had
been most distinguished for rebellion and ingratitude to his father.

"I think," said he, after a moment's pause, "that my brother proposed to
confer upon his favourite the rich manor of Ivanhoe."

"He did endow him with it," answered Cedric; "nor is it my least quarrel
with my son, that he stooped to hold, as a feudal vassal, the very
domains which his fathers possessed in free and independent right."

"We shall then have your willing sanction, good Cedric," said Prince
John, "to confer this fief upon a person whose dignity will not
be diminished by holding land of the British crown.--Sir Reginald
Front-de-Boeuf," he said, turning towards that Baron, "I trust you will
so keep the goodly Barony of Ivanhoe, that Sir Wilfred shall not incur
his father's farther displeasure by again entering upon that fief."

"By St Anthony!" answered the black-brow'd giant, "I will consent that
your highness shall hold me a Saxon, if either Cedric or Wilfred, or the
best that ever bore English blood, shall wrench from me the gift with
which your highness has graced me."

"Whoever shall call thee Saxon, Sir Baron," replied Cedric, offended
at a mode of expression by which the Normans frequently expressed their
habitual contempt of the English, "will do thee an honour as great as it
is undeserved."

Front-de-Boeuf would have replied, but Prince John's petulance and
levity got the start.

"Assuredly," said be, "my lords, the noble Cedric speaks truth; and
his race may claim precedence over us as much in the length of their
pedigrees as in the longitude of their cloaks."

"They go before us indeed in the field--as deer before dogs," said
Malvoisin.

"And with good right may they go before us--forget not," said the Prior
Aymer, "the superior decency and decorum of their manners."

"Their singular abstemiousness and temperance," said De Bracy,
forgetting the plan which promised him a Saxon bride.

"Together with the courage and conduct," said Brian de Bois-Guilbert,
"by which they distinguished themselves at Hastings and elsewhere."

While, with smooth and smiling cheek, the courtiers, each in turn,
followed their Prince's example, and aimed a shaft of ridicule at
Cedric, the face of the Saxon became inflamed with passion, and
he glanced his eyes fiercely from one to another, as if the quick
succession of so many injuries had prevented his replying to them in
turn; or, like a baited bull, who, surrounded by his tormentors, is at
a loss to choose from among them the immediate object of his revenge.
At length he spoke, in a voice half choked with passion; and, addressing
himself to Prince John as the head and front of the offence which he had
received, "Whatever," he said, "have been the follies and vices of our
race, a Saxon would have been held 'nidering'," [21] (the most emphatic
term for abject worthlessness,) "who should in his own hall, and while
his own wine-cup passed, have treated, or suffered to be treated, an
unoffending guest as your highness has this day beheld me used; and
whatever was the misfortune of our fathers on the field of Hastings,
those may at least be silent," here he looked at Front-de-Boeuf and the
Templar, "who have within these few hours once and again lost saddle and
stirrup before the lance of a Saxon."

"By my faith, a biting jest!" said Prince John. "How like you it,
sirs?--Our Saxon subjects rise in spirit and courage; become shrewd
in wit, and bold in bearing, in these unsettled times--What say ye,
my lords?--By this good light, I hold it best to take our galleys, and
return to Normandy in time."

"For fear of the Saxons?" said De Bracy, laughing; "we should need no
weapon but our hunting spears to bring these boars to bay."

"A truce with your raillery, Sir Knights," said Fitzurse;--"and it
were well," he added, addressing the Prince, "that your highness should
assure the worthy Cedric there is no insult intended him by jests, which
must sound but harshly in the ear of a stranger."

"Insult?" answered Prince John, resuming his courtesy of demeanour; "I
trust it will not be thought that I could mean, or permit any, to be
offered in my presence. Here! I fill my cup to Cedric himself, since he
refuses to pledge his son's health."

The cup went round amid the well-dissembled applause of the courtiers,
which, however, failed to make the impression on the mind of the Saxon
that had been designed. He was not naturally acute of perception,
but those too much undervalued his understanding who deemed that this
flattering compliment would obliterate the sense of the prior insult. He
was silent, however, when the royal pledge again passed round, "To Sir
Athelstane of Coningsburgh."

The knight made his obeisance, and showed his sense of the honour by
draining a huge goblet in answer to it.

"And now, sirs," said Prince John, who began to be warmed with the wine
which he had drank, "having done justice to our Saxon guests, we
will pray of them some requital to our courtesy.--Worthy Thane," he
continued, addressing Cedric, "may we pray you to name to us some Norman
whose mention may least sully your mouth, and to wash down with a goblet
of wine all bitterness which the sound may leave behind it?"

Fitzurse arose while Prince John spoke, and gliding behind the seat of
the Saxon, whispered to him not to omit the opportunity of putting an
end to unkindness betwixt the two races, by naming Prince John. The
Saxon replied not to this politic insinuation, but, rising up, and
filling his cup to the brim, he addressed Prince John in these words:
"Your highness has required that I should name a Norman deserving to
be remembered at our banquet. This, perchance, is a hard task, since
it calls on the slave to sing the praises of the master--upon the
vanquished, while pressed by all the evils of conquest, to sing the
praises of the conqueror. Yet I will name a Norman--the first in arms
and in place--the best and the noblest of his race. And the lips that
shall refuse to pledge me to his well-earned fame, I term false and
dishonoured, and will so maintain them with my life.--I quaff this
goblet to the health of Richard the Lion-hearted!"

Prince John, who had expected that his own name would have closed
the Saxon's speech, started when that of his injured brother was so
unexpectedly introduced. He raised mechanically the wine-cup to his
lips, then instantly set it down, to view the demeanour of the company
at this unexpected proposal, which many of them felt it as unsafe
to oppose as to comply with. Some of them, ancient and experienced
courtiers, closely imitated the example of the Prince himself, raising
the goblet to their lips, and again replacing it before them. There
were many who, with a more generous feeling, exclaimed, "Long live King
Richard! and may he be speedily restored to us!" And some few, among
whom were Front-de-Boeuf and the Templar, in sullen disdain suffered
their goblets to stand untasted before them. But no man ventured
directly to gainsay a pledge filled to the health of the reigning
monarch.

Having enjoyed his triumph for about a minute, Cedric said to his
companion, "Up, noble Athelstane! we have remained here long enough,
since we have requited the hospitable courtesy of Prince John's banquet.
Those who wish to know further of our rude Saxon manners must henceforth
seek us in the homes of our fathers, since we have seen enough of royal
banquets, and enough of Norman courtesy."

So saying, he arose and left the banqueting room, followed by
Athelstane, and by several other guests, who, partaking of the Saxon
lineage, held themselves insulted by the sarcasms of Prince John and his
courtiers.

"By the bones of St Thomas," said Prince John, as they retreated, "the
Saxon churls have borne off the best of the day, and have retreated with
triumph!"

"'Conclamatum est, poculatum est'," said Prior Aymer; "we have drunk and
we have shouted,--it were time we left our wine flagons."

"The monk hath some fair penitent to shrive to-night, that he is in such
a hurry to depart," said De Bracy.

"Not so, Sir Knight," replied the Abbot; "but I must move several miles
forward this evening upon my homeward journey."

"They are breaking up," said the Prince in a whisper to Fitzurse; "their
fears anticipate the event, and this coward Prior is the first to shrink
from me."

"Fear not, my lord," said Waldemar; "I will show him such reasons as
shall induce him to join us when we hold our meeting at York.--Sir
Prior," he said, "I must speak with you in private, before you mount
your palfrey."

The other guests were now fast dispersing, with the exception of those
immediately attached to Prince John's faction, and his retinue.

"This, then, is the result of your advice," said the Prince, turning
an angry countenance upon Fitzurse; "that I should be bearded at my
own board by a drunken Saxon churl, and that, on the mere sound of my
brother's name, men should fall off from me as if I had the leprosy?"

"Have patience, sir," replied his counsellor; "I might retort your
accusation, and blame the inconsiderate levity which foiled my
design, and misled your own better judgment. But this is no time for
recrimination. De Bracy and I will instantly go among these shuffling
cowards, and convince them they have gone too far to recede."

"It will be in vain," said Prince John, pacing the apartment with
disordered steps, and expressing himself with an agitation to which the
wine he had drank partly contributed--"It will be in vain--they have
seen the handwriting on the wall--they have marked the paw of the
lion in the sand--they have heard his approaching roar shake the
wood--nothing will reanimate their courage."

"Would to God," said Fitzurse to De Bracy, "that aught could reanimate
his own! His brother's very name is an ague to him. Unhappy are the
counsellors of a Prince, who wants fortitude and perseverance alike in
good and in evil!"




CHAPTER XV

     And yet he thinks,--ha, ha, ha, ha,--he thinks
     I am the tool and servant of his will.
     Well, let it be; through all the maze of trouble
     His plots and base oppression must create,
     I'll shape myself a way to higher things,
     And who will say 'tis wrong?
     --Basil, a Tragedy

No spider ever took more pains to repair the shattered meshes of his
web, than did Waldemar Fitzurse to reunite and combine the scattered
members of Prince John's cabal. Few of these were attached to him from
inclination, and none from personal regard. It was therefore necessary,
that Fitzurse should open to them new prospects of advantage, and remind
them of those which they at present enjoyed. To the young and wild
nobles, he held out the prospect of unpunished license and uncontrolled
revelry; to the ambitious, that of power, and to the covetous, that of
increased wealth and extended domains. The leaders of the mercenaries
received a donation in gold; an argument the most persuasive to their
minds, and without which all others would have proved in vain. Promises
were still more liberally distributed than money by this active agent;
and, in fine, nothing was left undone that could determine the wavering,
or animate the disheartened. The return of King Richard he spoke of
as an event altogether beyond the reach of probability; yet, when
he observed, from the doubtful looks and uncertain answers which he
received, that this was the apprehension by which the minds of his
accomplices were most haunted, he boldly treated that event, should
it really take place, as one which ought not to alter their political
calculations.

"If Richard returns," said Fitzurse, "he returns to enrich his needy and
impoverished crusaders at the expense of those who did not follow him
to the Holy Land. He returns to call to a fearful reckoning, those who,
during his absence, have done aught that can be construed offence or
encroachment upon either the laws of the land or the privileges of
the crown. He returns to avenge upon the Orders of the Temple and the
Hospital, the preference which they showed to Philip of France during
the wars in the Holy Land. He returns, in fine, to punish as a rebel
every adherent of his brother Prince John. Are ye afraid of his power?"
continued the artful confident of that Prince, "we acknowledge him a
strong and valiant knight; but these are not the days of King Arthur,
when a champion could encounter an army. If Richard indeed comes back,
it must be alone,--unfollowed--unfriended. The bones of his gallant army
have whitened the sands of Palestine. The few of his followers who have
returned have straggled hither like this Wilfred of Ivanhoe, beggared
and broken men.--And what talk ye of Richard's right of birth?" he
proceeded, in answer to those who objected scruples on that head. "Is
Richard's title of primogeniture more decidedly certain than that of
Duke Robert of Normandy, the Conqueror's eldest son? And yet William
the Red, and Henry, his second and third brothers, were successively
preferred to him by the voice of the nation, Robert had every merit
which can be pleaded for Richard; he was a bold knight, a good leader,
generous to his friends and to the church, and, to crown the whole, a
crusader and a conqueror of the Holy Sepulchre; and yet he died a blind
and miserable prisoner in the Castle of Cardiff, because he opposed
himself to the will of the people, who chose that he should not rule
over them. It is our right," he said, "to choose from the blood royal
the prince who is best qualified to hold the supreme power--that is,"
said he, correcting himself, "him whose election will best promote the
interests of the nobility. In personal qualifications," he added, "it
was possible that Prince John might be inferior to his brother Richard;
but when it was considered that the latter returned with the sword of
vengeance in his hand, while the former held out rewards, immunities,
privileges, wealth, and honours, it could not be doubted which was the
king whom in wisdom the nobility were called on to support."

These, and many more arguments, some adapted to the peculiar
circumstances of those whom he addressed, had the expected weight with
the nobles of Prince John's faction. Most of them consented to attend
the proposed meeting at York, for the purpose of making general
arrangements for placing the crown upon the head of Prince John.

It was late at night, when, worn out and exhausted with his various
exertions, however gratified with the result, Fitzurse, returning to
the Castle of Ashby, met with De Bracy, who had exchanged his banqueting
garments for a short green kirtle, with hose of the same cloth and
colour, a leathern cap or head-piece, a short sword, a horn slung over
his shoulder, a long bow in his hand, and a bundle of arrows stuck in
his belt. Had Fitzurse met this figure in an outer apartment, he would
have passed him without notice, as one of the yeomen of the guard; but
finding him in the inner hall, he looked at him with more attention, and
recognised the Norman knight in the dress of an English yeoman.

"What mummery is this, De Bracy?" said Fitzurse, somewhat angrily; "is
this a time for Christmas gambols and quaint maskings, when the fate of
our master, Prince John, is on the very verge of decision? Why hast thou
not been, like me, among these heartless cravens, whom the very name
of King Richard terrifies, as it is said to do the children of the
Saracens?"

"I have been attending to mine own business," answered De Bracy calmly,
"as you, Fitzurse, have been minding yours."

"I minding mine own business!" echoed Waldemar; "I have been engaged in
that of Prince John, our joint patron."

"As if thou hadst any other reason for that, Waldemar," said De Bracy,
"than the promotion of thine own individual interest? Come, Fitzurse,
we know each other--ambition is thy pursuit, pleasure is mine, and they
become our different ages. Of Prince John thou thinkest as I do; that
he is too weak to be a determined monarch, too tyrannical to be an easy
monarch, too insolent and presumptuous to be a popular monarch, and too
fickle and timid to be long a monarch of any kind. But he is a monarch
by whom Fitzurse and De Bracy hope to rise and thrive; and therefore you
aid him with your policy, and I with the lances of my Free Companions."

"A hopeful auxiliary," said Fitzurse impatiently; "playing the fool in
the very moment of utter necessity.--What on earth dost thou purpose by
this absurd disguise at a moment so urgent?"

"To get me a wife," answered De Bracy coolly, "after the manner of the
tribe of Benjamin."

"The tribe of Benjamin?" said Fitzurse; "I comprehend thee not."

"Wert thou not in presence yester-even," said De Bracy, "when we heard
the Prior Aymer tell us a tale in reply to the romance which was sung by
the Minstrel?--He told how, long since in Palestine, a deadly feud arose
between the tribe of Benjamin and the rest of the Israelitish nation;
and how they cut to pieces well-nigh all the chivalry of that tribe; and
how they swore by our blessed Lady, that they would not permit those
who remained to marry in their lineage; and how they became grieved for
their vow, and sent to consult his holiness the Pope how they might be
absolved from it; and how, by the advice of the Holy Father, the youth
of the tribe of Benjamin carried off from a superb tournament all the
ladies who were there present, and thus won them wives without the
consent either of their brides or their brides' families."

"I have heard the story," said Fitzurse, "though either the Prior or
thou has made some singular alterations in date and circumstances."

"I tell thee," said De Bracy, "that I mean to purvey me a wife after the
fashion of the tribe of Benjamin; which is as much as to say, that in
this same equipment I will fall upon that herd of Saxon bullocks, who
have this night left the castle, and carry off from them the lovely
Rowena."

"Art thou mad, De Bracy?" said Fitzurse. "Bethink thee that, though the
men be Saxons, they are rich and powerful, and regarded with the more
respect by their countrymen, that wealth and honour are but the lot of
few of Saxon descent."

"And should belong to none," said De Bracy; "the work of the Conquest
should be completed."

"This is no time for it at least," said Fitzurse "the approaching crisis
renders the favour of the multitude indispensable, and Prince John
cannot refuse justice to any one who injures their favourites."

"Let him grant it, if he dare," said De Bracy; "he will soon see the
difference betwixt the support of such a lusty lot of spears as mine,
and that of a heartless mob of Saxon churls. Yet I mean no immediate
discovery of myself. Seem I not in this garb as bold a forester as ever
blew horn? The blame of the violence shall rest with the outlaws of the
Yorkshire forests. I have sure spies on the Saxon's motions--To-night
they sleep in the convent of Saint Wittol, or Withold, or whatever they
call that churl of a Saxon Saint at Burton-on-Trent. Next day's march
brings them within our reach, and, falcon-ways, we swoop on them
at once. Presently after I will appear in mine own shape, play the
courteous knight, rescue the unfortunate and afflicted fair one from the
hands of the rude ravishers, conduct her to Front-de-Boeuf's Castle, or
to Normandy, if it should be necessary, and produce her not again to her
kindred until she be the bride and dame of Maurice de Bracy."

"A marvellously sage plan," said Fitzurse, "and, as I think, not
entirely of thine own device.--Come, be frank, De Bracy, who aided
thee in the invention? and who is to assist in the execution? for, as I
think, thine own band lies as far off as York."

"Marry, if thou must needs know," said De Bracy, "it was the Templar
Brian de Bois-Guilbert that shaped out the enterprise, which the
adventure of the men of Benjamin suggested to me. He is to aid me in
the onslaught, and he and his followers will personate the outlaws, from
whom my valorous arm is, after changing my garb, to rescue the lady."

"By my halidome," said Fitzurse, "the plan was worthy of your united
wisdom! and thy prudence, De Bracy, is most especially manifested in the
project of leaving the lady in the hands of thy worthy confederate. Thou
mayst, I think, succeed in taking her from her Saxon friends, but how
thou wilt rescue her afterwards from the clutches of Bois-Guilbert seems
considerably more doubtful--He is a falcon well accustomed to pounce on
a partridge, and to hold his prey fast."

"He is a Templar," said De Bracy, "and cannot therefore rival me in
my plan of wedding this heiress;--and to attempt aught dishonourable
against the intended bride of De Bracy--By Heaven! were he a whole
Chapter of his Order in his single person, he dared not do me such an
injury!"

"Then since nought that I can say," said Fitzurse, "will put this
folly from thy imagination, (for well I know the obstinacy of thy
disposition,) at least waste as little time as possible--let not thy
folly be lasting as well as untimely."

"I tell thee," answered De Bracy, "that it will be the work of a few
hours, and I shall be at York--at the head of my daring and valorous
fellows, as ready to support any bold design as thy policy can be to
form one.--But I hear my comrades assembling, and the steeds stamping
and neighing in the outer court.--Farewell.--I go, like a true knight,
to win the smiles of beauty."

"Like a true knight?" repeated Fitzurse, looking after him; "like a
fool, I should say, or like a child, who will leave the most serious and
needful occupation, to chase the down of the thistle that drives
past him.--But it is with such tools that I must work;--and for whose
advantage?--For that of a Prince as unwise as he is profligate, and as
likely to be an ungrateful master as he has already proved a rebellious
son and an unnatural brother.--But he--he, too, is but one of the tools
with which I labour; and, proud as he is, should he presume to separate
his interest from mine, this is a secret which he shall soon learn."

The meditations of the statesman were here interrupted by the voice
of the Prince from an interior apartment, calling out, "Noble Waldemar
Fitzurse!" and, with bonnet doffed, the future Chancellor (for to such
high preferment did the wily Norman aspire) hastened to receive the
orders of the future sovereign.




CHAPTER XVI

     Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
     From youth to age a reverend hermit grew;
     The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
     His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well
     Remote from man, with God he pass'd his days,
     Prayer all his business--all his pleasure praise.
     --Parnell

The reader cannot have forgotten that the event of the tournament was
decided by the exertions of an unknown knight, whom, on account of the
passive and indifferent conduct which he had manifested on the former
part of the day, the spectators had entitled, "Le Noir Faineant". This
knight had left the field abruptly when the victory was achieved; and
when he was called upon to receive the reward of his valour, he was
nowhere to be found. In the meantime, while summoned by heralds and
by trumpets, the knight was holding his course northward, avoiding all
frequented paths, and taking the shortest road through the woodlands.
He paused for the night at a small hostelry lying out of the ordinary
route, where, however, he obtained from a wandering minstrel news of the
event of the tourney.

On the next morning the knight departed early, with the intention
of making a long journey; the condition of his horse, which he had
carefully spared during the preceding morning, being such as enabled him
to travel far without the necessity of much repose. Yet his purpose was
baffled by the devious paths through which he rode, so that when evening
closed upon him, he only found himself on the frontiers of the
West Riding of Yorkshire. By this time both horse and man required
refreshment, and it became necessary, moreover, to look out for
some place in which they might spend the night, which was now fast
approaching.

The place where the traveller found himself seemed unpropitious for
obtaining either shelter or refreshment, and he was likely to be reduced
to the usual expedient of knights-errant, who, on such occasions, turned
their horses to graze, and laid themselves down to meditate on their
lady-mistress, with an oak-tree for a canopy. But the Black Knight
either had no mistress to meditate upon, or, being as indifferent
in love as he seemed to be in war, was not sufficiently occupied by
passionate reflections upon her beauty and cruelty, to be able to
parry the effects of fatigue and hunger, and suffer love to act as
a substitute for the solid comforts of a bed and supper. He felt
dissatisfied, therefore, when, looking around, he found himself deeply
involved in woods, through which indeed there were many open glades,
and some paths, but such as seemed only formed by the numerous herds of
cattle which grazed in the forest, or by the animals of chase, and the
hunters who made prey of them.

The sun, by which the knight had chiefly directed his course, had now
sunk behind the Derbyshire hills on his left, and every effort which he
might make to pursue his journey was as likely to lead him out of his
road as to advance him on his route. After having in vain endeavoured
to select the most beaten path, in hopes it might lead to the cottage of
some herdsman, or the silvan lodge of a forester, and having repeatedly
found himself totally unable to determine on a choice, the knight
resolved to trust to the sagacity of his horse; experience having,
on former occasions, made him acquainted with the wonderful talent
possessed by these animals for extricating themselves and their riders
on such emergencies.

The good steed, grievously fatigued with so long a day's journey under
a rider cased in mail, had no sooner found, by the slackened reins,
that he was abandoned to his own guidance, than he seemed to assume new
strength and spirit; and whereas, formerly he had scarce replied to the
spur, otherwise than by a groan, he now, as if proud of the confidence
reposed in him, pricked up his ears, and assumed, of his own accord, a
more lively motion. The path which the animal adopted rather turned off
from the course pursued by the knight during the day; but as the horse
seemed confident in his choice, the rider abandoned himself to his
discretion.

He was justified by the event; for the footpath soon after appeared
a little wider and more worn, and the tinkle of a small bell gave the
knight to understand that he was in the vicinity of some chapel or
hermitage.

Accordingly, he soon reached an open plat of turf, on the opposite side
of which, a rock, rising abruptly from a gently sloping plain, offered
its grey and weatherbeaten front to the traveller. Ivy mantled its sides
in some places, and in others oaks and holly bushes, whose roots found
nourishment in the cliffs of the crag, waved over the precipices below,
like the plumage of the warrior over his steel helmet, giving grace to
that whose chief expression was terror. At the bottom of the rock,
and leaning, as it were, against it, was constructed a rude hut, built
chiefly of the trunks of trees felled in the neighbouring forest, and
secured against the weather by having its crevices stuffed with moss
mingled with clay. The stem of a young fir-tree lopped of its branches,
with a piece of wood tied across near the top, was planted upright by
the door, as a rude emblem of the holy cross. At a little distance on
the right hand, a fountain of the purest water trickled out of the
rock, and was received in a hollow stone, which labour had formed into a
rustic basin. Escaping from thence, the stream murmured down the descent
by a channel which its course had long worn, and so wandered through the
little plain to lose itself in the neighbouring wood.

Beside this fountain were the ruins of a very small chapel, of which
the roof had partly fallen in. The building, when entire, had never been
above sixteen feet long by twelve feet in breadth, and the roof, low
in proportion, rested upon four concentric arches which sprung from
the four corners of the building, each supported upon a short and heavy
pillar. The ribs of two of these arches remained, though the roof
had fallen down betwixt them; over the others it remained entire. The
entrance to this ancient place of devotion was under a very low round
arch, ornamented by several courses of that zig-zag moulding, resembling
shark's teeth, which appears so often in the more ancient Saxon
architecture. A belfry rose above the porch on four small pillars,
within which hung the green and weatherbeaten bell, the feeble sounds of
which had been some time before heard by the Black Knight.

The whole peaceful and quiet scene lay glimmering in twilight before
the eyes of the traveller, giving him good assurance of lodging for the
night; since it was a special duty of those hermits who dwelt in
the woods, to exercise hospitality towards benighted or bewildered
passengers.

Accordingly, the knight took no time to consider minutely the
particulars which we have detailed, but thanking Saint Julian (the
patron of travellers) who had sent him good harbourage, he leaped from
his horse and assailed the door of the hermitage with the butt of his
lance, in order to arouse attention and gain admittance.

It was some time before he obtained any answer, and the reply, when
made, was unpropitious.

"Pass on, whosoever thou art," was the answer given by a deep hoarse
voice from within the hut, "and disturb not the servant of God and St
Dunstan in his evening devotions."

"Worthy father," answered the knight, "here is a poor wanderer
bewildered in these woods, who gives thee the opportunity of exercising
thy charity and hospitality."

"Good brother," replied the inhabitant of the hermitage, "it has pleased
Our Lady and St Dunstan to destine me for the object of those virtues,
instead of the exercise thereof. I have no provisions here which even a
dog would share with me, and a horse of any tenderness of nurture would
despise my couch--pass therefore on thy way, and God speed thee."

"But how," replied the knight, "is it possible for me to find my way
through such a wood as this, when darkness is coming on? I pray you,
reverend father as you are a Christian, to undo your door, and at least
point out to me my road."

"And I pray you, good Christian brother," replied the anchorite, "to
disturb me no more. You have already interrupted one 'pater', two
'aves', and a 'credo', which I, miserable sinner that I am, should,
according to my vow, have said before moonrise."

"The road--the road!" vociferated the knight, "give me directions for
the road, if I am to expect no more from thee."

"The road," replied the hermit, "is easy to hit. The path from the wood
leads to a morass, and from thence to a ford, which, as the rains have
abated, may now be passable. When thou hast crossed the ford, thou
wilt take care of thy footing up the left bank, as it is somewhat
precipitous; and the path, which hangs over the river, has lately, as I
learn, (for I seldom leave the duties of my chapel,) given way in sundry
places. Thou wilt then keep straight forward---"

"A broken path--a precipice--a ford, and a morass!" said the knight
interrupting him,--"Sir Hermit, if you were the holiest that ever wore
beard or told bead, you shall scarce prevail on me to hold this road
to-night. I tell thee, that thou, who livest by the charity of the
country--ill deserved, as I doubt it is--hast no right to refuse shelter
to the wayfarer when in distress. Either open the door quickly, or, by
the rood, I will beat it down and make entry for myself."

"Friend wayfarer," replied the hermit, "be not importunate; if thou
puttest me to use the carnal weapon in mine own defence, it will be e'en
the worse for you."

At this moment a distant noise of barking and growling, which the
traveller had for some time heard, became extremely loud and furious,
and made the knight suppose that the hermit, alarmed by his threat of
making forcible entry, had called the dogs who made this clamour to
aid him in his defence, out of some inner recess in which they had been
kennelled. Incensed at this preparation on the hermit's part for making
good his inhospitable purpose, the knight struck the door so furiously
with his foot, that posts as well as staples shook with violence.

The anchorite, not caring again to expose his door to a similar shock,
now called out aloud, "Patience, patience--spare thy strength, good
traveller, and I will presently undo the door, though, it may be, my
doing so will be little to thy pleasure."

The door accordingly was opened; and the hermit, a large, strong-built
man, in his sackcloth gown and hood, girt with a rope of rushes, stood
before the knight. He had in one hand a lighted torch, or link, and in
the other a baton of crab-tree, so thick and heavy, that it might well
be termed a club. Two large shaggy dogs, half greyhound half mastiff,
stood ready to rush upon the traveller as soon as the door should be
opened. But when the torch glanced upon the lofty crest and golden spurs
of the knight, who stood without, the hermit, altering probably his
original intentions, repressed the rage of his auxiliaries, and,
changing his tone to a sort of churlish courtesy, invited the knight
to enter his hut, making excuse for his unwillingness to open his lodge
after sunset, by alleging the multitude of robbers and outlaws who were
abroad, and who gave no honour to Our Lady or St Dunstan, nor to those
holy men who spent life in their service.

"The poverty of your cell, good father," said the knight, looking around
him, and seeing nothing but a bed of leaves, a crucifix rudely carved
in oak, a missal, with a rough-hewn table and two stools, and one or two
clumsy articles of furniture--"the poverty of your cell should seem a
sufficient defence against any risk of thieves, not to mention the aid
of two trusty dogs, large and strong enough, I think, to pull down a
stag, and of course, to match with most men."

"The good keeper of the forest," said the hermit, "hath allowed me
the use of these animals, to protect my solitude until the times shall
mend."

Having said this, he fixed his torch in a twisted branch of iron which
served for a candlestick; and, placing the oaken trivet before the
embers of the fire, which he refreshed with some dry wood, he placed a
stool upon one side of the table, and beckoned to the knight to do the
same upon the other.

They sat down, and gazed with great gravity at each other, each thinking
in his heart that he had seldom seen a stronger or more athletic figure
than was placed opposite to him.

"Reverend hermit," said the knight, after looking long and fixedly at
his host, "were it not to interrupt your devout meditations, I would
pray to know three things of your holiness; first, where I am to put my
horse?--secondly, what I can have for supper?--thirdly, where I am to
take up my couch for the night?"

"I will reply to you," said the hermit, "with my finger, it being
against my rule to speak by words where signs can answer the purpose."
So saying, he pointed successively to two corners of the hut. "Your
stable," said he, "is there--your bed there; and," reaching down a
platter with two handfuls of parched pease upon it from the neighbouring
shelf, and placing it upon the table, he added, "your supper is here."

The knight shrugged his shoulders, and leaving the hut, brought in his
horse, (which in the interim he had fastened to a tree,) unsaddled him
with much attention, and spread upon the steed's weary back his own
mantle.

The hermit was apparently somewhat moved to compassion by the anxiety as
well as address which the stranger displayed in tending his horse; for,
muttering something about provender left for the keeper's palfrey, he
dragged out of a recess a bundle of forage, which he spread before the
knight's charger, and immediately afterwards shook down a quantity of
dried fern in the corner which he had assigned for the rider's couch.
The knight returned him thanks for his courtesy; and, this duty done,
both resumed their seats by the table, whereon stood the trencher of
pease placed between them. The hermit, after a long grace, which had
once been Latin, but of which original language few traces remained,
excepting here and there the long rolling termination of some word or
phrase, set example to his guest, by modestly putting into a very large
mouth, furnished with teeth which might have ranked with those of a
boar both in sharpness and whiteness, some three or four dried pease, a
miserable grist as it seemed for so large and able a mill.

The knight, in order to follow so laudable an example, laid aside his
helmet, his corslet, and the greater part of his armour, and showed to
the hermit a head thick-curled with yellow hair, high features, blue
eyes, remarkably bright and sparkling, a mouth well formed, having an
upper lip clothed with mustachoes darker than his hair, and bearing
altogether the look of a bold, daring, and enterprising man, with which
his strong form well corresponded.

The hermit, as if wishing to answer to the confidence of his guest,
threw back his cowl, and showed a round bullet head belonging to a man
in the prime of life. His close-shaven crown, surrounded by a circle
of stiff curled black hair, had something the appearance of a parish
pinfold begirt by its high hedge. The features expressed nothing of
monastic austerity, or of ascetic privations; on the contrary, it was
a bold bluff countenance, with broad black eyebrows, a well-turned
forehead, and cheeks as round and vermilion as those of a trumpeter,
from which descended a long and curly black beard. Such a visage,
joined to the brawny form of the holy man, spoke rather of sirloins and
haunches, than of pease and pulse. This incongruity did not escape the
guest. After he had with great difficulty accomplished the mastication
of a mouthful of the dried pease, he found it absolutely necessary
to request his pious entertainer to furnish him with some liquor; who
replied to his request by placing before him a large can of the purest
water from the fountain.

"It is from the well of St Dunstan," said he, "in which, betwixt sun and
sun, he baptized five hundred heathen Danes and Britons--blessed be his
name!" And applying his black beard to the pitcher, he took a draught
much more moderate in quantity than his encomium seemed to warrant.

"It seems to me, reverend father," said the knight, "that the small
morsels which you eat, together with this holy, but somewhat thin
beverage, have thriven with you marvellously. You appear a man more
fit to win the ram at a wrestling match, or the ring at a bout at
quarter-staff, or the bucklers at a sword-play, than to linger out your
time in this desolate wilderness, saying masses, and living upon parched
pease and cold water."

"Sir Knight," answered the hermit, "your thoughts, like those of the
ignorant laity, are according to the flesh. It has pleased Our Lady and
my patron saint to bless the pittance to which I restrain myself, even
as the pulse and water was blessed to the children Shadrach, Meshech,
and Abednego, who drank the same rather than defile themselves with the
wine and meats which were appointed them by the King of the Saracens."