"Holy father," said the knight, "upon whose countenance it hath pleased
Heaven to work such a miracle, permit a sinful layman to crave thy
name?"

"Thou mayst call me," answered the hermit, "the Clerk of Copmanhurst,
for so I am termed in these parts--They add, it is true, the
epithet holy, but I stand not upon that, as being unworthy of such
addition.--And now, valiant knight, may I pray ye for the name of my
honourable guest?"

"Truly," said the knight, "Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst, men call me in
these parts the Black Knight,--many, sir, add to it the epithet of
Sluggard, whereby I am no way ambitious to be distinguished."

The hermit could scarcely forbear from smiling at his guest's reply.

"I see," said he, "Sir Sluggish Knight, that thou art a man of prudence
and of counsel; and moreover, I see that my poor monastic fare likes
thee not, accustomed, perhaps, as thou hast been, to the license of
courts and of camps, and the luxuries of cities; and now I bethink me,
Sir Sluggard, that when the charitable keeper of this forest-walk left
those dogs for my protection, and also those bundles of forage, he left
me also some food, which, being unfit for my use, the very recollection
of it had escaped me amid my more weighty meditations."

"I dare be sworn he did so," said the knight; "I was convinced that
there was better food in the cell, Holy Clerk, since you first doffed
your cowl.--Your keeper is ever a jovial fellow; and none who beheld thy
grinders contending with these pease, and thy throat flooded with this
ungenial element, could see thee doomed to such horse-provender and
horse-beverage," (pointing to the provisions upon the table,) "and
refrain from mending thy cheer. Let us see the keeper's bounty,
therefore, without delay."

The hermit cast a wistful look upon the knight, in which there was
a sort of comic expression of hesitation, as if uncertain how far he
should act prudently in trusting his guest. There was, however, as much
of bold frankness in the knight's countenance as was possible to be
expressed by features. His smile, too, had something in it irresistibly
comic, and gave an assurance of faith and loyalty, with which his host
could not refrain from sympathizing.

After exchanging a mute glance or two, the hermit went to the further
side of the hut, and opened a hutch, which was concealed with great care
and some ingenuity. Out of the recesses of a dark closet, into which
this aperture gave admittance, he brought a large pasty, baked in a
pewter platter of unusual dimensions. This mighty dish he placed before
his guest, who, using his poniard to cut it open, lost no time in making
himself acquainted with its contents.

"How long is it since the good keeper has been here?" said the knight
to his host, after having swallowed several hasty morsels of this
reinforcement to the hermit's good cheer.

"About two months," answered the father hastily.

"By the true Lord," answered the knight, "every thing in your hermitage
is miraculous, Holy Clerk! for I would have been sworn that the fat buck
which furnished this venison had been running on foot within the week."

The hermit was somewhat discountenanced by this observation; and,
moreover, he made but a poor figure while gazing on the diminution of
the pasty, on which his guest was making desperate inroads; a warfare
in which his previous profession of abstinence left him no pretext for
joining.

"I have been in Palestine, Sir Clerk," said the knight, stopping short
of a sudden, "and I bethink me it is a custom there that every host who
entertains a guest shall assure him of the wholesomeness of his food, by
partaking of it along with him. Far be it from me to suspect so holy a
man of aught inhospitable; nevertheless I will be highly bound to you
would you comply with this Eastern custom."

"To ease your unnecessary scruples, Sir Knight, I will for once depart
from my rule," replied the hermit. And as there were no forks in those
days, his clutches were instantly in the bowels of the pasty.

The ice of ceremony being once broken, it seemed matter of rivalry
between the guest and the entertainer which should display the best
appetite; and although the former had probably fasted longest, yet the
hermit fairly surpassed him.

"Holy Clerk," said the knight, when his hunger was appeased, "I would
gage my good horse yonder against a zecchin, that that same honest
keeper to whom we are obliged for the venison has left thee a stoup of
wine, or a runlet of canary, or some such trifle, by way of ally to this
noble pasty. This would be a circumstance, doubtless, totally unworthy
to dwell in the memory of so rigid an anchorite; yet, I think, were you
to search yonder crypt once more, you would find that I am right in my
conjecture."

The hermit only replied by a grin; and returning to the hutch, he
produced a leathern bottle, which might contain about four quarts. He
also brought forth two large drinking cups, made out of the horn of
the urus, and hooped with silver. Having made this goodly provision
for washing down the supper, he seemed to think no farther ceremonious
scruple necessary on his part; but filling both cups, and saying, in the
Saxon fashion, "'Waes hael', Sir Sluggish Knight!" he emptied his own at
a draught.

"'Drink hael', Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst!" answered the warrior, and did
his host reason in a similar brimmer.

"Holy Clerk," said the stranger, after the first cup was thus swallowed,
"I cannot but marvel that a man possessed of such thews and sinews as
thine, and who therewithal shows the talent of so goodly a trencher-man,
should think of abiding by himself in this wilderness. In my judgment,
you are fitter to keep a castle or a fort, eating of the fat and
drinking of the strong, than to live here upon pulse and water, or even
upon the charity of the keeper. At least, were I as thou, I should find
myself both disport and plenty out of the king's deer. There is many a
goodly herd in these forests, and a buck will never be missed that goes
to the use of Saint Dunstan's chaplain."

"Sir Sluggish Knight," replied the Clerk, "these are dangerous words,
and I pray you to forbear them. I am true hermit to the king and law,
and were I to spoil my liege's game, I should be sure of the prison,
and, an my gown saved me not, were in some peril of hanging."

"Nevertheless, were I as thou," said the knight, "I would take my walk
by moonlight, when foresters and keepers were warm in bed, and ever
and anon,--as I pattered my prayers,--I would let fly a shaft among the
herds of dun deer that feed in the glades--Resolve me, Holy Clerk, hast
thou never practised such a pastime?"

"Friend Sluggard," answered the hermit, "thou hast seen all that can
concern thee of my housekeeping, and something more than he deserves who
takes up his quarters by violence. Credit me, it is better to enjoy
the good which God sends thee, than to be impertinently curious how it
comes. Fill thy cup, and welcome; and do not, I pray thee, by further
impertinent enquiries, put me to show that thou couldst hardly have made
good thy lodging had I been earnest to oppose thee."

"By my faith," said the knight, "thou makest me more curious than ever!
Thou art the most mysterious hermit I ever met; and I will know more of
thee ere we part. As for thy threats, know, holy man, thou speakest to
one whose trade it is to find out danger wherever it is to be met with."

"Sir Sluggish Knight, I drink to thee," said the hermit; "respecting thy
valour much, but deeming wondrous slightly of thy discretion. If thou
wilt take equal arms with me, I will give thee, in all friendship and
brotherly love, such sufficing penance and complete absolution, that
thou shalt not for the next twelve months sin the sin of excess of
curiosity."

The knight pledged him, and desired him to name his weapons.

"There is none," replied the hermit, "from the scissors of Delilah, and
the tenpenny nail of Jael, to the scimitar of Goliath, at which I am not
a match for thee--But, if I am to make the election, what sayst thou,
good friend, to these trinkets?"

Thus speaking, he opened another hutch, and took out from it a couple
of broadswords and bucklers, such as were used by the yeomanry of the
period. The knight, who watched his motions, observed that this second
place of concealment was furnished with two or three good long-bows, a
cross-bow, a bundle of bolts for the latter, and half-a-dozen sheaves of
arrows for the former. A harp, and other matters of a very uncanonical
appearance, were also visible when this dark recess was opened.

"I promise thee, brother Clerk," said he, "I will ask thee no more
offensive questions. The contents of that cupboard are an answer to all
my enquiries; and I see a weapon there" (here he stooped and took out
the harp) "on which I would more gladly prove my skill with thee, than
at the sword and buckler."

"I hope, Sir Knight," said the hermit, "thou hast given no good reason
for thy surname of the Sluggard. I do promise thee I suspect thee
grievously. Nevertheless, thou art my guest, and I will not put thy
manhood to the proof without thine own free will. Sit thee down, then,
and fill thy cup; let us drink, sing, and be merry. If thou knowest ever
a good lay, thou shalt be welcome to a nook of pasty at Copmanhurst so
long as I serve the chapel of St Dunstan, which, please God, shall be
till I change my grey covering for one of green turf. But come, fill a
flagon, for it will crave some time to tune the harp; and nought pitches
the voice and sharpens the ear like a cup of wine. For my part, I
love to feel the grape at my very finger-ends before they make the
harp-strings tinkle." [22]




CHAPTER XVII

     At eve, within yon studious nook,
     I ope my brass-embossed book,
     Portray'd with many a holy deed
     Of martyrs crown'd with heavenly meed;
     Then, as my taper waxes dim,
     Chant, ere I sleep, my measured hymn.
     * * * * *
     Who but would cast his pomp away,
     To take my staff and amice grey,
     And to the world's tumultuous stage,
     Prefer the peaceful Hermitage?
     --Warton

Notwithstanding the prescription of the genial hermit, with which his
guest willingly complied, he found it no easy matter to bring the harp
to harmony.

"Methinks, holy father," said he, "the instrument wants one string, and
the rest have been somewhat misused."

"Ay, mark'st thou that?" replied the hermit; "that shows thee a master
of the craft. Wine and wassail," he added, gravely casting up his
eyes--"all the fault of wine and wassail!--I told Allan-a-Dale, the
northern minstrel, that he would damage the harp if he touched it after
the seventh cup, but he would not be controlled--Friend, I drink to thy
successful performance."

So saying, he took off his cup with much gravity, at the same time
shaking his head at the intemperance of the Scottish harper.

The knight in the meantime, had brought the strings into some order,
and after a short prelude, asked his host whether he would choose a
"sirvente" in the language of "oc", or a "lai" in the language of "oui",
or a "virelai", or a ballad in the vulgar English. [23]

"A ballad, a ballad," said the hermit, "against all the 'ocs' and 'ouis'
of France. Downright English am I, Sir Knight, and downright English
was my patron St Dunstan, and scorned 'oc' and 'oui', as he would have
scorned the parings of the devil's hoof--downright English alone shall
be sung in this cell."

"I will assay, then," said the knight, "a ballad composed by a Saxon
glee-man, whom I knew in Holy Land."

It speedily appeared, that if the knight was not a complete master of
the minstrel art, his taste for it had at least been cultivated under
the best instructors. Art had taught him to soften the faults of a voice
which had little compass, and was naturally rough rather than mellow,
and, in short, had done all that culture can do in supplying natural
deficiencies. His performance, therefore, might have been termed very
respectable by abler judges than the hermit, especially as the knight
threw into the notes now a degree of spirit, and now of plaintive
enthusiasm, which gave force and energy to the verses which he sung.


     THE CRUSADER'S RETURN.

     1.

     High deeds achieved of knightly fame,
     From Palestine the champion came;
     The cross upon his shoulders borne,
     Battle and blast had dimm'd and torn.
     Each dint upon his batter'd shield
     Was token of a foughten field;
     And thus, beneath his lady's bower,
     He sung as fell the twilight hour:--

     2.

     "Joy to the fair!--thy knight behold,
     Return'd from yonder land of gold;
     No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need,
     Save his good arms and battle-steed
     His spurs, to dash against a foe,
     His lance and sword to lay him low;
     Such all the trophies of his toil,
     Such--and the hope of Tekla's smile!

     3.

     "Joy to the fair! whose constant knight
     Her favour fired to feats of might;
     Unnoted shall she not remain,
     Where meet the bright and noble train;
     Minstrel shall sing and herald tell--
     'Mark yonder maid of beauty well,
     'Tis she for whose bright eyes were won
     The listed field at Askalon!

     4.

     "'Note well her smile!--it edged the blade
     Which fifty wives to widows made,
     When, vain his strength and Mahound's spell,
     Iconium's turban'd Soldan fell.
     Seest thou her locks, whose sunny glow
     Half shows, half shades, her neck of snow?
     Twines not of them one golden thread,
     But for its sake a Paynim bled.'

     5.

     "Joy to the fair!--my name unknown,
     Each deed, and all its praise thine own
     Then, oh! unbar this churlish gate,
     The night dew falls, the hour is late.
     Inured to Syria's glowing breath,
     I feel the north breeze chill as death;
     Let grateful love quell maiden shame,
     And grant him bliss who brings thee fame."

During this performance, the hermit demeaned himself much like a
first-rate critic of the present day at a new opera. He reclined back
upon his seat, with his eyes half shut; now, folding his hands and
twisting his thumbs, he seemed absorbed in attention, and anon,
balancing his expanded palms, he gently flourished them in time to the
music. At one or two favourite cadences, he threw in a little assistance
of his own, where the knight's voice seemed unable to carry the air
so high as his worshipful taste approved. When the song was ended, the
anchorite emphatically declared it a good one, and well sung.

"And yet," said he, "I think my Saxon countrymen had herded long enough
with the Normans, to fall into the tone of their melancholy ditties.
What took the honest knight from home? or what could he expect but to
find his mistress agreeably engaged with a rival on his return, and his
serenade, as they call it, as little regarded as the caterwauling of a
cat in the gutter? Nevertheless, Sir Knight, I drink this cup to thee,
to the success of all true lovers--I fear you are none," he added, on
observing that the knight (whose brain began to be heated with these
repeated draughts) qualified his flagon from the water pitcher.

"Why," said the knight, "did you not tell me that this water was from
the well of your blessed patron, St Dunstan?"

"Ay, truly," said the hermit, "and many a hundred of pagans did he
baptize there, but I never heard that he drank any of it. Every thing
should be put to its proper use in this world. St Dunstan knew, as well
as any one, the prerogatives of a jovial friar."

And so saying, he reached the harp, and entertained his guest with
the following characteristic song, to a sort of derry-down chorus,
appropriate to an old English ditty. [24]


     THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR.

     1.

     I'll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain,
     To search Europe through, from Byzantium to Spain;
     But ne'er shall you find, should you search till you tire,
     So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar.

     2.

     Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career,
     And is brought home at even-song prick'd through with a spear;
     I confess him in haste--for his lady desires
     No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar's.

     3.

     Your monarch?--Pshaw! many a prince has been known
     To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown,
     But which of us e'er felt the idle desire
     To exchange for a crown the grey hood of a Friar!

     4.

     The Friar has walk'd out, and where'er he has gone,
     The land and its fatness is mark'd for his own;
     He can roam where he lists, he can stop when he tires,
     For every man's house is the Barefooted Friar's.

     5.

     He's expected at noon, and no wight till he comes
     May profane the great chair, or the porridge of plums
     For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire,
     Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar.

     6.

     He's expected at night, and the pasty's made hot,
     They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot,
     And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire,
     Ere he lack'd a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar.

     7.

     Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope,
     The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope;
     For to gather life's roses, unscathed by the briar,
     Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar.


"By my troth," said the knight, "thou hast sung well and lustily, and in
high praise of thine order. And, talking of the devil, Holy Clerk,
are you not afraid that he may pay you a visit during some of your
uncanonical pastimes?"

"I uncanonical!" answered the hermit; "I scorn the charge--I scorn it
with my heels!--I serve the duty of my chapel duly and truly--Two masses
daily, morning and evening, primes, noons, and vespers, 'aves, credos,
paters'---"

"Excepting moonlight nights, when the venison is in season," said his
guest.

"'Exceptis excipiendis'" replied the hermit, "as our old abbot taught me
to say, when impertinent laymen should ask me if I kept every punctilio
of mine order."

"True, holy father," said the knight; "but the devil is apt to keep
an eye on such exceptions; he goes about, thou knowest, like a roaring
lion."

"Let him roar here if he dares," said the friar; "a touch of my cord
will make him roar as loud as the tongs of St Dunstan himself did. I
never feared man, and I as little fear the devil and his imps. Saint
Dunstan, Saint Dubric, Saint Winibald, Saint Winifred, Saint Swibert,
Saint Willick, not forgetting Saint Thomas a Kent, and my own poor
merits to speed, I defy every devil of them, come cut and long
tail.--But to let you into a secret, I never speak upon such subjects,
my friend, until after morning vespers."

He changed the conversation; fast and furious grew the mirth of the
parties, and many a song was exchanged betwixt them, when their revels
were interrupted by a loud knocking at the door of the hermitage.

The occasion of this interruption we can only explain by resuming the
adventures of another set of our characters; for, like old Ariosto, we
do not pique ourselves upon continuing uniformly to keep company with
any one personage of our drama.




CHAPTER XVIII

     Away! our journey lies through dell and dingle,
     Where the blithe fawn trips by its timid mother,
     Where the broad oak, with intercepting boughs,
     Chequers the sunbeam in the green-sward alley--
     Up and away!--for lovely paths are these
     To tread, when the glad Sun is on his throne
     Less pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia's lamp
     With doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest.
     --Ettrick Forest

When Cedric the Saxon saw his son drop down senseless in the lists at
Ashby, his first impulse was to order him into the custody and care of
his own attendants, but the words choked in his throat. He could not
bring himself to acknowledge, in presence of such an assembly, the son
whom he had renounced and disinherited. He ordered, however, Oswald to
keep an eye upon him; and directed that officer, with two of his serfs,
to convey Ivanhoe to Ashby as soon as the crowd had dispersed. Oswald,
however, was anticipated in this good office. The crowd dispersed,
indeed, but the knight was nowhere to be seen.

It was in vain that Cedric's cupbearer looked around for his young
master--he saw the bloody spot on which he had lately sunk down, but
himself he saw no longer; it seemed as if the fairies had conveyed him
from the spot. Perhaps Oswald (for the Saxons were very superstitious)
might have adopted some such hypothesis, to account for Ivanhoe's
disappearance, had he not suddenly cast his eye upon a person attired
like a squire, in whom he recognised the features of his fellow-servant
Gurth. Anxious concerning his master's fate, and in despair at his
sudden disappearance, the translated swineherd was searching for him
everywhere, and had neglected, in doing so, the concealment on which
his own safety depended. Oswald deemed it his duty to secure Gurth, as a
fugitive of whose fate his master was to judge.

Renewing his enquiries concerning the fate of Ivanhoe, the only
information which the cupbearer could collect from the bystanders
was, that the knight had been raised with care by certain well-attired
grooms, and placed in a litter belonging to a lady among the spectators,
which had immediately transported him out of the press. Oswald, on
receiving this intelligence, resolved to return to his master for
farther instructions, carrying along with him Gurth, whom he considered
in some sort as a deserter from the service of Cedric.

The Saxon had been under very intense and agonizing apprehensions
concerning his son; for Nature had asserted her rights, in spite of the
patriotic stoicism which laboured to disown her. But no sooner was he
informed that Ivanhoe was in careful, and probably in friendly hands,
than the paternal anxiety which had been excited by the dubiety of his
fate, gave way anew to the feeling of injured pride and resentment, at
what he termed Wilfred's filial disobedience.

"Let him wander his way," said he--"let those leech his wounds for whose
sake he encountered them. He is fitter to do the juggling tricks of
the Norman chivalry than to maintain the fame and honour of his English
ancestry with the glaive and brown-bill, the good old weapons of his
country."

"If to maintain the honour of ancestry," said Rowena, who was present,
"it is sufficient to be wise in council and brave in execution--to be
boldest among the bold, and gentlest among the gentle, I know no voice,
save his father's---"

"Be silent, Lady Rowena!--on this subject only I hear you not. Prepare
yourself for the Prince's festival: we have been summoned thither with
unwonted circumstance of honour and of courtesy, such as the haughty
Normans have rarely used to our race since the fatal day of Hastings.
Thither will I go, were it only to show these proud Normans how little
the fate of a son, who could defeat their bravest, can affect a Saxon."

"Thither," said Rowena, "do I NOT go; and I pray you to beware, lest
what you mean for courage and constancy, shall be accounted hardness of
heart."

"Remain at home, then, ungrateful lady," answered Cedric; "thine is the
hard heart, which can sacrifice the weal of an oppressed people to an
idle and unauthorized attachment. I seek the noble Athelstane, and with
him attend the banquet of John of Anjou."

He went accordingly to the banquet, of which we have already mentioned
the principal events. Immediately upon retiring from the castle, the
Saxon thanes, with their attendants, took horse; and it was during the
bustle which attended their doing so, that Cedric, for the first time,
cast his eyes upon the deserter Gurth. The noble Saxon had returned from
the banquet, as we have seen, in no very placid humour, and wanted but a
pretext for wreaking his anger upon some one.

"The gyves!" he said, "the gyves!--Oswald--Hundibert!--Dogs and
villains!--why leave ye the knave unfettered?"

Without daring to remonstrate, the companions of Gurth bound him with
a halter, as the readiest cord which occurred. He submitted to the
operation without remonstrance, except that, darting a reproachful
look at his master, he said, "This comes of loving your flesh and blood
better than mine own."

"To horse, and forward!" said Cedric.

"It is indeed full time," said the noble Athelstane; "for, if we
ride not the faster, the worthy Abbot Waltheoff's preparations for a
rere-supper [25] will be altogether spoiled."

The travellers, however, used such speed as to reach the convent of St
Withold's before the apprehended evil took place. The Abbot, himself of
ancient Saxon descent, received the noble Saxons with the profuse and
exuberant hospitality of their nation, wherein they indulged to a late,
or rather an early hour; nor did they take leave of their reverend host
the next morning until they had shared with him a sumptuous refection.

As the cavalcade left the court of the monastery, an incident happened
somewhat alarming to the Saxons, who, of all people of Europe, were most
addicted to a superstitious observance of omens, and to whose opinions
can be traced most of those notions upon such subjects, still to be
found among our popular antiquities. For the Normans being a mixed race,
and better informed according to the information of the times, had lost
most of the superstitious prejudices which their ancestors had brought
from Scandinavia, and piqued themselves upon thinking freely on such
topics.

In the present instance, the apprehension of impending evil was inspired
by no less respectable a prophet than a large lean black dog, which,
sitting upright, howled most piteously as the foremost riders left the
gate, and presently afterwards, barking wildly, and jumping to and fro,
seemed bent upon attaching itself to the party.

"I like not that music, father Cedric," said Athelstane; for by this
title of respect he was accustomed to address him.

"Nor I either, uncle," said Wamba; "I greatly fear we shall have to pay
the piper."

"In my mind," said Athelstane, upon whose memory the Abbot's good
ale (for Burton was already famous for that genial liquor) had made a
favourable impression,--"in my mind we had better turn back, and abide
with the Abbot until the afternoon. It is unlucky to travel where your
path is crossed by a monk, a hare, or a howling dog, until you have
eaten your next meal."

"Away!" said Cedric, impatiently; "the day is already too short for
our journey. For the dog, I know it to be the cur of the runaway slave
Gurth, a useless fugitive like its master."

So saying, and rising at the same time in his stirrups, impatient at the
interruption of his journey, he launched his javelin at poor Fangs--for
Fangs it was, who, having traced his master thus far upon his stolen
expedition, had here lost him, and was now, in his uncouth way,
rejoicing at his reappearance. The javelin inflicted a wound upon the
animal's shoulder, and narrowly missed pinning him to the earth; and
Fangs fled howling from the presence of the enraged thane. Gurth's heart
swelled within him; for he felt this meditated slaughter of his faithful
adherent in a degree much deeper than the harsh treatment he had himself
received. Having in vain attempted to raise his hand to his eyes,
he said to Wamba, who, seeing his master's ill humour had prudently
retreated to the rear, "I pray thee, do me the kindness to wipe my eyes
with the skirt of thy mantle; the dust offends me, and these bonds will
not let me help myself one way or another."

Wamba did him the service he required, and they rode side by side for
some time, during which Gurth maintained a moody silence. At length he
could repress his feelings no longer.

"Friend Wamba," said he, "of all those who are fools enough to serve
Cedric, thou alone hast dexterity enough to make thy folly acceptable to
him. Go to him, therefore, and tell him that neither for love nor fear
will Gurth serve him longer. He may strike the head from me--he may
scourge me--he may load me with irons--but henceforth he shall never
compel me either to love or to obey him. Go to him, then, and tell him
that Gurth the son of Beowulph renounces his service."

"Assuredly," said Wamba, "fool as I am, I shall not do your fool's
errand. Cedric hath another javelin stuck into his girdle, and thou
knowest he does not always miss his mark."

"I care not," replied Gurth, "how soon he makes a mark of me. Yesterday
he left Wilfred, my young master, in his blood. To-day he has striven to
kill before my face the only other living creature that ever showed me
kindness. By St Edmund, St Dunstan, St Withold, St Edward the Confessor,
and every other Saxon saint in the calendar," (for Cedric never swore
by any that was not of Saxon lineage, and all his household had the same
limited devotion,) "I will never forgive him!"

"To my thinking now," said the Jester, who was frequently wont to act
as peace-maker in the family, "our master did not propose to hurt Fangs,
but only to affright him. For, if you observed, he rose in his stirrups,
as thereby meaning to overcast the mark; and so he would have done,
but Fangs happening to bound up at the very moment, received a scratch,
which I will be bound to heal with a penny's breadth of tar."

"If I thought so," said Gurth--"if I could but think so--but no--I saw
the javelin was well aimed--I heard it whizz through the air with all
the wrathful malevolence of him who cast it, and it quivered after it
had pitched in the ground, as if with regret for having missed its mark.
By the hog dear to St Anthony, I renounce him!"

And the indignant swineherd resumed his sullen silence, which no efforts
of the Jester could again induce him to break.

Meanwhile Cedric and Athelstane, the leaders of the troop, conversed
together on the state of the land, on the dissensions of the royal
family, on the feuds and quarrels among the Norman nobles, and on the
chance which there was that the oppressed Saxons might be able to
free themselves from the yoke of the Normans, or at least to elevate
themselves into national consequence and independence, during the civil
convulsions which were likely to ensue. On this subject Cedric was all
animation. The restoration of the independence of his race was the idol
of his heart, to which he had willingly sacrificed domestic happiness
and the interests of his own son. But, in order to achieve this great
revolution in favour of the native English, it was necessary that they
should be united among themselves, and act under an acknowledged head.
The necessity of choosing their chief from the Saxon blood-royal was not
only evident in itself, but had been made a solemn condition by those
whom Cedric had intrusted with his secret plans and hopes. Athelstane
had this quality at least; and though he had few mental accomplishments
or talents to recommend him as a leader, he had still a goodly person,
was no coward, had been accustomed to martial exercises, and seemed
willing to defer to the advice of counsellors more wise than himself.
Above all, he was known to be liberal and hospitable, and believed to be
good-natured. But whatever pretensions Athelstane had to be considered
as head of the Saxon confederacy, many of that nation were disposed
to prefer to the title of the Lady Rowena, who drew her descent from
Alfred, and whose father having been a chief renowned for wisdom,
courage, and generosity, his memory was highly honoured by his oppressed
countrymen.

It would have been no difficult thing for Cedric, had he been so
disposed, to have placed himself at the head of a third party, as
formidable at least as any of the others. To counterbalance their royal
descent, he had courage, activity, energy, and, above all, that devoted
attachment to the cause which had procured him the epithet of The Saxon,
and his birth was inferior to none, excepting only that of Athelstane
and his ward. These qualities, however, were unalloyed by the slightest
shade of selfishness; and, instead of dividing yet farther his weakened
nation by forming a faction of his own, it was a leading part of
Cedric's plan to extinguish that which already existed, by promoting a
marriage betwixt Rowena and Athelstane. An obstacle occurred to this his
favourite project, in the mutual attachment of his ward and his son and
hence the original cause of the banishment of Wilfred from the house of
his father.

This stern measure Cedric had adopted, in hopes that, during Wilfred's
absence, Rowena might relinquish her preference, but in this hope he was
disappointed; a disappointment which might be attributed in part to the
mode in which his ward had been educated. Cedric, to whom the name of
Alfred was as that of a deity, had treated the sole remaining scion of
that great monarch with a degree of observance, such as, perhaps, was
in those days scarce paid to an acknowledged princess. Rowena's will had
been in almost all cases a law to his household; and Cedric himself, as
if determined that her sovereignty should be fully acknowledged within
that little circle at least, seemed to take a pride in acting as the
first of her subjects. Thus trained in the exercise not only of free
will, but despotic authority, Rowena was, by her previous education,
disposed both to resist and to resent any attempt to control her
affections, or dispose of her hand contrary to her inclinations, and to
assert her independence in a case in which even those females who have
been trained up to obedience and subjection, are not infrequently apt to
dispute the authority of guardians and parents. The opinions which she
felt strongly, she avowed boldly; and Cedric, who could not free himself
from his habitual deference to her opinions, felt totally at a loss how
to enforce his authority of guardian.

It was in vain that he attempted to dazzle her with the prospect of a
visionary throne. Rowena, who possessed strong sense, neither considered
his plan as practicable, nor as desirable, so far as she was concerned,
could it have been achieved. Without attempting to conceal her avowed
preference of Wilfred of Ivanhoe, she declared that, were that favoured
knight out of question, she would rather take refuge in a convent, than
share a throne with Athelstane, whom, having always despised, she now
began, on account of the trouble she received on his account, thoroughly
to detest.

Nevertheless, Cedric, whose opinions of women's constancy was far from
strong, persisted in using every means in his power to bring about the
proposed match, in which he conceived he was rendering an important
service to the Saxon cause. The sudden and romantic appearance of his
son in the lists at Ashby, he had justly regarded as almost a death's
blow to his hopes. His paternal affection, it is true, had for an
instant gained the victory over pride and patriotism; but both had
returned in full force, and under their joint operation, he was now bent
upon making a determined effort for the union of Athelstane and Rowena,
together with expediting those other measures which seemed necessary to
forward the restoration of Saxon independence.

On this last subject, he was now labouring with Athelstane, not without
having reason, every now and then, to lament, like Hotspur, that he
should have moved such a dish of skimmed milk to so honourable an
action. Athelstane, it is true, was vain enough, and loved to have
his ears tickled with tales of his high descent, and of his right
by inheritance to homage and sovereignty. But his petty vanity was
sufficiently gratified by receiving this homage at the hands of his
immediate attendants, and of the Saxons who approached him. If he had
the courage to encounter danger, he at least hated the trouble of going
to seek it; and while he agreed in the general principles laid down by
Cedric concerning the claim of the Saxons to independence, and was still
more easily convinced of his own title to reign over them when that
independence should be attained, yet when the means of asserting these
rights came to be discussed, he was still "Athelstane the Unready,"
slow, irresolute, procrastinating, and unenterprising. The warm and
impassioned exhortations of Cedric had as little effect upon his
impassive temper, as red-hot balls alighting in the water, which produce
a little sound and smoke, and are instantly extinguished.

If, leaving this task, which might be compared to spurring a tired jade,
or to hammering upon cold iron, Cedric fell back to his ward Rowena, he
received little more satisfaction from conferring with her. For, as his
presence interrupted the discourse between the lady and her favourite
attendant upon the gallantry and fate of Wilfred, Elgitha failed not to
revenge both her mistress and herself, by recurring to the overthrow of
Athelstane in the lists, the most disagreeable subject which could greet
the ears of Cedric. To this sturdy Saxon, therefore, the day's journey
was fraught with all manner of displeasure and discomfort; so that
he more than once internally cursed the tournament, and him who had
proclaimed it, together with his own folly in ever thinking of going
thither.

At noon, upon the motion of Athelstane, the travellers paused in a
woodland shade by a fountain, to repose their horses and partake of some
provisions, with which the hospitable Abbot had loaded a sumpter mule.
Their repast was a pretty long one; and these several interruptions
rendered it impossible for them to hope to reach Rotherwood without
travelling all night, a conviction which induced them to proceed on
their way at a more hasty pace than they had hitherto used.




CHAPTER XIX

     A train of armed men, some noble dame
     Escorting, (so their scatter'd words discover'd,
     As unperceived I hung upon their rear,)
     Are close at hand, and mean to pass the night
     Within the castle.
     --Orra, a Tragedy

The travellers had now reached the verge of the wooded country, and were
about to plunge into its recesses, held dangerous at that time from the
number of outlaws whom oppression and poverty had driven to despair,
and who occupied the forests in such large bands as could easily bid
defiance to the feeble police of the period. From these rovers, however,
notwithstanding the lateness of the hour Cedric and Athelstane accounted
themselves secure, as they had in attendance ten servants, besides Wamba
and Gurth, whose aid could not be counted upon, the one being a jester
and the other a captive. It may be added, that in travelling thus late
through the forest, Cedric and Athelstane relied on their descent and
character, as well as their courage. The outlaws, whom the severity of
the forest laws had reduced to this roving and desperate mode of life,
were chiefly peasants and yeomen of Saxon descent, and were generally
supposed to respect the persons and property of their countrymen.

As the travellers journeyed on their way, they were alarmed by repeated
cries for assistance; and when they rode up to the place from whence
they came, they were surprised to find a horse-litter placed upon the
ground, beside which sat a young woman, richly dressed in the Jewish
fashion, while an old man, whose yellow cap proclaimed him to belong
to the same nation, walked up and down with gestures expressive of the
deepest despair, and wrung his hands, as if affected by some strange
disaster.

To the enquiries of Athelstane and Cedric, the old Jew could for some
time only answer by invoking the protection of all the patriarchs of the
Old Testament successively against the sons of Ishmael, who were coming
to smite them, hip and thigh, with the edge of the sword. When he began
to come to himself out of this agony of terror, Isaac of York (for it
was our old friend) was at length able to explain, that he had hired
a body-guard of six men at Ashby, together with mules for carrying the
litter of a sick friend. This party had undertaken to escort him as
far as Doncaster. They had come thus far in safety; but having received
information from a wood-cutter that there was a strong band of outlaws
lying in wait in the woods before them, Isaac's mercenaries had not only
taken flight, but had carried off with them the horses which bore the
litter and left the Jew and his daughter without the means either of
defence or of retreat, to be plundered, and probably murdered, by the
banditti, who they expected every moment would bring down upon them.
"Would it but please your valours," added Isaac, in a tone of deep
humiliation, "to permit the poor Jews to travel under your safeguard,
I swear by the tables of our law, that never has favour been conferred
upon a child of Israel since the days of our captivity, which shall be
more gratefully acknowledged."

"Dog of a Jew!" said Athelstane, whose memory was of that petty
kind which stores up trifles of all kinds, but particularly trifling
offences, "dost not remember how thou didst beard us in the gallery at
the tilt-yard? Fight or flee, or compound with the outlaws as thou dost
list, ask neither aid nor company from us; and if they rob only such
as thee, who rob all the world, I, for mine own share, shall hold them
right honest folk."

Cedric did not assent to the severe proposal of his companion. "We shall
do better," said he, "to leave them two of our attendants and two horses
to convey them back to the next village. It will diminish our strength
but little; and with your good sword, noble Athelstane, and the aid of
those who remain, it will be light work for us to face twenty of those
runagates."

Rowena, somewhat alarmed by the mention of outlaws in force, and so
near them, strongly seconded the proposal of her guardian. But Rebecca
suddenly quitting her dejected posture, and making her way through the
attendants to the palfrey of the Saxon lady, knelt down, and, after the
Oriental fashion in addressing superiors, kissed the hem of Rowena's
garment. Then rising, and throwing back her veil, she implored her
in the great name of the God whom they both worshipped, and by that
revelation of the Law upon Mount Sinai, in which they both believed,
that she would have compassion upon them, and suffer them to go forward
under their safeguard. "It is not for myself that I pray this favour,"
said Rebecca; "nor is it even for that poor old man. I know that to
wrong and to spoil our nation is a light fault, if not a merit, with the
Christians; and what is it to us whether it be done in the city, in the
desert, or in the field? But it is in the name of one dear to many,
and dear even to you, that I beseech you to let this sick person be
transported with care and tenderness under your protection. For, if evil
chance him, the last moment of your life would be embittered with regret
for denying that which I ask of you."

The noble and solemn air with which Rebecca made this appeal, gave it
double weight with the fair Saxon.

"The man is old and feeble," she said to her guardian, "the maiden young
and beautiful, their friend sick and in peril of his life--Jews though
they be, we cannot as Christians leave them in this extremity. Let them
unload two of the sumpter-mules, and put the baggage behind two of the
serfs. The mules may transport the litter, and we have led horses for
the old man and his daughter."

Cedric readily assented to what she proposed, and Athelstane only added
the condition, "that they should travel in the rear of the whole party,
where Wamba," he said, "might attend them with his shield of boar's
brawn."

"I have left my shield in the tilt-yard," answered the Jester, "as has
been the fate of many a better knight than myself."

Athelstane coloured deeply, for such had been his own fate on the
last day of the tournament; while Rowena, who was pleased in the same
proportion, as if to make amends for the brutal jest of her unfeeling
suitor, requested Rebecca to ride by her side.

"It were not fit I should do so," answered Rebecca, with proud humility,
"where my society might be held a disgrace to my protectress."

By this time the change of baggage was hastily achieved; for the single
word "outlaws" rendered every one sufficiently alert, and the approach
of twilight made the sound yet more impressive. Amid the bustle, Gurth
was taken from horseback, in the course of which removal he prevailed
upon the Jester to slack the cord with which his arms were bound. It was
so negligently refastened, perhaps intentionally, on the part of Wamba,
that Gurth found no difficulty in freeing his arms altogether from
bondage, and then, gliding into the thicket, he made his escape from the
party.

The bustle had been considerable, and it was some time before Gurth was
missed; for, as he was to be placed for the rest of the journey behind
a servant, every one supposed that some other of his companions had him
under his custody, and when it began to be whispered among them
that Gurth had actually disappeared, they were under such immediate
expectation of an attack from the outlaws, that it was not held
convenient to pay much attention to the circumstance.

The path upon which the party travelled was now so narrow, as not to
admit, with any sort of convenience, above two riders abreast, and began
to descend into a dingle, traversed by a brook whose banks were broken,
swampy, and overgrown with dwarf willows. Cedric and Athelstane, who
were at the head of their retinue, saw the risk of being attacked at
this pass; but neither of them having had much practice in war, no
better mode of preventing the danger occurred to them than that they
should hasten through the defile as fast as possible. Advancing,
therefore, without much order, they had just crossed the brook with a
part of their followers, when they were assailed in front, flank,
and rear at once, with an impetuosity to which, in their confused and
ill-prepared condition, it was impossible to offer effectual resistance.
The shout of "A white dragon!--a white dragon!--Saint George for merry
England!" war-cries adopted by the assailants, as belonging to their
assumed character of Saxon outlaws, was heard on every side, and on
every side enemies appeared with a rapidity of advance and attack which
seemed to multiply their numbers.

Both the Saxon chiefs were made prisoners at the same moment, and each
under circumstances expressive of his character. Cedric, the instant
that an enemy appeared, launched at him his remaining javelin, which,
taking better effect than that which he had hurled at Fangs, nailed the
man against an oak-tree that happened to be close behind him. Thus far
successful, Cedric spurred his horse against a second, drawing his sword
at the same time, and striking with such inconsiderate fury, that
his weapon encountered a thick branch which hung over him, and he
was disarmed by the violence of his own blow. He was instantly made
prisoner, and pulled from his horse by two or three of the banditti who
crowded around him. Athelstane shared his captivity, his bridle having
been seized, and he himself forcibly dismounted, long before he could
draw his weapon, or assume any posture of effectual defence.

The attendants, embarrassed with baggage, surprised and terrified at the
fate of their masters, fell an easy prey to the assailants; while
the Lady Rowena, in the centre of the cavalcade, and the Jew and his
daughter in the rear, experienced the same misfortune.

Of all the train none escaped except Wamba, who showed upon the
occasion much more courage than those who pretended to greater sense. He
possessed himself of a sword belonging to one of the domestics, who was
just drawing it with a tardy and irresolute hand, laid it about him like
a lion, drove back several who approached him, and made a brave though
ineffectual attempt to succour his master. Finding himself overpowered,
the Jester at length threw himself from his horse, plunged into the
thicket, and, favoured by the general confusion, escaped from the scene
of action. Yet the valiant Jester, as soon as he found himself safe,
hesitated more than once whether he should not turn back and share the
captivity of a master to whom he was sincerely attached.

"I have heard men talk of the blessings of freedom," he said to himself,
"but I wish any wise man would teach me what use to make of it now that
I have it."

As he pronounced these words aloud, a voice very near him called out in
a low and cautious tone, "Wamba!" and, at the same time, a dog, which he
recognised to be Fangs, jumped up and fawned upon him. "Gurth!" answered
Wamba, with the same caution, and the swineherd immediately stood before
him.

"What is the matter?" said he eagerly; "what mean these cries, and that
clashing of swords?"

"Only a trick of the times," said Wamba; "they are all prisoners."

"Who are prisoners?" exclaimed Gurth, impatiently.

"My lord, and my lady, and Athelstane, and Hundibert, and Oswald."

"In the name of God!" said Gurth, "how came they prisoners?--and to
whom?"

"Our master was too ready to fight," said the Jester; "and Athelstane
was not ready enough, and no other person was ready at all. And they are
prisoners to green cassocks, and black visors. And they lie all tumbled
about on the green, like the crab-apples that you shake down to your
swine. And I would laugh at it," said the honest Jester, "if I could for
weeping." And he shed tears of unfeigned sorrow.

Gurth's countenance kindled--"Wamba," he said, "thou hast a weapon,
and thy heart was ever stronger than thy brain,--we are only two--but a
sudden attack from men of resolution will do much--follow me!"

"Whither?--and for what purpose?" said the Jester.

"To rescue Cedric."

"But you have renounced his service but now," said Wamba.

"That," said Gurth, "was but while he was fortunate--follow me!"

As the Jester was about to obey, a third person suddenly made his
appearance, and commanded them both to halt. From his dress and arms,
Wamba would have conjectured him to be one of those outlaws who had just
assailed his master; but, besides that he wore no mask, the glittering
baldric across his shoulder, with the rich bugle-horn which it
supported, as well as the calm and commanding expression of his voice
and manner, made him, notwithstanding the twilight, recognise Locksley
the yeoman, who had been victorious, under such disadvantageous
circumstances, in the contest for the prize of archery.

"What is the meaning of all this," said he, "or who is it that rifle,
and ransom, and make prisoners, in these forests?"

"You may look at their cassocks close by," said Wamba, "and see whether
they be thy children's coats or no--for they are as like thine own, as
one green pea-cod is to another."

"I will learn that presently," answered Locksley; "and I charge ye, on
peril of your lives, not to stir from the place where ye stand, until
I have returned. Obey me, and it shall be the better for you and your
masters.--Yet stay, I must render myself as like these men as possible."

So saying he unbuckled his baldric with the bugle, took a feather from
his cap, and gave them to Wamba; then drew a vizard from his pouch,
and, repeating his charges to them to stand fast, went to execute his
purposes of reconnoitring.

"Shall we stand fast, Gurth?" said Wamba; "or shall we e'en give him
leg-bail? In my foolish mind, he had all the equipage of a thief too
much in readiness, to be himself a true man."

"Let him be the devil," said Gurth, "an he will. We can be no worse of
waiting his return. If he belong to that party, he must already have
given them the alarm, and it will avail nothing either to fight or fly.
Besides, I have late experience, that errant thieves are not the worst
men in the world to have to deal with."

The yeoman returned in the course of a few minutes.

"Friend Gurth," he said, "I have mingled among yon men, and have learnt
to whom they belong, and whither they are bound. There is, I think,
no chance that they will proceed to any actual violence against their
prisoners. For three men to attempt them at this moment, were little
else than madness; for they are good men of war, and have, as such,
placed sentinels to give the alarm when any one approaches. But I
trust soon to gather such a force, as may act in defiance of all their
precautions; you are both servants, and, as I think, faithful servants,
of Cedric the Saxon, the friend of the rights of Englishmen. He shall
not want English hands to help him in this extremity. Come then with me,
until I gather more aid."

So saying, he walked through the wood at a great pace, followed by the
jester and the swineherd. It was not consistent with Wamba's humour to
travel long in silence.

"I think," said he, looking at the baldric and bugle which he still
carried, "that I saw the arrow shot which won this gay prize, and that
not so long since as Christmas."

"And I," said Gurth, "could take it on my halidome, that I have heard
the voice of the good yeoman who won it, by night as well as by day, and
that the moon is not three days older since I did so."

"Mine honest friends," replied the yeoman, "who, or what I am, is little
to the present purpose; should I free your master, you will have reason
to think me the best friend you have ever had in your lives. And whether
I am known by one name or another--or whether I can draw a bow as well
or better than a cow-keeper, or whether it is my pleasure to walk in
sunshine or by moonlight, are matters, which, as they do not concern
you, so neither need ye busy yourselves respecting them."

"Our heads are in the lion's mouth," said Wamba, in a whisper to Gurth,
"get them out how we can."

"Hush--be silent," said Gurth. "Offend him not by thy folly, and I trust
sincerely that all will go well."




CHAPTER XX

     When autumn nights were long and drear,
     And forest walks were dark and dim,
     How sweetly on the pilgrim's ear
     Was wont to steal the hermit's hymn

     Devotion borrows Music's tone,
     And Music took Devotion's wing;
     And, like the bird that hails the sun,
     They soar to heaven, and soaring sing.
     The Hermit of St Clement's Well

It was after three hours' good walking that the servants of Cedric, with
their mysterious guide, arrived at a small opening in the forest, in
the centre of which grew an oak-tree of enormous magnitude, throwing
its twisted branches in every direction. Beneath this tree four or five
yeomen lay stretched on the ground, while another, as sentinel, walked
to and fro in the moonlight shade.

Upon hearing the sound of feet approaching, the watch instantly gave the
alarm, and the sleepers as suddenly started up and bent their bows. Six
arrows placed on the string were pointed towards the quarter from which
the travellers approached, when their guide, being recognised, was
welcomed with every token of respect and attachment, and all signs and
fears of a rough reception at once subsided.

"Where is the Miller?" was his first question.

"On the road towards Rotherham."

"With how many?" demanded the leader, for such he seemed to be.

"With six men, and good hope of booty, if it please St Nicholas."

"Devoutly spoken," said Locksley; "and where is Allan-a-Dale?"

"Walked up towards the Watling-street, to watch for the Prior of
Jorvaulx."

"That is well thought on also," replied the Captain;--"and where is the
Friar?"