"In his cell."

"Thither will I go," said Locksley. "Disperse and seek your companions.
Collect what force you can, for there's game afoot that must be hunted
hard, and will turn to bay. Meet me here by daybreak.--And stay," he
added, "I have forgotten what is most necessary of the whole--Two of
you take the road quickly towards Torquilstone, the Castle of
Front-de-Boeuf. A set of gallants, who have been masquerading in such
guise as our own, are carrying a band of prisoners thither--Watch them
closely, for even if they reach the castle before we collect our force,
our honour is concerned to punish them, and we will find means to do so.
Keep a close watch on them therefore; and dispatch one of your comrades,
the lightest of foot, to bring the news of the yeomen thereabout."

They promised implicit obedience, and departed with alacrity on
their different errands. In the meanwhile, their leader and his two
companions, who now looked upon him with great respect, as well as some
fear, pursued their way to the Chapel of Copmanhurst.

When they had reached the little moonlight glade, having in front the
reverend, though ruinous chapel, and the rude hermitage, so well
suited to ascetic devotion, Wamba whispered to Gurth, "If this be the
habitation of a thief, it makes good the old proverb, The nearer the
church the farther from God.--And by my coxcomb," he added, "I think it
be even so--Hearken but to the black sanctus which they are singing in
the hermitage!"

In fact the anchorite and his guest were performing, at the full extent
of their very powerful lungs, an old drinking song, of which this was
the burden:--

     "Come, trowl the brown bowl to me,
     Bully boy, bully boy,
     Come, trowl the brown bowl to me:
     Ho! jolly Jenkin, I spy a knave in drinking,
     Come, trowl the brown bowl to me."

"Now, that is not ill sung," said Wamba, who had thrown in a few of his
own flourishes to help out the chorus. "But who, in the saint's name,
ever expected to have heard such a jolly chant come from out a hermit's
cell at midnight!"

"Marry, that should I," said Gurth, "for the jolly Clerk of Copmanhurst
is a known man, and kills half the deer that are stolen in this walk.
Men say that the keeper has complained to his official, and that he
will be stripped of his cowl and cope altogether, if he keeps not better
order."

While they were thus speaking, Locksley's loud and repeated knocks had
at length disturbed the anchorite and his guest. "By my beads," said the
hermit, stopping short in a grand flourish, "here come more benighted
guests. I would not for my cowl that they found us in this goodly
exercise. All men have their enemies, good Sir Sluggard; and there be
those malignant enough to construe the hospitable refreshment which I
have been offering to you, a weary traveller, for the matter of three
short hours, into sheer drunkenness and debauchery, vices alike alien to
my profession and my disposition."

"Base calumniators!" replied the knight; "I would I had the chastising
of them. Nevertheless, Holy Clerk, it is true that all have their
enemies; and there be those in this very land whom I would rather speak
to through the bars of my helmet than barefaced."

"Get thine iron pot on thy head then, friend Sluggard, as quickly as
thy nature will permit," said the hermit, "while I remove these pewter
flagons, whose late contents run strangely in mine own pate; and to
drown the clatter--for, in faith, I feel somewhat unsteady--strike into
the tune which thou hearest me sing; it is no matter for the words--I
scarce know them myself."

So saying, he struck up a thundering "De profundis clamavi", under cover
of which he removed the apparatus of their banquet: while the knight,
laughing heartily, and arming himself all the while, assisted his host
with his voice from time to time as his mirth permitted.

"What devil's matins are you after at this hour?" said a voice from
without.

"Heaven forgive you, Sir Traveller!" said the hermit, whose own noise,
and perhaps his nocturnal potations, prevented from recognising accents
which were tolerably familiar to him--"Wend on your way, in the name of
God and Saint Dunstan, and disturb not the devotions of me and my holy
brother."

"Mad priest," answered the voice from without, "open to Locksley!"

"All's safe--all's right," said the hermit to his companion.

"But who is he?" said the Black Knight; "it imports me much to know."

"Who is he?" answered the hermit; "I tell thee he is a friend."

"But what friend?" answered the knight; "for he may be friend to thee
and none of mine?"

"What friend?" replied the hermit; "that, now, is one of the questions
that is more easily asked than answered. What friend?--why, he is, now
that I bethink me a little, the very same honest keeper I told thee of a
while since."

"Ay, as honest a keeper as thou art a pious hermit," replied the knight,
"I doubt it not. But undo the door to him before he beat it from its
hinges."

The dogs, in the meantime, which had made a dreadful baying at the
commencement of the disturbance, seemed now to recognise the voice
of him who stood without; for, totally changing their manner, they
scratched and whined at the door, as if interceding for his admission.
The hermit speedily unbolted his portal, and admitted Locksley, with his
two companions.

"Why, hermit," was the yeoman's first question as soon as he beheld the
knight, "what boon companion hast thou here?"

"A brother of our order," replied the friar, shaking his head; "we have
been at our orisons all night."

"He is a monk of the church militant, I think," answered Locksley; "and
there be more of them abroad. I tell thee, friar, thou must lay down
the rosary and take up the quarter-staff; we shall need every one of our
merry men, whether clerk or layman.--But," he added, taking him a step
aside, "art thou mad? to give admittance to a knight thou dost not know?
Hast thou forgot our articles?"

"Not know him!" replied the friar, boldly, "I know him as well as the
beggar knows his dish."

"And what is his name, then?" demanded Locksley.

"His name," said the hermit--"his name is Sir Anthony of
Scrabelstone--as if I would drink with a man, and did not know his
name!"

"Thou hast been drinking more than enough, friar," said the woodsman,
"and, I fear, prating more than enough too."

"Good yeoman," said the knight, coming forward, "be not wroth with my
merry host. He did but afford me the hospitality which I would have
compelled from him if he had refused it."

"Thou compel!" said the friar; "wait but till have changed this grey
gown for a green cassock, and if I make not a quarter-staff ring twelve
upon thy pate, I am neither true clerk nor good woodsman."

While he spoke thus, he stript off his gown, and appeared in a close
black buckram doublet and drawers, over which he speedily did on a
cassock of green, and hose of the same colour. "I pray thee truss my
points," said he to Wamba, "and thou shalt have a cup of sack for thy
labour."

"Gramercy for thy sack," said Wamba; "but think'st thou it is lawful
for me to aid you to transmew thyself from a holy hermit into a sinful
forester?"

"Never fear," said the hermit; "I will but confess the sins of my green
cloak to my greyfriar's frock, and all shall be well again."

"Amen!" answered the Jester; "a broadcloth penitent should have a
sackcloth confessor, and your frock may absolve my motley doublet into
the bargain."

So saying, he accommodated the friar with his assistance in tying the
endless number of points, as the laces which attached the hose to the
doublet were then termed.

While they were thus employed, Locksley led the knight a little apart,
and addressed him thus:--"Deny it not, Sir Knight--you are he who
decided the victory to the advantage of the English against the
strangers on the second day of the tournament at Ashby."

"And what follows if you guess truly, good yeoman?" replied the knight.

"I should in that case hold you," replied the yeoman, "a friend to the
weaker party."

"Such is the duty of a true knight at least," replied the Black
Champion; "and I would not willingly that there were reason to think
otherwise of me."

"But for my purpose," said the yeoman, "thou shouldst be as well a
good Englishman as a good knight; for that, which I have to speak of,
concerns, indeed, the duty of every honest man, but is more especially
that of a true-born native of England."

"You can speak to no one," replied the knight, "to whom England, and the
life of every Englishman, can be dearer than to me."

"I would willingly believe so," said the woodsman, "for never had this
country such need to be supported by those who love her. Hear me, and
I will tell thee of an enterprise, in which, if thou be'st really
that which thou seemest, thou mayst take an honourable part. A band
of villains, in the disguise of better men than themselves, have made
themselves master of the person of a noble Englishman, called Cedric
the Saxon, together with his ward, and his friend Athelstane of
Coningsburgh, and have transported them to a castle in this forest,
called Torquilstone. I ask of thee, as a good knight and a good
Englishman, wilt thou aid in their rescue?"

"I am bound by my vow to do so," replied the knight; "but I would
willingly know who you are, who request my assistance in their behalf?"

"I am," said the forester, "a nameless man; but I am the friend of my
country, and of my country's friends--With this account of me you must
for the present remain satisfied, the more especially since you yourself
desire to continue unknown. Believe, however, that my word, when
pledged, is as inviolate as if I wore golden spurs."

"I willingly believe it," said the knight; "I have been accustomed
to study men's countenances, and I can read in thine honesty and
resolution. I will, therefore, ask thee no further questions, but aid
thee in setting at freedom these oppressed captives; which done, I trust
we shall part better acquainted, and well satisfied with each other."

"So," said Wamba to Gurth,--for the friar being now fully equipped, the
Jester, having approached to the other side of the hut, had heard the
conclusion of the conversation,--"So we have got a new ally?--l trust
the valour of the knight will be truer metal than the religion of the
hermit, or the honesty of the yeoman; for this Locksley looks like a
born deer-stealer, and the priest like a lusty hypocrite."

"Hold thy peace, Wamba," said Gurth; "it may all be as thou dost guess;
but were the horned devil to rise and proffer me his assistance to
set at liberty Cedric and the Lady Rowena, I fear I should hardly have
religion enough to refuse the foul fiend's offer, and bid him get behind
me."

The friar was now completely accoutred as a yeoman, with sword and
buckler, bow, and quiver, and a strong partisan over his shoulder. He
left his cell at the head of the party, and, having carefully locked the
door, deposited the key under the threshold.

"Art thou in condition to do good service, friar," said Locksley, "or
does the brown bowl still run in thy head?"

"Not more than a drought of St Dunstan's fountain will allay," answered
the priest; "something there is of a whizzing in my brain, and of
instability in my legs, but you shall presently see both pass away."

So saying, he stepped to the stone basin, in which the waters of
the fountain as they fell formed bubbles which danced in the white
moonlight, and took so long a drought as if he had meant to exhaust the
spring.

"When didst thou drink as deep a drought of water before, Holy Clerk of
Copmanhurst?" said the Black Knight.

"Never since my wine-butt leaked, and let out its liquor by an illegal
vent," replied the friar, "and so left me nothing to drink but my
patron's bounty here."

Then plunging his hands and head into the fountain, he washed from them
all marks of the midnight revel.

Thus refreshed and sobered, the jolly priest twirled his heavy partisan
round his head with three fingers, as if he had been balancing a reed,
exclaiming at the same time, "Where be those false ravishers, who carry
off wenches against their will? May the foul fiend fly off with me, if I
am not man enough for a dozen of them."

"Swearest thou, Holy Clerk?" said the Black Knight.

"Clerk me no Clerks," replied the transformed priest; "by Saint George
and the Dragon, I am no longer a shaveling than while my frock is on my
back--When I am cased in my green cassock, I will drink, swear, and woo
a lass, with any blithe forester in the West Riding."

"Come on, Jack Priest," said Locksley, "and be silent; thou art as noisy
as a whole convent on a holy eve, when the Father Abbot has gone to
bed.--Come on you, too, my masters, tarry not to talk of it--I say, come
on, we must collect all our forces, and few enough we shall have, if we
are to storm the Castle of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf."

"What! is it Front-de-Boeuf," said the Black Knight, "who has stopt on
the king's highway the king's liege subjects?--Is he turned thief and
oppressor?"

"Oppressor he ever was," said Locksley.

"And for thief," said the priest, "I doubt if ever he were even half so
honest a man as many a thief of my acquaintance."

"Move on, priest, and be silent," said the yeoman; "it were better you
led the way to the place of rendezvous, than say what should be left
unsaid, both in decency and prudence."




CHAPTER XXI

     Alas, how many hours and years have past,
     Since human forms have round this table sate,
     Or lamp, or taper, on its surface gleam'd!
     Methinks, I hear the sound of time long pass'd
     Still murmuring o'er us, in the lofty void
     Of these dark arches, like the ling'ring voices
     Of those who long within their graves have slept.
     Orra, a Tragedy

While these measures were taking in behalf of Cedric and his companions,
the armed men by whom the latter had been seized, hurried their captives
along towards the place of security, where they intended to imprison
them. But darkness came on fast, and the paths of the wood seemed but
imperfectly known to the marauders. They were compelled to make several
long halts, and once or twice to return on their road to resume the
direction which they wished to pursue. The summer morn had dawned upon
them ere they could travel in full assurance that they held the right
path. But confidence returned with light, and the cavalcade now moved
rapidly forward. Meanwhile, the following dialogue took place between
the two leaders of the banditti.

"It is time thou shouldst leave us, Sir Maurice," said the Templar to
De Bracy, "in order to prepare the second part of thy mystery. Thou art
next, thou knowest, to act the Knight Deliverer."

"I have thought better of it," said De Bracy; "I will not leave thee
till the prize is fairly deposited in Front-de-Boeuf's castle. There
will I appear before the Lady Rowena in mine own shape, and trust that
she will set down to the vehemence of my passion the violence of which I
have been guilty."

"And what has made thee change thy plan, De Bracy?" replied the Knight
Templar.

"That concerns thee nothing," answered his companion.

"I would hope, however, Sir Knight," said the Templar, "that this
alteration of measures arises from no suspicion of my honourable
meaning, such as Fitzurse endeavoured to instil into thee?"

"My thoughts are my own," answered De Bracy; "the fiend laughs, they
say, when one thief robs another; and we know, that were he to spit fire
and brimstone instead, it would never prevent a Templar from following
his bent."

"Or the leader of a Free Company," answered the Templar, "from dreading
at the hands of a comrade and friend, the injustice he does to all
mankind."

"This is unprofitable and perilous recrimination," answered De Bracy;
"suffice it to say, I know the morals of the Temple-Order, and I will
not give thee the power of cheating me out of the fair prey for which I
have run such risks."

"Psha," replied the Templar, "what hast thou to fear?--Thou knowest the
vows of our order."

"Right well," said De Bracy, "and also how they are kept. Come,
Sir Templar, the laws of gallantry have a liberal interpretation in
Palestine, and this is a case in which I will trust nothing to your
conscience."

"Hear the truth, then," said the Templar; "I care not for your blue-eyed
beauty. There is in that train one who will make me a better mate."

"What! wouldst thou stoop to the waiting damsel?" said De Bracy.

"No, Sir Knight," said the Templar, haughtily. "To the waiting-woman
will I not stoop. I have a prize among the captives as lovely as thine
own."

"By the mass, thou meanest the fair Jewess!" said De Bracy.

"And if I do," said Bois-Guilbert, "who shall gainsay me?"

"No one that I know," said De Bracy, "unless it be your vow of celibacy,
or a cheek of conscience for an intrigue with a Jewess."

"For my vow," said the Templar, "our Grand Master hath granted me a
dispensation. And for my conscience, a man that has slain three hundred
Saracens, need not reckon up every little failing, like a village girl
at her first confession upon Good Friday eve."

"Thou knowest best thine own privileges," said De Bracy. "Yet, I would
have sworn thy thought had been more on the old usurer's money bags,
than on the black eyes of the daughter."

"I can admire both," answered the Templar; "besides, the old Jew is but
half-prize. I must share his spoils with Front-de-Boeuf, who will not
lend us the use of his castle for nothing. I must have something that I
can term exclusively my own by this foray of ours, and I have fixed on
the lovely Jewess as my peculiar prize. But, now thou knowest my drift,
thou wilt resume thine own original plan, wilt thou not?--Thou hast
nothing, thou seest, to fear from my interference."

"No," replied De Bracy, "I will remain beside my prize. What thou
sayst is passing true, but I like not the privileges acquired by
the dispensation of the Grand Master, and the merit acquired by the
slaughter of three hundred Saracens. You have too good a right to a free
pardon, to render you very scrupulous about peccadilloes."

While this dialogue was proceeding, Cedric was endeavouring to wring out
of those who guarded him an avowal of their character and purpose. "You
should be Englishmen," said he; "and yet, sacred Heaven! you prey
upon your countrymen as if you were very Normans. You should be my
neighbours, and, if so, my friends; for which of my English neighbours
have reason to be otherwise? I tell ye, yeomen, that even those among ye
who have been branded with outlawry have had from me protection; for I
have pitied their miseries, and curst the oppression of their tyrannic
nobles. What, then, would you have of me? or in what can this violence
serve ye?--Ye are worse than brute beasts in your actions, and will you
imitate them in their very dumbness?"

It was in vain that Cedric expostulated with his guards, who had too
many good reasons for their silence to be induced to break it either
by his wrath or his expostulations. They continued to hurry him along,
travelling at a very rapid rate, until, at the end of an avenue of huge
trees, arose Torquilstone, now the hoary and ancient castle of Reginald
Front-de-Boeuf. It was a fortress of no great size, consisting of a
donjon, or large and high square tower, surrounded by buildings of
inferior height, which were encircled by an inner court-yard. Around the
exterior wall was a deep moat, supplied with water from a neighbouring
rivulet. Front-de-Boeuf, whose character placed him often at feud with
his enemies, had made considerable additions to the strength of his
castle, by building towers upon the outward wall, so as to flank it at
every angle. The access, as usual in castles of the period, lay through
an arched barbican, or outwork, which was terminated and defended by a
small turret at each corner.

Cedric no sooner saw the turrets of Front-de-Boeuf's castle raise their
grey and moss-grown battlements, glimmering in the morning sun above the
wood by which they were surrounded, than he instantly augured more truly
concerning the cause of his misfortune.

"I did injustice," he said, "to the thieves and outlaws of these woods,
when I supposed such banditti to belong to their bands; I might as
justly have confounded the foxes of these brakes with the ravening
wolves of France. Tell me, dogs--is it my life or my wealth that your
master aims at? Is it too much that two Saxons, myself and the noble
Athelstane, should hold land in the country which was once the patrimony
of our race?--Put us then to death, and complete your tyranny by taking
our lives, as you began with our liberties. If the Saxon Cedric cannot
rescue England, he is willing to die for her. Tell your tyrannical
master, I do only beseech him to dismiss the Lady Rowena in honour and
safety. She is a woman, and he need not dread her; and with us will die
all who dare fight in her cause."

The attendants remained as mute to this address as to the former, and
they now stood before the gate of the castle. De Bracy winded his horn
three times, and the archers and cross-bow men, who had manned the wall
upon seeing their approach, hastened to lower the drawbridge, and admit
them. The prisoners were compelled by their guards to alight, and were
conducted to an apartment where a hasty repast was offered them, of
which none but Athelstane felt any inclination to partake. Neither had
the descendant of the Confessor much time to do justice to the good
cheer placed before them, for their guards gave him and Cedric to
understand that they were to be imprisoned in a chamber apart from
Rowena. Resistance was vain; and they were compelled to follow to a
large room, which, rising on clumsy Saxon pillars, resembled those
refectories and chapter-houses which may be still seen in the most
ancient parts of our most ancient monasteries.

The Lady Rowena was next separated from her train, and conducted, with
courtesy, indeed, but still without consulting her inclination, to
a distant apartment. The same alarming distinction was conferred on
Rebecca, in spite of her father's entreaties, who offered even money,
in this extremity of distress, that she might be permitted to abide with
him. "Base unbeliever," answered one of his guards, "when thou hast seen
thy lair, thou wilt not wish thy daughter to partake it." And, without
farther discussion, the old Jew was forcibly dragged off in a different
direction from the other prisoners. The domestics, after being carefully
searched and disarmed, were confined in another part of the castle;
and Rowena was refused even the comfort she might have derived from the
attendance of her handmaiden Elgitha.

The apartment in which the Saxon chiefs were confined, for to them
we turn our first attention, although at present used as a sort of
guard-room, had formerly been the great hall of the castle. It was now
abandoned to meaner purposes, because the present lord, among other
additions to the convenience, security, and beauty of his baronial
residence, had erected a new and noble hall, whose vaulted roof was
supported by lighter and more elegant pillars, and fitted up with that
higher degree of ornament, which the Normans had already introduced into
architecture.

Cedric paced the apartment, filled with indignant reflections on the
past and on the present, while the apathy of his companion served,
instead of patience and philosophy, to defend him against every thing
save the inconvenience of the present moment; and so little did he feel
even this last, that he was only from time to time roused to a reply by
Cedric's animated and impassioned appeal to him.

"Yes," said Cedric, half speaking to himself, and half addressing
himself to Athelstane, "it was in this very hall that my father feasted
with Torquil Wolfganger, when he entertained the valiant and unfortunate
Harold, then advancing against the Norwegians, who had united themselves
to the rebel Tosti. It was in this hall that Harold returned the
magnanimous answer to the ambassador of his rebel brother. Oft have
I heard my father kindle as he told the tale. The envoy of Tosti was
admitted, when this ample room could scarce contain the crowd of
noble Saxon leaders, who were quaffing the blood-red wine around their
monarch."

"I hope," said Athelstane, somewhat moved by this part of his friend's
discourse, "they will not forget to send us some wine and refactions at
noon--we had scarce a breathing-space allowed to break our fast, and
I never have the benefit of my food when I eat immediately after
dismounting from horseback, though the leeches recommend that practice."

Cedric went on with his story without noticing this interjectional
observation of his friend.

"The envoy of Tosti," he said, "moved up the hall, undismayed by the
frowning countenances of all around him, until he made his obeisance
before the throne of King Harold.

"'What terms,' he said, 'Lord King, hath thy brother Tosti to hope, if
he should lay down his arms, and crave peace at thy hands?'

"'A brother's love,' cried the generous Harold, 'and the fair earldom of
Northumberland.'

"'But should Tosti accept these terms,' continued the envoy, 'what lands
shall be assigned to his faithful ally, Hardrada, King of Norway?'

"'Seven feet of English ground,' answered Harold, fiercely, 'or, as
Hardrada is said to be a giant, perhaps we may allow him twelve inches
more.'

"The hall rung with acclamations, and cup and horn was filled to
the Norwegian, who should be speedily in possession of his English
territory."

"I could have pledged him with all my soul," said Athelstane, "for my
tongue cleaves to my palate."

"The baffled envoy," continued Cedric, pursuing with animation his tale,
though it interested not the listener, "retreated, to carry to Tosti and
his ally the ominous answer of his injured brother. It was then that
the distant towers of York, and the bloody streams of the Derwent,
[26] beheld that direful conflict, in which, after displaying the most
undaunted valour, the King of Norway, and Tosti, both fell, with ten
thousand of their bravest followers. Who would have thought that upon
the proud day when this battle was won, the very gale which waved the
Saxon banners in triumph, was filling the Norman sails, and impelling
them to the fatal shores of Sussex?--Who would have thought that Harold,
within a few brief days, would himself possess no more of his kingdom,
than the share which he allotted in his wrath to the Norwegian
invader?--Who would have thought that you, noble Athelstane--that you,
descended of Harold's blood, and that I, whose father was not the worst
defender of the Saxon crown, should be prisoners to a vile Norman, in
the very hall in which our ancestors held such high festival?"

"It is sad enough," replied Athelstane; "but I trust they will hold us
to a moderate ransom--At any rate it cannot be their purpose to starve
us outright; and yet, although it is high noon, I see no preparations
for serving dinner. Look up at the window, noble Cedric, and judge by
the sunbeams if it is not on the verge of noon."

"It may be so," answered Cedric; "but I cannot look on that stained
lattice without its awakening other reflections than those which concern
the passing moment, or its privations. When that window was wrought, my
noble friend, our hardy fathers knew not the art of making glass, or
of staining it--The pride of Wolfganger's father brought an artist from
Normandy to adorn his hall with this new species of emblazonment, that
breaks the golden light of God's blessed day into so many fantastic
hues. The foreigner came here poor, beggarly, cringing, and subservient,
ready to doff his cap to the meanest native of the household. He
returned pampered and proud, to tell his rapacious countrymen of the
wealth and the simplicity of the Saxon nobles--a folly, oh, Athelstane,
foreboded of old, as well as foreseen, by those descendants of Hengist
and his hardy tribes, who retained the simplicity of their manners. We
made these strangers our bosom friends, our confidential servants;
we borrowed their artists and their arts, and despised the honest
simplicity and hardihood with which our brave ancestors supported
themselves, and we became enervated by Norman arts long ere we fell
under Norman arms. Far better was our homely diet, eaten in peace and
liberty, than the luxurious dainties, the love of which hath delivered
us as bondsmen to the foreign conqueror!"

"I should," replied Athelstane, "hold very humble diet a luxury at
present; and it astonishes me, noble Cedric, that you can bear so truly
in mind the memory of past deeds, when it appeareth you forget the very
hour of dinner."

"It is time lost," muttered Cedric apart and impatiently, "to speak
to him of aught else but that which concerns his appetite! The soul of
Hardicanute hath taken possession of him, and he hath no pleasure save
to fill, to swill, and to call for more.--Alas!" said he, looking at
Athelstane with compassion, "that so dull a spirit should be lodged in
so goodly a form! Alas! that such an enterprise as the regeneration of
England should turn on a hinge so imperfect! Wedded to Rowena, indeed,
her nobler and more generous soul may yet awake the better nature which
is torpid within him. Yet how should this be, while Rowena, Athelstane,
and I myself, remain the prisoners of this brutal marauder and have
been made so perhaps from a sense of the dangers which our liberty might
bring to the usurped power of his nation?"

While the Saxon was plunged in these painful reflections, the door of
their prison opened, and gave entrance to a sewer, holding his white rod
of office. This important person advanced into the chamber with a grave
pace, followed by four attendants, bearing in a table covered
with dishes, the sight and smell of which seemed to be an instant
compensation to Athelstane for all the inconvenience he had undergone.
The persons who attended on the feast were masked and cloaked.

"What mummery is this?" said Cedric; "think you that we are ignorant
whose prisoners we are, when we are in the castle of your master?
Tell him," he continued, willing to use this opportunity to open
a negotiation for his freedom,--"Tell your master, Reginald
Front-de-Boeuf, that we know no reason he can have for withholding our
liberty, excepting his unlawful desire to enrich himself at our expense.
Tell him that we yield to his rapacity, as in similar circumstances we
should do to that of a literal robber. Let him name the ransom at which
he rates our liberty, and it shall be paid, providing the exaction is
suited to our means." The sewer made no answer, but bowed his head.

"And tell Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf," said Athelstane, "that I send
him my mortal defiance, and challenge him to combat with me, on foot or
horseback, at any secure place, within eight days after our liberation;
which, if he be a true knight, he will not, under these circumstances,
venture to refuse or to delay."

"I shall deliver to the knight your defiance," answered the sewer;
"meanwhile I leave you to your food."

The challenge of Athelstane was delivered with no good grace; for a
large mouthful, which required the exercise of both jaws at once, added
to a natural hesitation, considerably damped the effect of the bold
defiance it contained. Still, however, his speech was hailed by Cedric
as an incontestible token of reviving spirit in his companion, whose
previous indifference had begun, notwithstanding his respect for
Athelstane's descent, to wear out his patience. But he now cordially
shook hands with him in token of his approbation, and was somewhat
grieved when Athelstane observed, "that he would fight a dozen such men
as Front-de-Boeuf, if, by so doing, he could hasten his departure from
a dungeon where they put so much garlic into their pottage."
Notwithstanding this intimation of a relapse into the apathy of
sensuality, Cedric placed himself opposite to Athelstane, and soon
showed, that if the distresses of his country could banish the
recollection of food while the table was uncovered, yet no sooner were
the victuals put there, than he proved that the appetite of his Saxon
ancestors had descended to him along with their other qualities.

The captives had not long enjoyed their refreshment, however, ere their
attention was disturbed even from this most serious occupation by the
blast of a horn winded before the gate. It was repeated three times,
with as much violence as if it had been blown before an enchanted castle
by the destined knight, at whose summons halls and towers, barbican and
battlement, were to roll off like a morning vapour. The Saxons started
from the table, and hastened to the window. But their curiosity was
disappointed; for these outlets only looked upon the court of the
castle, and the sound came from beyond its precincts. The summons,
however, seemed of importance, for a considerable degree of bustle
instantly took place in the castle.




CHAPTER XXII

     My daughter--O my ducats--O my daughter!
     ------O my Christian ducats!
     Justice--the Law--my ducats, and my daughter!
     --Merchant of Venice

Leaving the Saxon chiefs to return to their banquet as soon as their
ungratified curiosity should permit them to attend to the calls of their
half-satiated appetite, we have to look in upon the yet more severe
imprisonment of Isaac of York. The poor Jew had been hastily thrust into
a dungeon-vault of the castle, the floor of which was deep beneath
the level of the ground, and very damp, being lower than even the moat
itself. The only light was received through one or two loop-holes far
above the reach of the captive's hand. These apertures admitted, even
at mid-day, only a dim and uncertain light, which was changed for utter
darkness long before the rest of the castle had lost the blessing of
day. Chains and shackles, which had been the portion of former captives,
from whom active exertions to escape had been apprehended, hung rusted
and empty on the walls of the prison, and in the rings of one of those
sets of fetters there remained two mouldering bones, which seemed to
have been once those of the human leg, as if some prisoner had been left
not only to perish there, but to be consumed to a skeleton.

At one end of this ghastly apartment was a large fire-grate, over the
top of which were stretched some transverse iron bars, half devoured
with rust.

The whole appearance of the dungeon might have appalled a stouter heart
than that of Isaac, who, nevertheless, was more composed under the
imminent pressure of danger, than he had seemed to be while affected by
terrors, of which the cause was as yet remote and contingent. The lovers
of the chase say that the hare feels more agony during the pursuit of
the greyhounds, than when she is struggling in their fangs. [27]

And thus it is probable, that the Jews, by the very frequency of their
fear on all occasions, had their minds in some degree prepared for
every effort of tyranny which could be practised upon them; so that no
aggression, when it had taken place, could bring with it that surprise
which is the most disabling quality of terror. Neither was it the first
time that Isaac had been placed in circumstances so dangerous. He had
therefore experience to guide him, as well as hope, that he might again,
as formerly, be delivered as a prey from the fowler. Above all, he had
upon his side the unyielding obstinacy of his nation, and that unbending
resolution, with which Israelites have been frequently known to submit
to the uttermost evils which power and violence can inflict upon them,
rather than gratify their oppressors by granting their demands.

In this humour of passive resistance, and with his garment collected
beneath him to keep his limbs from the wet pavement, Isaac sat in a
corner of his dungeon, where his folded hands, his dishevelled hair and
beard, his furred cloak and high cap, seen by the wiry and broken light,
would have afforded a study for Rembrandt, had that celebrated painter
existed at the period. The Jew remained, without altering his position,
for nearly three hours, at the expiry of which steps were heard on the
dungeon stair. The bolts screamed as they were withdrawn--the hinges
creaked as the wicket opened, and Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, followed by
the two Saracen slaves of the Templar, entered the prison.

Front-de-Boeuf, a tall and strong man, whose life had been spent in
public war or in private feuds and broils, and who had hesitated at no
means of extending his feudal power, had features corresponding to his
character, and which strongly expressed the fiercer and more malignant
passions of the mind. The scars with which his visage was seamed,
would, on features of a different cast, have excited the sympathy and
veneration due to the marks of honourable valour; but, in the peculiar
case of Front-de-Boeuf, they only added to the ferocity of his
countenance, and to the dread which his presence inspired. This
formidable baron was clad in a leathern doublet, fitted close to his
body, which was frayed and soiled with the stains of his armour. He
had no weapon, excepting a poniard at his belt, which served to
counterbalance the weight of the bunch of rusty keys that hung at his
right side.

The black slaves who attended Front-de-Boeuf were stripped of their
gorgeous apparel, and attired in jerkins and trowsers of coarse linen,
their sleeves being tucked up above the elbow, like those of butchers
when about to exercise their function in the slaughter-house. Each had
in his hand a small pannier; and, when they entered the dungeon, they
stopt at the door until Front-de-Boeuf himself carefully locked and
double-locked it. Having taken this precaution, he advanced slowly up
the apartment towards the Jew, upon whom he kept his eye fixed, as if
he wished to paralyze him with his glance, as some animals are said to
fascinate their prey. It seemed indeed as if the sullen and malignant
eye of Front-de-Boeuf possessed some portion of that supposed power over
his unfortunate prisoner. The Jew sat with his mouth agape, and his
eyes fixed on the savage baron with such earnestness of terror, that his
frame seemed literally to shrink together, and to diminish in size while
encountering the fierce Norman's fixed and baleful gaze. The unhappy
Isaac was deprived not only of the power of rising to make the obeisance
which his terror dictated, but he could not even doff his cap, or utter
any word of supplication; so strongly was he agitated by the conviction
that tortures and death were impending over him.

On the other hand, the stately form of the Norman appeared to dilate
in magnitude, like that of the eagle, which ruffles up its plumage when
about to pounce on its defenceless prey. He paused within three steps
of the corner in which the unfortunate Jew had now, as it were, coiled
himself up into the smallest possible space, and made a sign for one of
the slaves to approach. The black satellite came forward accordingly,
and, producing from his basket a large pair of scales and several
weights, he laid them at the feet of Front-de-Boeuf, and again retired
to the respectful distance, at which his companion had already taken his
station.

The motions of these men were slow and solemn, as if there impended over
their souls some preconception of horror and of cruelty. Front-de-Boeuf
himself opened the scene by thus addressing his ill-fated captive.

"Most accursed dog of an accursed race," he said, awaking with his deep
and sullen voice the sullen echoes of his dungeon vault, "seest thou
these scales?"

The unhappy Jew returned a feeble affirmative.

"In these very scales shalt thou weigh me out," said the relentless
Baron, "a thousand silver pounds, after the just measure and weight of
the Tower of London."

"Holy Abraham!" returned the Jew, finding voice through the very
extremity of his danger, "heard man ever such a demand?--Who ever
heard, even in a minstrel's tale, of such a sum as a thousand pounds
of silver?--What human sight was ever blessed with the vision of such
a mass of treasure?--Not within the walls of York, ransack my house
and that of all my tribe, wilt thou find the tithe of that huge sum of
silver that thou speakest of."

"I am reasonable," answered Front-de-Boeuf, "and if silver be scant, I
refuse not gold. At the rate of a mark of gold for each six pounds of
silver, thou shalt free thy unbelieving carcass from such punishment as
thy heart has never even conceived."

"Have mercy on me, noble knight!" exclaimed Isaac; "I am old, and poor,
and helpless. It were unworthy to triumph over me--It is a poor deed to
crush a worm."

"Old thou mayst be," replied the knight; "more shame to their folly who
have suffered thee to grow grey in usury and knavery--Feeble thou mayst
be, for when had a Jew either heart or hand--But rich it is well known
thou art."

"I swear to you, noble knight," said the Jew "by all which I believe,
and by all which we believe in common---"

"Perjure not thyself," said the Norman, interrupting him, "and let not
thine obstinacy seal thy doom, until thou hast seen and well considered
the fate that awaits thee. Think not I speak to thee only to excite thy
terror, and practise on the base cowardice thou hast derived from thy
tribe. I swear to thee by that which thou dost NOT believe, by the
gospel which our church teaches, and by the keys which are given her to
bind and to loose, that my purpose is deep and peremptory. This
dungeon is no place for trifling. Prisoners ten thousand times more
distinguished than thou have died within these walls, and their fate
hath never been known! But for thee is reserved a long and lingering
death, to which theirs were luxury."

He again made a signal for the slaves to approach, and spoke to them
apart, in their own language; for he also had been in Palestine, where
perhaps, he had learnt his lesson of cruelty. The Saracens produced from
their baskets a quantity of charcoal, a pair of bellows, and a flask
of oil. While the one struck a light with a flint and steel, the other
disposed the charcoal in the large rusty grate which we have already
mentioned, and exercised the bellows until the fuel came to a red glow.

"Seest thou, Isaac," said Front-de-Boeuf, "the range of iron bars above
the glowing charcoal?-- [28] on that warm couch thou shalt lie, stripped
of thy clothes as if thou wert to rest on a bed of down. One of these
slaves shall maintain the fire beneath thee, while the other shall
anoint thy wretched limbs with oil, lest the roast should burn.--Now,
choose betwixt such a scorching bed and the payment of a thousand pounds
of silver; for, by the head of my father, thou hast no other option."

"It is impossible," exclaimed the miserable Jew--"it is impossible that
your purpose can be real! The good God of nature never made a heart
capable of exercising such cruelty!"

"Trust not to that, Isaac," said Front-de-Boeuf, "it were a fatal error.
Dost thou think that I, who have seen a town sacked, in which thousands
of my Christian countrymen perished by sword, by flood, and by fire,
will blench from my purpose for the outcries or screams of one single
wretched Jew?--or thinkest thou that these swarthy slaves, who have
neither law, country, nor conscience, but their master's will--who use
the poison, or the stake, or the poniard, or the cord, at his slightest
wink--thinkest thou that THEY will have mercy, who do not even
understand the language in which it is asked?--Be wise, old man;
discharge thyself of a portion of thy superfluous wealth; repay to the
hands of a Christian a part of what thou hast acquired by the usury thou
hast practised on those of his religion. Thy cunning may soon swell
out once more thy shrivelled purse, but neither leech nor medicine can
restore thy scorched hide and flesh wert thou once stretched on these
bars. Tell down thy ransom, I say, and rejoice that at such rate thou
canst redeem thee from a dungeon, the secrets of which few have returned
to tell. I waste no more words with thee--choose between thy dross and
thy flesh and blood, and as thou choosest, so shall it be."

"So may Abraham, Jacob, and all the fathers of our people assist me,"
said Isaac, "I cannot make the choice, because I have not the means of
satisfying your exorbitant demand!"

"Seize him and strip him, slaves," said the knight, "and let the fathers
of his race assist him if they can."

The assistants, taking their directions more from the Baron's eye and
his hand than his tongue, once more stepped forward, laid hands on the
unfortunate Isaac, plucked him up from the ground, and, holding him
between them, waited the hard-hearted Baron's farther signal. The
unhappy Jew eyed their countenances and that of Front-de-Boeuf, in
hope of discovering some symptoms of relenting; but that of the Baron
exhibited the same cold, half-sullen, half-sarcastic smile which had
been the prelude to his cruelty; and the savage eyes of the Saracens,
rolling gloomily under their dark brows, acquiring a yet more sinister
expression by the whiteness of the circle which surrounds the pupil,
evinced rather the secret pleasure which they expected from the
approaching scene, than any reluctance to be its directors or agents.
The Jew then looked at the glowing furnace, over which he was presently
to be stretched, and seeing no chance of his tormentor's relenting, his
resolution gave way.

"I will pay," he said, "the thousand pounds of silver--That is," he
added, after a moment's pause, "I will pay it with the help of my
brethren; for I must beg as a mendicant at the door of our synagogue ere
I make up so unheard-of a sum.--When and where must it be delivered?"

"Here," replied Front-de-Boeuf, "here it must be delivered--weighed it
must be--weighed and told down on this very dungeon floor.--Thinkest
thou I will part with thee until thy ransom is secure?"

"And what is to be my surety," said the Jew, "that I shall be at liberty
after this ransom is paid?"

"The word of a Norman noble, thou pawn-broking slave," answered
Front-de-Boeuf; "the faith of a Norman nobleman, more pure than the gold
and silver of thee and all thy tribe."

"I crave pardon, noble lord," said Isaac timidly, "but wherefore should
I rely wholly on the word of one who will trust nothing to mine?"

"Because thou canst not help it, Jew," said the knight, sternly. "Wert
thou now in thy treasure-chamber at York, and were I craving a loan of
thy shekels, it would be thine to dictate the time of payment, and the
pledge of security. This is MY treasure-chamber. Here I have thee at
advantage, nor will I again deign to repeat the terms on which I grant
thee liberty."

The Jew groaned deeply.--"Grant me," he said, "at least with my own
liberty, that of the companions with whom I travel. They scorned me as
a Jew, yet they pitied my desolation, and because they tarried to aid me
by the way, a share of my evil hath come upon them; moreover, they may
contribute in some sort to my ransom."

"If thou meanest yonder Saxon churls," said Front-de-Boeuf, "their
ransom will depend upon other terms than thine. Mind thine own concerns,
Jew, I warn thee, and meddle not with those of others."

"I am, then," said Isaac, "only to be set at liberty, together with mine
wounded friend?"

"Shall I twice recommend it," said Front-de-Boeuf, "to a son of Israel,
to meddle with his own concerns, and leave those of others alone?--Since
thou hast made thy choice, it remains but that thou payest down thy
ransom, and that at a short day."

"Yet hear me," said the Jew--"for the sake of that very wealth which
thou wouldst obtain at the expense of thy---" Here he stopt short,
afraid of irritating the savage Norman. But Front-de-Boeuf only laughed,
and himself filled up the blank at which the Jew had hesitated.

"At the expense of my conscience, thou wouldst say, Isaac; speak it
out--I tell thee, I am reasonable. I can bear the reproaches of a loser,
even when that loser is a Jew. Thou wert not so patient, Isaac, when
thou didst invoke justice against Jacques Fitzdotterel, for calling thee
a usurious blood-sucker, when thy exactions had devoured his patrimony."

"I swear by the Talmud," said the Jew, "that your valour has been
misled in that matter. Fitzdotterel drew his poniard upon me in mine own
chamber, because I craved him for mine own silver. The term of payment
was due at the Passover."

"I care not what he did," said Front-de-Boeuf; "the question is, when
shall I have mine own?--when shall I have the shekels, Isaac?"

"Let my daughter Rebecca go forth to York," answered Isaac, "with your
safe conduct, noble knight, and so soon as man and horse can return, the
treasure---" Here he groaned deeply, but added, after the pause of a few
seconds,--"The treasure shall be told down on this very floor."

"Thy daughter!" said Front-de-Boeuf, as if surprised,--"By heavens,
Isaac, I would I had known of this. I deemed that yonder black-browed
girl had been thy concubine, and I gave her to be a handmaiden to Sir
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, after the fashion of patriarchs and heroes of
the days of old, who set us in these matters a wholesome example."

The yell which Isaac raised at this unfeeling communication made the
very vault to ring, and astounded the two Saracens so much that they let
go their hold of the Jew. He availed himself of his enlargement to throw
himself on the pavement, and clasp the knees of Front-de-Boeuf.

"Take all that you have asked," said he, "Sir Knight--take ten times
more--reduce me to ruin and to beggary, if thou wilt,--nay, pierce
me with thy poniard, broil me on that furnace, but spare my daughter,
deliver her in safety and honour!--As thou art born of woman, spare the
honour of a helpless maiden--She is the image of my deceased Rachel,
she is the last of six pledges of her love--Will you deprive a widowed
husband of his sole remaining comfort?--Will you reduce a father to wish
that his only living child were laid beside her dead mother, in the tomb
of our fathers?"

"I would," said the Norman, somewhat relenting, "that I had known
of this before. I thought your race had loved nothing save their
moneybags."

"Think not so vilely of us, Jews though we be," said Isaac, eager to
improve the moment of apparent sympathy; "the hunted fox, the tortured
wildcat loves its young--the despised and persecuted race of Abraham
love their children!"

"Be it so," said Front-de-Boeuf; "I will believe it in future, Isaac,
for thy very sake--but it aids us not now, I cannot help what has
happened, or what is to follow; my word is passed to my comrade in arms,
nor would I break it for ten Jews and Jewesses to boot. Besides, why
shouldst thou think evil is to come to the girl, even if she became
Bois-Guilbert's booty?"

"There will, there must!" exclaimed Isaac, wringing his hands in agony;
"when did Templars breathe aught but cruelty to men, and dishonour to
women!"

"Dog of an infidel," said Front-de-Boeuf, with sparkling eyes, and not
sorry, perhaps, to seize a pretext for working himself into a passion,
"blaspheme not the Holy Order of the Temple of Zion, but take thought
instead to pay me the ransom thou hast promised, or woe betide thy
Jewish throat!"

"Robber and villain!" said the Jew, retorting the insults of his
oppressor with passion, which, however impotent, he now found it
impossible to bridle, "I will pay thee nothing--not one silver penny
will I pay thee, unless my daughter is delivered to me in safety and
honour!"

"Art thou in thy senses, Israelite?" said the Norman, sternly--"has thy
flesh and blood a charm against heated iron and scalding oil?"

"I care not!" said the Jew, rendered desperate by paternal affection;
"do thy worst. My daughter is my flesh and blood, dearer to me a
thousand times than those limbs which thy cruelty threatens. No silver
will I give thee, unless I were to pour it molten down thy avaricious
throat--no, not a silver penny will I give thee, Nazarene, were it to
save thee from the deep damnation thy whole life has merited! Take my
life if thou wilt, and say, the Jew, amidst his tortures, knew how to
disappoint the Christian."

"We shall see that," said Front-de-Boeuf; "for by the blessed rood,
which is the abomination of thy accursed tribe, thou shalt feel the
extremities of fire and steel!--Strip him, slaves, and chain him down
upon the bars."

In spite of the feeble struggles of the old man, the Saracens had
already torn from him his upper garment, and were proceeding totally to
disrobe him, when the sound of a bugle, twice winded without the castle,
penetrated even to the recesses of the dungeon, and immediately
after loud voices were heard calling for Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf.
Unwilling to be found engaged in his hellish occupation, the savage
Baron gave the slaves a signal to restore Isaac's garment, and, quitting
the dungeon with his attendants, he left the Jew to thank God for
his own deliverance, or to lament over his daughter's captivity,
and probable fate, as his personal or parental feelings might prove
strongest.




CHAPTER XXIII

     Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words
     Can no way change you to a milder form,
     I'll woo you, like a soldier, at arms' end,
     And love you 'gainst the nature of love, force you.
     --Two Gentlemen of Verona

The apartment to which the Lady Rowena had been introduced was fitted
up with some rude attempts at ornament and magnificence, and her being
placed there might be considered as a peculiar mark of respect not
offered to the other prisoners. But the wife of Front-de-Boeuf, for whom
it had been originally furnished, was long dead, and decay and neglect
had impaired the few ornaments with which her taste had adorned it.
The tapestry hung down from the walls in many places, and in others
was tarnished and faded under the effects of the sun, or tattered and
decayed by age. Desolate, however, as it was, this was the apartment of
the castle which had been judged most fitting for the accommodation
of the Saxon heiress; and here she was left to meditate upon her fate,
until the actors in this nefarious drama had arranged the several parts
which each of them was to perform. This had been settled in a council
held by Front-de-Boeuf, De Bracy, and the Templar, in which, after
a long and warm debate concerning the several advantages which each
insisted upon deriving from his peculiar share in this audacious
enterprise, they had at length determined the fate of their unhappy
prisoners.

It was about the hour of noon, therefore, when De Bracy, for whose
advantage the expedition had been first planned, appeared to prosecute
his views upon the hand and possessions of the Lady Rowena.

The interval had not entirely been bestowed in holding council with his
confederates, for De Bracy had found leisure to decorate his person
with all the foppery of the times. His green cassock and vizard were
now flung aside. His long luxuriant hair was trained to flow in quaint
tresses down his richly furred cloak. His beard was closely shaved, his
doublet reached to the middle of his leg, and the girdle which secured
it, and at the same time supported his ponderous sword, was embroidered
and embossed with gold work. We have already noticed the extravagant
fashion of the shoes at this period, and the points of Maurice de
Bracy's might have challenged the prize of extravagance with the gayest,
being turned up and twisted like the horns of a ram. Such was the dress
of a gallant of the period; and, in the present instance, that effect
was aided by the handsome person and good demeanour of the wearer, whose
manners partook alike of the grace of a courtier, and the frankness of a
soldier.