CHAPTER XXVII
Fond wretch! and what canst thou relate, But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin? Thy deeds are proved--thou know'st thy fate; But come, thy tale--begin--begin. * * * * * But I have griefs of other kind, Troubles and sorrows more severe; Give me to ease my tortured mind, Lend to my woes a patient ear; And let me, if I may not find A friend to help--find one to hear. --Crabbe's Hall of Justice
When Urfried had with clamours and menaces driven Rebecca back to theapartment from which she had sallied, she proceeded to conduct theunwilling Cedric into a small apartment, the door of which she heedfullysecured. Then fetching from a cupboard a stoup of wine and two flagons,she placed them on the table, and said in a tone rather asserting afact than asking a question, "Thou art Saxon, father--Deny it not," shecontinued, observing that Cedric hastened not to reply; "the sounds ofmy native language are sweet to mine ears, though seldom heard save fromthe tongues of the wretched and degraded serfs on whom the proudNormans impose the meanest drudgery of this dwelling. Thou art aSaxon, father--a Saxon, and, save as thou art a servant of God, afreeman.--Thine accents are sweet in mine ear."
"Do not Saxon priests visit this castle, then?" replied Cedric; "itwere, methinks, their duty to comfort the outcast and oppressed childrenof the soil."
"They come not--or if they come, they better love to revel at the boardsof their conquerors," answered Urfried, "than to hear the groans oftheir countrymen--so, at least, report speaks of them--of myself I cansay little. This castle, for ten years, has opened to no priest savethe debauched Norman chaplain who partook the nightly revels ofFront-de-Boeuf, and he has been long gone to render an account of hisstewardship.--But thou art a Saxon--a Saxon priest, and I have onequestion to ask of thee."
"I am a Saxon," answered Cedric, "but unworthy, surely, of the name ofpriest. Let me begone on my way--I swear I will return, or send one ofour fathers more worthy to hear your confession."
"Stay yet a while," said Urfried; "the accents of the voice which thouhearest now will soon be choked with the cold earth, and I wouldnot descend to it like the beast I have lived. But wine must give mestrength to tell the horrors of my tale." She poured out a cup, anddrank it with a frightful avidity, which seemed desirous of draining thelast drop in the goblet. "It stupifies," she said, looking upwards asshe finished her drought, "but it cannot cheer--Partake it, father, ifyou would hear my tale without sinking down upon the pavement." Cedricwould have avoided pledging her in this ominous conviviality, but thesign which she made to him expressed impatience and despair. He compliedwith her request, and answered her challenge in a large wine-cup; shethen proceeded with her story, as if appeased by his complaisance.
"I was not born," she said, "father, the wretch that thou now seest me.I was free, was happy, was honoured, loved, and was beloved. I am now aslave, miserable and degraded--the sport of my masters' passions whileI had yet beauty--the object of their contempt, scorn, and hatred,since it has passed away. Dost thou wonder, father, that I should hatemankind, and, above all, the race that has wrought this change in me?Can the wrinkled decrepit hag before thee, whose wrath must vent itselfin impotent curses, forget she was once the daughter of the noble Thaneof Torquilstone, before whose frown a thousand vassals trembled?"
"Thou the daughter of Torquil Wolfganger!" said Cedric, receding as hespoke; "thou--thou--the daughter of that noble Saxon, my father's friendand companion in arms!"
"Thy father's friend!" echoed Urfried; "then Cedric called the Saxonstands before me, for the noble Hereward of Rotherwood had but one son,whose name is well known among his countrymen. But if thou art Cedric ofRotherwood, why this religious dress?--hast thou too despaired of savingthy country, and sought refuge from oppression in the shade of theconvent?"
"It matters not who I am," said Cedric; "proceed, unhappy woman, withthy tale of horror and guilt!--Guilt there must be--there is guilt evenin thy living to tell it."
"There is--there is," answered the wretched woman, "deep, black, damningguilt,--guilt, that lies like a load at my breast--guilt, that all thepenitential fires of hereafter cannot cleanse.--Yes, in these halls,stained with the noble and pure blood of my father and my brethren--inthese very halls, to have lived the paramour of their murderer, theslave at once and the partaker of his pleasures, was to render everybreath which I drew of vital air, a crime and a curse."
"Wretched woman!" exclaimed Cedric. "And while the friends of thyfather--while each true Saxon heart, as it breathed a requiem for hissoul, and those of his valiant sons, forgot not in their prayers themurdered Ulrica--while all mourned and honoured the dead, thou hastlived to merit our hate and execration--lived to unite thyself with thevile tyrant who murdered thy nearest and dearest--who shed the bloodof infancy, rather than a male of the noble house of Torquil Wolfgangershould survive--with him hast thou lived to unite thyself, and in thehands of lawless love!"
"In lawless hands, indeed, but not in those of love!" answered thehag; "love will sooner visit the regions of eternal doom, thanthose unhallowed vaults.--No, with that at least I cannot reproachmyself--hatred to Front-de-Boeuf and his race governed my soul mostdeeply, even in the hour of his guilty endearments."
"You hated him, and yet you lived," replied Cedric; "wretch! was thereno poniard--no knife--no bodkin!--Well was it for thee, since thou didstprize such an existence, that the secrets of a Norman castle are likethose of the grave. For had I but dreamed of the daughter of Torquilliving in foul communion with the murderer of her father, the sword of atrue Saxon had found thee out even in the arms of thy paramour!"
"Wouldst thou indeed have done this justice to the name of Torquil?"said Ulrica, for we may now lay aside her assumed name of Urfried;"thou art then the true Saxon report speaks thee! for even within theseaccursed walls, where, as thou well sayest, guilt shrouds itself ininscrutable mystery, even there has the name of Cedric been sounded--andI, wretched and degraded, have rejoiced to think that there yetbreathed an avenger of our unhappy nation.--I also have had my hours ofvengeance--I have fomented the quarrels of our foes, and heated drunkenrevelry into murderous broil--I have seen their blood flow--I have heardtheir dying groans!--Look on me, Cedric--are there not still left onthis foul and faded face some traces of the features of Torquil?"
"Ask me not of them, Ulrica," replied Cedric, in a tone of grief mixedwith abhorrence; "these traces form such a resemblance as arises fromthe graves of the dead, when a fiend has animated the lifeless corpse."
"Be it so," answered Ulrica; "yet wore these fiendish features the maskof a spirit of light when they were able to set at variance the elderFront-de-Boeuf and his son Reginald! The darkness of hell should hidewhat followed, but revenge must lift the veil, and darkly intimate whatit would raise the dead to speak aloud. Long had the smouldering fire ofdiscord glowed between the tyrant father and his savage son--long had Inursed, in secret, the unnatural hatred--it blazed forth in an hour ofdrunken wassail, and at his own board fell my oppressor by the hand ofhis own son--such are the secrets these vaults conceal!--Rend asunder,ye accursed arches," she added, looking up towards the roof, "and buryin your fall all who are conscious of the hideous mystery!"
"And thou, creature of guilt and misery," said Cedric, "what became thylot on the death of thy ravisher?"
"Guess it, but ask it not.--Here--here I dwelt, till age, premature age,has stamped its ghastly features on my countenance--scorned and insultedwhere I was once obeyed, and compelled to bound the revenge which hadonce such ample scope, to the efforts of petty malice of a discontentedmenial, or the vain or unheeded curses of an impotent hag--condemnedto hear from my lonely turret the sounds of revelry in which I oncepartook, or the shrieks and groans of new victims of oppression."
"Ulrica," said Cedric, "with a heart which still, I fear, regrets thelost reward of thy crimes, as much as the deeds by which thou didstacquire that meed, how didst thou dare to address thee to one whowears this robe? Consider, unhappy woman, what could the sainted
Edward himself do for thee, were he here in bodily presence? The royalConfessor was endowed by heaven with power to cleanse the ulcers of thebody, but only God himself can cure the leprosy of the soul."
"Yet, turn not from me, stern prophet of wrath," she exclaimed, "buttell me, if thou canst, in what shall terminate these new and awfulfeelings that burst on my solitude--Why do deeds, long since done, risebefore me in new and irresistible horrors? What fate is prepared beyondthe grave for her, to whom God has assigned on earth a lot of suchunspeakable wretchedness? Better had I turn to Woden, Hertha, andZernebock--to Mista, and to Skogula, the gods of our yet unbaptizedancestors, than endure the dreadful anticipations which have of latehaunted my waking and my sleeping hours!"
"I am no priest," said Cedric, turning with disgust from this miserablepicture of guilt, wretchedness, and despair; "I am no priest, though Iwear a priest's garment."
"Priest or layman," answered Ulrica, "thou art the first I have seen fortwenty years, by whom God was feared or man regarded; and dost thou bidme despair?"
"I bid thee repent," said Cedric. "Seek to prayer and penance, andmayest thou find acceptance! But I cannot, I will not, longer abide withthee."
"Stay yet a moment!" said Ulrica; "leave me not now, son of my father'sfriend, lest the demon who has governed my life should tempt meto avenge myself of thy hard-hearted scorn--Thinkest thou, ifFront-de-Boeuf found Cedric the Saxon in his castle, in such a disguise,that thy life would be a long one?--Already his eye has been upon theelike a falcon on his prey."
"And be it so," said Cedric; "and let him tear me with beak and talons,ere my tongue say one word which my heart doth not warrant. I will diea Saxon--true in word, open in deed--I bid thee avaunt!--touch me not,stay me not!--The sight of Front-de-Boeuf himself is less odious to methan thou, degraded and degenerate as thou art."
"Be it so," said Ulrica, no longer interrupting him; "go thy way, andforget, in the insolence of thy superority, that the wretch before theeis the daughter of thy father's friend.--Go thy way--if I am separatedfrom mankind by my sufferings--separated from those whose aid I mightmost justly expect--not less will I be separated from them in myrevenge!--No man shall aid me, but the ears of all men shall tingle tohear of the deed which I shall dare to do!--Farewell!--thy scorn hasburst the last tie which seemed yet to unite me to my kind--a thoughtthat my woes might claim the compassion of my people."
"Ulrica," said Cedric, softened by this appeal, "hast thou borne up andendured to live through so much guilt and so much misery, and wilt thounow yield to despair when thine eyes are opened to thy crimes, and whenrepentance were thy fitter occupation?"
"Cedric," answered Ulrica, "thou little knowest the human heart. To actas I have acted, to think as I have thought, requires the maddeninglove of pleasure, mingled with the keen appetite of revenge, the proudconsciousness of power; droughts too intoxicating for the human heart tobear, and yet retain the power to prevent. Their force has long passedaway--Age has no pleasures, wrinkles have no influence, revenge itselfdies away in impotent curses. Then comes remorse, with all its vipers,mixed with vain regrets for the past, and despair for the future!--Then,when all other strong impulses have ceased, we become like the fiendsin hell, who may feel remorse, but never repentance.--But thy words haveawakened a new soul within me--Well hast thou said, all is possible forthose who dare to die!--Thou hast shown me the means of revenge, and beassured I will embrace them. It has hitherto shared this wasted bosomwith other and with rival passions--henceforward it shall possess mewholly, and thou thyself shalt say, that, whatever was the life ofUlrica, her death well became the daughter of the noble Torquil. Thereis a force without beleaguering this accursed castle--hasten to leadthem to the attack, and when thou shalt see a red flag wave from theturret on the eastern angle of the donjon, press the Normans hard--theywill then have enough to do within, and you may win the wall in spiteboth of bow and mangonel.--Begone, I pray thee--follow thine own fate,and leave me to mine."
Cedric would have enquired farther into the purpose which she thusdarkly announced, but the stern voice of Front-de-Boeuf was heard,exclaiming, "Where tarries this loitering priest? By the scallop-shellof Compostella, I will make a martyr of him, if he loiters here to hatchtreason among my domestics!"
"What a true prophet," said Ulrica, "is an evil conscience! But heed himnot--out and to thy people--Cry your Saxon onslaught, and let them singtheir war-song of Rollo, if they will; vengeance shall bear a burden toit."
As she thus spoke, she vanished through a private door, and ReginaldFront-de-Boeuf entered the apartment. Cedric, with some difficulty,compelled himself to make obeisance to the haughty Baron, who returnedhis courtesy with a slight inclination of the head.
"Thy penitents, father, have made a long shrift--it is the better forthem, since it is the last they shall ever make. Hast thou prepared themfor death?"
"I found them," said Cedric, in such French as he could command,"expecting the worst, from the moment they knew into whose power theyhad fallen."
"How now, Sir Friar," replied Front-de-Boeuf, "thy speech, methinks,smacks of a Saxon tongue?"
"I was bred in the convent of St Withold of Burton," answered Cedric.
"Ay?" said the Baron; "it had been better for thee to have been aNorman, and better for my purpose too; but need has no choice ofmessengers. That St Withold's of Burton is an owlet's nest worth theharrying. The day will soon come that the frock shall protect the Saxonas little as the mail-coat."
"God's will be done," said Cedric, in a voice tremulous with passion,which Front-de-Boeuf imputed to fear.
"I see," said he, "thou dreamest already that our men-at-arms are inthy refectory and thy ale-vaults. But do me one cast of thy holy office,and, come what list of others, thou shalt sleep as safe in thy cell as asnail within his shell of proof."
"Speak your commands," said Cedric, with suppressed emotion.
"Follow me through this passage, then, that I may dismiss thee by thepostern."
And as he strode on his way before the supposed friar, Front-de-Boeufthus schooled him in the part which he desired he should act.
"Thou seest, Sir Friar, yon herd of Saxon swine, who have dared toenviron this castle of Torquilstone--Tell them whatever thou hast a mindof the weakness of this fortalice, or aught else that can detain thembefore it for twenty-four hours. Meantime bear thou this scroll--Butsoft--canst read, Sir Priest?"
"Not a jot I," answered Cedric, "save on my breviary; and then I knowthe characters, because I have the holy service by heart, praised be OurLady and St Withold!"
"The fitter messenger for my purpose.--Carry thou this scroll to thecastle of Philip de Malvoisin; say it cometh from me, and is written bythe Templar Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and that I pray him to send it toYork with all the speed man and horse can make. Meanwhile, tell himto doubt nothing, he shall find us whole and sound behind ourbattlement--Shame on it, that we should be compelled to hide thus by apack of runagates, who are wont to fly even at the flash of our pennonsand the tramp of our horses! I say to thee, priest, contrive some castof thine art to keep the knaves where they are, until our friendsbring up their lances. My vengeance is awake, and she is a falcon thatslumbers not till she has been gorged."
"By my patron saint," said Cedric, with deeper energy than became hischaracter, "and by every saint who has lived and died in England, yourcommands shall be obeyed! Not a Saxon shall stir from before thesewalls, if I have art and influence to detain them there."
"Ha!" said Front-de-Boeuf, "thou changest thy tone, Sir Priest, andspeakest brief and bold, as if thy heart were in the slaughter of theSaxon herd; and yet thou art thyself of kindred to the swine?"
Cedric was no ready practiser of the art of dissimulation, and wouldat this moment have been much the better of a hint from Wamba's morefertile brain. But necessity, according to the ancient proverb, sharpensinvention, and he muttered something under his cowl concerning the menin question being excommunicated outlaws both to church and to kingdom.
"'Despardieux'," answered Front-de-Boeuf, "thou hast spoken the verytruth--I forgot that the knaves can strip a fat abbot, as well as ifthey had been born south of yonder salt channel. Was it not he of StIves whom they tied to an oak-tree, and compelled to sing a mass whilethey were rifling his mails and his wallets?--No, by our Lady--that jestwas played by Gualtier of Middleton, one of our own companions-at-arms.But they were Saxons who robbed the chapel at St Bees of cup,candlestick and chalice, were they not?"
"They were godless men," answered Cedric.
"Ay, and they drank out all the good wine and ale that lay in store formany a secret carousal, when ye pretend ye are but busied with vigilsand primes!--Priest, thou art bound to revenge such sacrilege."
"I am indeed bound to vengeance," murmured Cedric; "Saint Withold knowsmy heart."
Front-de-Boeuf, in the meanwhile, led the way to a postern, where,passing the moat on a single plank, they reached a small barbican,or exterior defence, which communicated with the open field by awell-fortified sallyport.
"Begone, then; and if thou wilt do mine errand, and if thou returnhither when it is done, thou shalt see Saxon flesh cheap as ever washog's in the shambles of Sheffield. And, hark thee, thou seemest to be ajolly confessor--come hither after the onslaught, and thou shalt have asmuch Malvoisie as would drench thy whole convent."
"Assuredly we shall meet again," answered Cedric.
"Something in hand the whilst," continued the Norman; and, as theyparted at the postern door, he thrust into Cedric's reluctant hand agold byzant, adding, "Remember, I will fly off both cowl and skin, ifthou failest in thy purpose."
"And full leave will I give thee to do both," answered Cedric, leavingthe postern, and striding forth over the free field with a joyful step,"if, when we meet next, I deserve not better at thine hand."--Turningthen back towards the castle, he threw the piece of gold towards thedonor, exclaiming at the same time, "False Norman, thy money perish withthee!"
Front-de-Boeuf heard the words imperfectly, but the action wassuspicious--"Archers," he called to the warders on the outwardbattlements, "send me an arrow through yon monk's frock!--yet stay," hesaid, as his retainers were bending their bows, "it avails not--we mustthus far trust him since we have no better shift. I think he dares notbetray me--at the worst I can but treat with these Saxon dogs whomI have safe in kennel.--Ho! Giles jailor, let them bring Cedric ofRotherwood before me, and the other churl, his companion--him I mean ofConingsburgh--Athelstane there, or what call they him? Their very namesare an encumbrance to a Norman knight's mouth, and have, as it were, aflavour of bacon--Give me a stoup of wine, as jolly Prince John said,that I may wash away the relish--place it in the armoury, and thitherlead the prisoners."
His commands were obeyed; and, upon entering that Gothic apartment, hungwith many spoils won by his own valour and that of his father, he founda flagon of wine on the massive oaken table, and the two Saxon captivesunder the guard of four of his dependants. Front-de-Boeuf took a longdrought of wine, and then addressed his prisoners;--for the manner inwhich Wamba drew the cap over his face, the change of dress, the gloomyand broken light, and the Baron's imperfect acquaintance with thefeatures of Cedric, (who avoided his Norman neighbours, and seldomstirred beyond his own domains,) prevented him from discovering that themost important of his captives had made his escape.
"Gallants of England," said Front-de-Boeuf, "how relish ye yourentertainment at Torquilstone?--Are ye yet aware what your 'surquedy'and 'outrecuidance' [31] merit, for scoffing at the entertainment ofa prince of the House of Anjou?--Have ye forgotten how ye requited theunmerited hospitality of the royal John? By God and St Dennis, an ye paynot the richer ransom, I will hang ye up by the feet from the iron barsof these windows, till the kites and hooded crows have made skeletonsof you!--Speak out, ye Saxon dogs--what bid ye for your worthlesslives?--How say you, you of Rotherwood?"
"Not a doit I," answered poor Wamba--"and for hanging up by the feet,my brain has been topsy-turvy, they say, ever since the biggin was boundfirst round my head; so turning me upside down may peradventure restoreit again."
"Saint Genevieve!" said Front-de-Boeuf, "what have we got here?"
And with the back of his hand he struck Cedric's cap from the head ofthe Jester, and throwing open his collar, discovered the fatal badge ofservitude, the silver collar round his neck.
"Giles--Clement--dogs and varlets!" exclaimed the furious Norman, "whathave you brought me here?"
"I think I can tell you," said De Bracy, who just entered the apartment."This is Cedric's clown, who fought so manful a skirmish with Isaac ofYork about a question of precedence."
"I shall settle it for them both," replied Front-de-Boeuf; "theyshall hang on the same gallows, unless his master and this boar ofConingsburgh will pay well for their lives. Their wealth is the leastthey can surrender; they must also carry off with them the swarms thatare besetting the castle, subscribe a surrender of their pretendedimmunities, and live under us as serfs and vassals; too happy if, inthe new world that is about to begin, we leave them the breath of theirnostrils.--Go," said he to two of his attendants, "fetch me the rightCedric hither, and I pardon your error for once; the rather that you butmistook a fool for a Saxon franklin."
"Ay, but," said Wamba, "your chivalrous excellency will find there aremore fools than franklins among us."
"What means the knave?" said Front-de-Boeuf, looking towards hisfollowers, who, lingering and loath, faltered forth their belief, thatif this were not Cedric who was there in presence, they knew not whatwas become of him.
"Saints of Heaven!" exclaimed De Bracy, "he must have escaped in themonk's garments!"
"Fiends of hell!" echoed Front-de-Boeuf, "it was then the boar ofRotherwood whom I ushered to the postern, and dismissed with my ownhands!--And thou," he said to Wamba, "whose folly could overreach thewisdom of idiots yet more gross than thyself--I will give thee holyorders--I will shave thy crown for thee!--Here, let them tear the scalpfrom his head, and then pitch him headlong from the battlements--Thytrade is to jest, canst thou jest now?"
"You deal with me better than your word, noble knight," whimpered forthpoor Wamba, whose habits of buffoonery were not to be overcome evenby the immediate prospect of death; "if you give me the red cap youpropose, out of a simple monk you will make a cardinal."
"The poor wretch," said De Bracy, "is resolved to die in hisvocation.--Front-de-Boeuf, you shall not slay him. Give him to me tomake sport for my Free Companions.--How sayst thou, knave? Wilt thoutake heart of grace, and go to the wars with me?"
"Ay, with my master's leave," said Wamba; "for, look you, I mustnot slip collar" (and he touched that which he wore) "without hispermission."
"Oh, a Norman saw will soon cut a Saxon collar." said De Bracy.
"Ay, noble sir," said Wamba, "and thence goes the proverb--
'Norman saw on English oak, On English neck a Norman yoke; Norman spoon in English dish, And England ruled as Normans wish; Blithe world to England never will be more, Till England's rid of all the four.'"
"Thou dost well, De Bracy," said Front-de-Boeuf, "to stand therelistening to a fool's jargon, when destruction is gaping for us! Seestthou not we are overreached, and that our proposed mode of communicatingwith our friends without has been disconcerted by this same motleygentleman thou art so fond to brother? What views have we to expect butinstant storm?"
"To the battlements then," said De Bracy; "when didst thou ever see methe graver for the thoughts of battle? Call the Templar yonder, andlet him fight but half so well for his life as he has done for hisOrder--Make thou to the walls thyself with thy huge body--Let me do mypoor endeavour in my own way, and I tell thee the Saxon outlaws may aswell attempt to scale the clouds, as the castle of Torquilstone; or, ifyou will treat with the banditti, why not employ the mediation ofthis worthy franklin, who seems in such deep contemplation of thewine-flagon?--Here, Saxon," he continued, addressing Athelstane, andhanding the cup to him, "rinse thy throat with tha
t noble liquor, androuse up thy soul to say what thou wilt do for thy liberty."
"What a man of mould may," answered Athelstane, "providing it be what aman of manhood ought.--Dismiss me free, with my companions, and I willpay a ransom of a thousand marks."
"And wilt moreover assure us the retreat of that scum of mankind whoare swarming around the castle, contrary to God's peace and the king's?"said Front-de-Boeuf.
"In so far as I can," answered Athelstane, "I will withdraw them; and Ifear not but that my father Cedric will do his best to assist me."
"We are agreed then," said Front-de-Boeuf--"thou and they are to be setat freedom, and peace is to be on both sides, for payment of a thousandmarks. It is a trifling ransom, Saxon, and thou wilt owe gratitude tothe moderation which accepts of it in exchange of your persons. Butmark, this extends not to the Jew Isaac."
"Nor to the Jew Isaac's daughter," said the Templar, who had now joinedthem.
"Neither," said Front-de-Boeuf, "belong to this Saxon's company."
"I were unworthy to be called Christian, if they did," repliedAthelstane: "deal with the unbelievers as ye list."
"Neither does the ransom include the Lady Rowena," said De Bracy. "Itshall never be said I was scared out of a fair prize without striking ablow for it."
"Neither," said Front-de-Boeuf, "does our treaty refer to this wretchedJester, whom I retain, that I may make him an example to every knave whoturns jest into earnest."
"The Lady Rowena," answered Athelstane, with the most steadycountenance, "is my affianced bride. I will be drawn by wild horsesbefore I consent to part with her. The slave Wamba has this day savedthe life of my father Cedric--I will lose mine ere a hair of his head beinjured."
"Thy affianced bride?--The Lady Rowena the affianced bride of a vassallike thee?" said De Bracy; "Saxon, thou dreamest that the days of thyseven kingdoms are returned again. I tell thee, the Princes of the Houseof Anjou confer not their wards on men of such lineage as thine."
"My lineage, proud Norman," replied Athelstane, "is drawn from a sourcemore pure and ancient than that of a beggarly Frenchman, whose livingis won by selling the blood of the thieves whom he assembles under hispaltry standard. Kings were my ancestors, strong in war and wise incouncil, who every day feasted in their hall more hundreds than thoucanst number individual followers; whose names have been sung byminstrels, and their laws recorded by Wittenagemotes; whose bones wereinterred amid the prayers of saints, and over whose tombs minsters havebeen builded."
"Thou hast it, De Bracy," said Front-de-Boeuf, well pleased with therebuff which his companion had received; "the Saxon hath hit theefairly."
"As fairly as a captive can strike," said De Bracy, with apparentcarelessness; "for he whose hands are tied should have his tongue atfreedom.--But thy glibness of reply, comrade," rejoined he, speaking toAthelstane, "will not win the freedom of the Lady Rowena."
To this Athelstane, who had already made a longer speech than was hiscustom to do on any topic, however interesting, returned no answer. Theconversation was interrupted by the arrival of a menial, who announcedthat a monk demanded admittance at the postern gate.
"In the name of Saint Bennet, the prince of these bull-beggars," saidFront-de-Boeuf, "have we a real monk this time, or another impostor?Search him, slaves--for an ye suffer a second impostor to be palmedupon you, I will have your eyes torn out, and hot coals put into thesockets."
"Let me endure the extremity of your anger, my lord," said Giles, "ifthis be not a real shaveling. Your squire Jocelyn knows him well, andwill vouch him to be brother Ambrose, a monk in attendance upon thePrior of Jorvaulx."
"Admit him," said Front-de-Boeuf; "most likely he brings us news fromhis jovial master. Surely the devil keeps holiday, and the priests arerelieved from duty, that they are strolling thus wildly through thecountry. Remove these prisoners; and, Saxon, think on what thou hastheard."
"I claim," said Athelstane, "an honourable imprisonment, with due careof my board and of my couch, as becomes my rank, and as is due to onewho is in treaty for ransom. Moreover, I hold him that deems himself thebest of you, bound to answer to me with his body for this aggression onmy freedom. This defiance hath already been sent to thee by thy sewer;thou underliest it, and art bound to answer me--There lies my glove."
"I answer not the challenge of my prisoner," said Front-de-Boeuf;"nor shalt thou, Maurice de Bracy.--Giles," he continued, "hang thefranklin's glove upon the tine of yonder branched antlers: there shallit remain until he is a free man. Should he then presume to demand it,or to affirm he was unlawfully made my prisoner, by the belt of SaintChristopher, he will speak to one who hath never refused to meet a foeon foot or on horseback, alone or with his vassals at his back!"
The Saxon prisoners were accordingly removed, just as they introducedthe monk Ambrose, who appeared to be in great perturbation.
"This is the real 'Deus vobiscum'," said Wamba, as he passed thereverend brother; "the others were but counterfeits."
"Holy Mother," said the monk, as he addressed the assembled knights, "Iam at last safe and in Christian keeping!"
"Safe thou art," replied De Bracy; "and for Christianity, here is thestout Baron Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, whose utter abomination is a Jew;and the good Knight Templar, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whose trade is toslay Saracens--If these are not good marks of Christianity, I know noother which they bear about them."
"Ye are friends and allies of our reverend father in God, Aymer, Priorof Jorvaulx," said the monk, without noticing the tone of De Bracy'sreply; "ye owe him aid both by knightly faith and holy charity; for whatsaith the blessed Saint Augustin, in his treatise 'De Civitate Dei'---"
"What saith the devil!" interrupted Front-de-Boeuf; "or rather what dostthou say, Sir Priest? We have little time to hear texts from the holyfathers."
"'Sancta Maria!'" ejaculated Father Ambrose, "how prompt to ire arethese unhallowed laymen!--But be it known to you, brave knights,that certain murderous caitiffs, casting behind them fear of God, andreverence of his church, and not regarding the bull of the holy see, 'Siquis, suadende Diabolo'---"
"Brother priest," said the Templar, "all this we know or guess at--tellus plainly, is thy master, the Prior, made prisoner, and to whom?"
"Surely," said Ambrose, "he is in the hands of the men of Belial,infesters of these woods, and contemners of the holy text, 'Touch notmine anointed, and do my prophets naught of evil.'"
"Here is a new argument for our swords, sirs," said Front-de-Boeuf,turning to his companions; "and so, instead of reaching us anyassistance, the Prior of Jorvaulx requests aid at our hands? a man iswell helped of these lazy churchmen when he hath most to do!--But speakout, priest, and say at once, what doth thy master expect from us?"
"So please you," said Ambrose, "violent hands having been imposed on myreverend superior, contrary to the holy ordinance which I did alreadyquote, and the men of Belial having rifled his mails and budgets, andstripped him of two hundred marks of pure refined gold, they do yetdemand of him a large sum beside, ere they will suffer him to departfrom their uncircumcised hands. Wherefore the reverend father in Godprays you, as his dear friends, to rescue him, either by paying downthe ransom at which they hold him, or by force of arms, at your bestdiscretion."
"The foul fiend quell the Prior!" said Front-de-Boeuf; "his morning'sdrought has been a deep one. When did thy master hear of a Norman baronunbuckling his purse to relieve a churchman, whose bags are ten timesas weighty as ours?--And how can we do aught by valour to free him, thatare cooped up here by ten times our number, and expect an assault everymoment?"
"And that was what I was about to tell you," said the monk, "had yourhastiness allowed me time. But, God help me, I am old, and these foulonslaughts distract an aged man's brain. Nevertheless, it is of veritythat they assemble a camp, and raise a bank against the walls of thiscastle."
"To the battlements!" cried De Bracy, "and let us mark what these knavesdo without;" and so saying, he opened a latticed window which led toa sort o
f bartisan or projecting balcony, and immediately called fromthence to those in the apartment--"Saint Dennis, but the old monk hathbrought true tidings!--They bring forward mantelets and pavisses, [32]and the archers muster on the skirts of the wood like a dark cloudbefore a hailstorm."
Reginald Front-de-Boeuf also looked out upon the field, and immediatelysnatched his bugle; and, after winding a long and loud blast, commandedhis men to their posts on the walls.
"De Bracy, look to the eastern side, where the walls are lowest--NobleBois-Guilbert, thy trade hath well taught thee how to attack and defend,look thou to the western side--I myself will take post at the barbican.Yet, do not confine your exertions to any one spot, noble friends!--wemust this day be everywhere, and multiply ourselves, were it possible,so as to carry by our presence succour and relief wherever the attack ishottest. Our numbers are few, but activity and courage may supply thatdefect, since we have only to do with rascal clowns."
"But, noble knights," exclaimed Father Ambrose, amidst the bustle andconfusion occasioned by the preparations for defence, "will none ofye hear the message of the reverend father in God Aymer, Prior ofJorvaulx?--I beseech thee to hear me, noble Sir Reginald!"
"Go patter thy petitions to heaven," said the fierce Norman, "for weon earth have no time to listen to them.--Ho! there, Anselm I see thatseething pitch and oil are ready to pour on the heads of these audacioustraitors--Look that the cross-bowmen lack not bolts. [33]--Fling abroadmy banner with the old bull's head--the knaves shall soon find with whomthey have to do this day!"
"But, noble sir," continued the monk, persevering in his endeavoursto draw attention, "consider my vow of obedience, and let me dischargemyself of my Superior's errand."
"Away with this prating dotard," said Front-de Boeuf, "lock him up inthe chapel, to tell his beads till the broil be over. It will be a newthing to the saints in Torquilstone to hear aves and paters; they havenot been so honoured, I trow, since they were cut out of stone."
"Blaspheme not the holy saints, Sir Reginald," said De Bracy, "we shallhave need of their aid to-day before yon rascal rout disband."
"I expect little aid from their hand," said Front-de-Boeuf, "unless wewere to hurl them from the battlements on the heads of the villains.There is a huge lumbering Saint Christopher yonder, sufficient to bear awhole company to the earth."
The Templar had in the meantime been looking out on the proceedings ofthe besiegers, with rather more attention than the brutal Front-de-Boeufor his giddy companion.
"By the faith of mine order," he said, "these men approach with moretouch of discipline than could have been judged, however they come byit. See ye how dexterously they avail themselves of every cover whicha tree or bush affords, and shun exposing themselves to the shot of ourcross-bows? I spy neither banner nor pennon among them, and yet willI gage my golden chain, that they are led on by some noble knight orgentleman, skilful in the practice of wars."
"I espy him," said De Bracy; "I see the waving of a knight's crest,and the gleam of his armour. See yon tall man in the black mail, who isbusied marshalling the farther troop of the rascaille yeomen--by SaintDennis, I hold him to be the same whom we called 'Le Noir Faineant', whooverthrew thee, Front-de-Boeuf, in the lists at Ashby."
"So much the better," said Front-de-Boeuf, "that he comes here to giveme my revenge. Some hilding fellow he must be, who dared not stay toassert his claim to the tourney prize which chance had assigned him. Ishould in vain have sought for him where knights and nobles seek theirfoes, and right glad am I he hath here shown himself among yon villainyeomanry."
The demonstrations of the enemy's immediate approach cut off all fartherdiscourse. Each knight repaired to his post, and at the head of thefew followers whom they were able to muster, and who were in numbersinadequate to defend the whole extent of the walls, they awaited withcalm determination the threatened assault.