Ivanhoe, Walter Scott [the lemonade war series txt] 📗

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,*

Note D. Battle of Stamford.

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,