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

the hall of the castle, he found De

Bracy already there. “Your love-suit,” said De Bracy, “hath, I

suppose, been disturbed, like mine, by this obstreperous summons.

But you have come later and more reluctantly, and therefore I

presume your interview has proved more agreeable than mine.”

“Has your suit, then, been unsuccessfully paid to the Saxon

heiress?” said the Templar.

“By the bones of Thomas a Becket,” answered De Bracy, “the Lady

Rowena must have heard that I cannot endure the sight of women’s

tears.”

“Away!” said the Templar; “thou a leader of a Free Company, and

regard a woman’s tears! A few drops sprinkled on the torch of

love, make the flame blaze the brighter.”

“Gramercy for the few drops of thy sprinkling,” replied De Bracy;

“but this damsel hath wept enough to extinguish a beacon-light.

Never was such wringing of hands and such overflowing of eyes,

since the days of St Niobe, of whom Prior Aymer told us.*

I wish the Prior had also informed them when Niobe was sainted. Probably during that enlightened period when “Pan to Moses lent his pagan horn.” L. T.

A water-fiend hath possessed the fair Saxon.”

“A legion of fiends have occupied the bosom of the Jewess,”

replied the Templar; “for, I think no single one, not even

Apollyon himself, could have inspired such indomitable pride and

resolution.---But where is Front-de-Boeuf? That horn is sounded

more and more clamorously.”

“He is negotiating with the Jew, I suppose,” replied De Bracy,

coolly; “probably the howls of Isaac have drowned the blast of

the bugle. Thou mayst know, by experience, Sir Brian, that a Jew

parting with his treasures on such terms as our friend

Front-de-Boeuf is like to offer, will raise a clamour loud enough

to be heard over twenty horns and trumpets to boot. But we will

make the vassals call him.”

They were soon after joined by Front-de-Boeuf, who had been

disturbed in his tyrannic cruelty in the manner with which the

reader is acquainted, and had only tarried to give some

necessary directions.

“Let us see the cause of this cursed clamour,” said

Front-de-Boeuf---“here is a letter, and, if I mistake not, it is

in Saxon.”

He looked at it, turning it round and round as if he had had

really some hopes of coming at the meaning by inverting the

position of the paper, and then handed it to De Bracy.

“It may be magic spells for aught I know,” said De Bracy, who

possessed his full proportion of the ignorance which

characterised the chivalry of the period. “Our chaplain

attempted to teach me to write,” he said, “but all my letters

were formed like spear-heads and sword-blades, and so the old

shaveling gave up the task.”

“Give it me,” said the Templar. “We have that of the priestly

character, that we have some knowledge to enlighten our valour.”

“Let us profit by your most reverend knowledge, then,” said De

Bracy; “what says the scroll?”

“It is a formal letter of defiance,” answered the Templar; “but,

by our Lady of Bethlehem, if it be not a foolish jest, it is the

most extraordinary cartel that ever was sent across the

drawbridge of a baronial castle.”

“Jest!” said Front-de-Boeuf, “I would gladly know who dares jest

with me in such a matter!---Read it, Sir Brian.”

The Templar accordingly read it as follows:---“I, Wamba, the son

of Witless, Jester to a noble and free-born man, Cedric of

Rotherwood, called the Saxon,---And I, Gurth, the son of

Beowulph, the swineherd------”

“Thou art mad,” said Front-de-Boeuf, interrupting the reader.

“By St Luke, it is so set down,” answered the Templar. Then

resuming his task, he went on,---“I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph,

swineherd unto the said Cedric, with the assistance of our allies

and confederates, who make common cause with us in this our feud,

namely, the good knight, called for the present ‘Le Noir

Faineant’, and the stout yeoman, Robert Locksley, called

Cleave-the-Wand. Do you, Reginald Front de-Boeuf, and your allies

and accomplices whomsoever, to wit, that whereas you have,

without cause given or feud declared, wrongfully and by mastery

seized upon the person of our lord and master the said Cedric;

also upon the person of a noble and freeborn damsel, the Lady

Rowena of Hargottstandstede; also upon the person of a noble and

freeborn man, Athelstane of Coningsburgh; also upon the persons

of certain freeborn men, their ‘cnichts’; also upon certain

serfs, their born bondsmen; also upon a certain Jew, named Isaac

of York, together with his daughter, a Jewess, and certain

horses and mules: Which noble persons, with their ‘cnichts’ and

slaves, and also with the horses and mules, Jew and Jewess

beforesaid, were all in peace with his majesty, and travelling

as liege subjects upon the king’s highway; therefore we require

and demand that the said noble persons, namely, Cedric of

Rotherwood, Rowena of Hargottstandstede, Athelstane of

Coningsburgh, with their servants, ‘cnichts’, and followers, also

the horses and mules, Jew and Jewess aforesaid, together with all

goods and chattels to them pertaining, be, within an hour after

the delivery hereof, delivered to us, or to those whom we shall

appoint to receive the same, and that untouched and unharmed in

body and goods. Failing of which, we do pronounce to you, that

we hold ye as robbers and traitors, and will wager our bodies

against ye in battle, siege, or otherwise, and do our utmost to

your annoyance and destruction. Wherefore may God have you in

his keeping.---Signed by us upon the eve of St Withold’s day,

under the great trysting oak in the Hart-hill Walk, the above

being written by a holy man, Clerk to God, our Lady, and St

Dunstan, in the Chapel of Copmanhurst.”

At the bottom of this document was scrawled, in the first place,

a rude sketch of a cock’s head and comb, with a legend expressing

this hieroglyphic to be the sign-manual of Wamba, son of Witless.

Under this respectable emblem stood a cross, stated to be the

mark of Gurth, the son of Beowulph. Then was written, in rough

bold characters, the words, “Le Noir Faineant”. And, to conclude

the whole, an arrow, neatly enough drawn, was described as the

mark of the yeoman Locksley.

The knights heard this uncommon document read from end to end,

and then gazed upon each other in silent amazement, as being

utterly at a loss to know what it could portend. De Bracy was

the first to break silence by an uncontrollable fit of laughter,

wherein he was joined, though with more moderation, by the

Templar. Front-de-Boeuf, on the contrary, seemed impatient of

their ill-timed jocularity.

“I give you plain warning,” he said, “fair sirs, that you had

better consult how to bear yourselves under these circumstances,

than give way to such misplaced merriment.”

“Front-de-Boeuf has not recovered his temper since his late

overthrow,” said De Bracy to the Templar; “he is cowed at the

very idea of a cartel, though it come but from a fool and a

swineherd.”

“By St Michael,” answered Front-de-Boeuf, “I would thou couldst

stand the whole brunt of this adventure thyself, De Bracy. These

fellows dared not have acted with such inconceivable impudence,

had they not been supported by some strong bands. There are

enough of outlaws in this forest to resent my protecting the

deer. I did but tie one fellow, who was taken redhanded and in

the fact, to the horns of a wild stag, which gored him to death

in five minutes, and I had as many arrows shot at me as there

were launched against yonder target at Ashby.---Here, fellow,” he

added, to one of his attendants, “hast thou sent out to see by

what force this precious challenge is to be supported?”

“There are at least two hundred men assembled in the woods,”

answered a squire who was in attendance.

“Here is a proper matter!” said Front-de-Boeuf, “this comes of

lending you the use of my castle, that cannot manage your

undertaking quietly, but you must bring this nest of hornets

about my ears!”

“Of hornets?” said De Bracy; “of stingless drones rather; a band

of lazy knaves, who take to the wood, and destroy the venison

rather than labour for their maintenance.”

“Stingless!” replied Front-de-Boeuf; “fork-headed shafts of a

cloth-yard in length, and these shot within the breadth of a

French crown, are sting enough.”

“For shame, Sir Knight!” said the Templar. “Let us summon our

people, and sally forth upon them. One knight---ay, one

man-at-arms, were enough for twenty such peasants.”

“Enough, and too much,” said De Bracy; “I should only be ashamed

to couch lance against them.”

“True,” answered Front-de-Boeuf; “were they black Turks or Moors,

Sir Templar, or the craven peasants of France, most valiant De

Bracy; but these are English yeomen, over whom we shall have no

advantage, save what we may derive from our arms and horses,

which will avail us little in the glades of the forest. Sally,

saidst thou? we have scarce men enough to defend the castle. The

best of mine are at York; so is all your band, De Bracy; and we

have scarcely twenty, besides the handful that were engaged in

this mad business.”

“Thou dost not fear,” said the Templar, “that they can assemble

in force sufficient to attempt the castle?”

“Not so, Sir Brian,” answered Front-de-Boeuf. “These outlaws

have indeed a daring captain; but without machines, scaling

ladders, and experienced leaders, my castle may defy them.”

“Send to thy neighbours,” said the Templar, “let them assemble

their people, and come to the rescue of three knights, besieged

by a jester and a swineherd in the baronial castle of Reginald

Front-de-Boeuf!”

“You jest, Sir Knight,” answered the baron; “but to whom should I

send?---Malvoisin is by this time at York with his retainers, and

so are my other allies; and so should I have been, but for this

infernal enterprise.”

“Then send to York, and recall our people,” said De Bracy. “If

they abide the shaking of my standard, or the sight of my Free

Companions, I will give them credit for the boldest outlaws ever

bent bow in green-wood.”

“And who shall bear such a message?” said Front-de-Boeuf; “they

will beset every path, and rip the errand out of his bosom.---I

have it,” he added, after pausing for a moment---“Sir Templar,

thou canst write as well as read, and if we can but find the

writing materials of my chaplain, who died a twelvemonth since in

the midst of his Christmas carousals---”

“So please ye,” said the squire, who was still in attendance, “I

think old Urfried has them somewhere in keeping, for love of the

confessor. He was the last man, I have heard her tell, who ever

said aught to her, which man ought in courtesy to address to maid

or matron.”

“Go, search them out, Engelred,” said Front-de-Boeuf; “and then,

Sir Templar, thou shalt return an answer to this bold challenge.”

“I would rather do it at the sword’s point than at that of the

pen,” said Bois-Guilbert; “but be it as you will.”

He sat down accordingly, and indited, in the French language, an

epistle of the following tenor:---“Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,

with his noble and knightly allies and confederates, receive no

defiances at the hands of slaves, bondsmen, or fugitives. If the

person calling himself the Black Knight have indeed a claim to

the honours of chivalry, he ought to know that he stands degraded

by his present association, and has no right to ask reckoning at

the hands of good men of noble blood. Touching the prisoners we

have made, we do in Christian charity require you to send a man

of religion, to receive their confession, and