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

a higher

tribunal.”

“Hearest thou this, Athelstane?” said Cedric; “we must rouse up

our hearts to this last action, since better it is we should die

like men, than live like slaves.”

“I am ready,” answered Athelstane, “to stand the worst of their

malice, and shall walk to my death with as much composure as ever

I did to my dinner.”

“Let us then unto our holy gear, father,” said Cedric.

“Wait yet a moment, good uncle,” said the Jester, in his natural

tone; “better look long before you leap in the dark.”

“By my faith,” said Cedric, “I should know that voice!”

“It is that of your trusty slave and jester,” answered Wamba,

throwing back his cowl. “Had you taken a fool’s advice formerly,

you would not have been here at all. Take a fool’s advice now,

and you will not be here long.”

“How mean’st thou, knave?” answered the Saxon.

“Even thus,” replied Wamba; “take thou this frock and cord, which

are all the orders I ever had, and march quietly out of the

castle, leaving me your cloak and girdle to take the long leap in

thy stead.”

“Leave thee in my stead!” said Cedric, astonished at the

proposal; “why, they would hang thee, my poor knave.”

“E’en let them do as they are permitted,” said Wamba; “I trust

---no disparagement to your birth---that the son of Witless may

hang in a chain with as much gravity as the chain hung upon his

ancestor the alderman.”

“Well, Wamba,” answered Cedric, “for one thing will I grant thy

request. And that is, if thou wilt make the exchange of garments

with Lord Athelstane instead of me.”

“No, by St Dunstan,” answered Wamba; “there were little reason in

that. Good right there is, that the son of Witless should suffer

to save the son of Hereward; but little wisdom there were in his

dying for the benefit of one whose fathers were strangers to

his.”

“Villain,” said Cedric, “the fathers of Athelstane were monarchs

of England!”

“They might be whomsoever they pleased,” replied Wamba; “but my

neck stands too straight upon my shoulders to have it twisted for

their sake. Wherefore, good my master, either take my proffer

yourself, or suffer me to leave this dungeon as free as I

entered.”

“Let the old tree wither,” continued Cedric, “so the stately hope

of the forest be preserved. Save the noble Athelstane, my trusty

Wamba! it is the duty of each who has Saxon blood in his veins.

Thou and I will abide together the utmost rage of our injurious

oppressors, while he, free and safe, shall arouse the awakened

spirits of our countrymen to avenge us.”

“Not so, father Cedric,” said Athelstane, grasping his hand,

---for, when roused to think or act, his deeds and sentiments

were not unbecoming his high race---“Not so,” he continued; “I

would rather remain in this hall a week without food save the

prisoner’s stinted loaf, or drink save the prisoner’s measure of

water, than embrace the opportunity to escape which the slave’s

untaught kindness has purveyed for his master.”

“You are called wise men, sirs,” said the Jester, “and I a crazed

fool; but, uncle Cedric, and cousin Athelstane, the fool shall

decide this controversy for ye, and save ye the trouble of

straining courtesies any farther. I am like John-a-Duck’s mare,

that will let no man mount her but John-a-Duck. I came to save

my master, and if he will not consent---basta---I can but go away

home again. Kind service cannot be chucked from hand to hand

like a shuttlecock or stool-ball. I’ll hang for no man but my

own born master.”

“Go, then, noble Cedric,” said Athelstane, “neglect not this

opportunity. Your presence without may encourage friends to our

rescue---your remaining here would ruin us all.”

“And is there any prospect, then, of rescue from without?” said

Cedric, looking to the Jester.

“Prospect, indeed!” echoed Wamba; “let me tell you, when you fill

my cloak, you are wrapped in a general’s cassock. Five hundred

men are there without, and I was this morning one of the chief

leaders. My fool’s cap was a casque, and my bauble a truncheon.

Well, we shall see what good they will make by exchanging a fool

for a wise man. Truly, I fear they will lose in valour what they

may gain in discretion. And so farewell, master, and be kind to

poor Gurth and his dog Fangs; and let my cockscomb hang in the

hall at Rotherwood, in memory that I flung away my life for my

master, like a faithful------fool.”

The last word came out with a sort of double expression, betwixt

jest and earnest. The tears stood in Cedric’s eyes.

“Thy memory shall be preserved,” he said, “while fidelity and

affection have honour upon earth! But that I trust I shall find

the means of saving Rowena, and thee, Athelstane, and thee, also,

my poor Wamba, thou shouldst not overbear me in this matter.”

The exchange of dress was now accomplished, when a sudden doubt

struck Cedric.

“I know no language,” he said, “but my own, and a few words of

their mincing Norman. How shall I bear myself like a reverend

brother?”

“The spell lies in two words,” replied Wamba--- “‘Pax vobiscum’

will answer all queries. If you go or come, eat or drink, bless

or ban, ‘Pax vobiscum’ carries you through it all. It is as

useful to a friar as a broomstick to a witch, or a wand to a

conjurer. Speak it but thus, in a deep grave tone,---‘Pax

vobiscum!’---it is irresistible---Watch and ward, knight and

squire, foot and horse, it acts as a charm upon them all. I

think, if they bring me out to be hanged to-morrow, as is much to

be doubted they may, I will try its weight upon the finisher of

the sentence.”

“If such prove the case,” said the master, “my religious orders

are soon taken---‘Pax vobiscum’. I trust I shall remember the

pass-word.---Noble Athelstane, farewell; and farewell, my poor

boy, whose heart might make amends for a weaker head---I will

save you, or return and die with you. The royal blood of our

Saxon kings shall not be spilt while mine beats in my veins; nor

shall one hair fall from the head of the kind knave who risked

himself for his master, if Cedric’s peril can prevent it.

---Farewell.”

“Farewell, noble Cedric,” said Athelstane; “remember it is the

true part of a friar to accept refreshment, if you are offered

any.”

“Farewell, uncle,” added Wamba; “and remember ‘Pax vobiscum’.”

Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his expedition; and it

was not long ere he had occasion to try the force of that spell

which his Jester had recommended as omnipotent. In a low-arched

and dusky passage, by which he endeavoured to work his way to the

hall of the castle, he was interrupted by a female form.

“‘Pax vobiscum!’” said the pseudo friar, and was endeavouring to

hurry past, when a soft voice replied, “‘Et vobis---quaso, domine

reverendissime, pro misericordia vestra’.”

“I am somewhat deaf,” replied Cedric, in good Saxon, and at the

same time muttered to himself, “A curse on the fool and his ‘Pax

vobiscum!’ I have lost my javelin at the first cast.”

It was, however, no unusual thing for a priest of those days to

be deaf of his Latin ear, and this the person who now addressed

Cedric knew full well.

“I pray you of dear love, reverend father,” she replied in his

own language, “that you will deign to visit with your ghostly

comfort a wounded prisoner of this castle, and have such

compassion upon him and us as thy holy office teaches---Never

shall good deed so highly advantage thy convent.”

“Daughter,” answered Cedric, much embarrassed, “my time in this

castle will not permit me to exercise the duties of mine office

---I must presently forth---there is life and death upon my

speed.”

“Yet, father, let me entreat you by the vow you have taken on

you,” replied the suppliant, “not to leave the oppressed and

endangered without counsel or succour.”

“May the fiend fly away with me, and leave me in Ifrin with the

souls of Odin and of Thor!” answered Cedric impatiently, and

would probably have proceeded in the same tone of total departure

from his spiritual character, when the colloquy was interrupted

by the harsh voice of Urfried, the old crone of the turret.

“How, minion,” said she to the female speaker, “is this the

manner in which you requite the kindness which permitted thee to

leave thy prison-cell yonder?---Puttest thou the reverend man to

use ungracious language to free himself from the importunities

of a Jewess?”

“A Jewess!” said Cedric, availing himself of the information to

get clear of their interruption,---“Let me pass, woman! stop me

not at your peril. I am fresh from my holy office, and would

avoid pollution.”

“Come this way, father,” said the old hag, “thou art a stranger

in this castle, and canst not leave it without a guide. Come

hither, for I would speak with thee.---And you, daughter of an

accursed race, go to the sick man’s chamber, and tend him until

my return; and woe betide you if you again quit it without my

permission!”

Rebecca retreated. Her importunities had prevailed upon Urfried

to suffer her to quit the turret, and Urfried had employed her

services where she herself would most gladly have paid them, by

the bedside of the wounded Ivanhoe. With an understanding awake

to their dangerous situation, and prompt to avail herself of each

means of safety which occurred, Rebecca had hoped something from

the presence of a man of religion, who, she learned from Urfried,

had penetrated into this godless castle. She watched the return

of the supposed ecclesiastic, with the purpose of addressing him,

and interesting him in favour of the prisoners; with what

imperfect success the reader has been just acquainted.

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

the apartment from which she had sallied, she proceeded to

conduct the unwilling Cedric into a small apartment, the door of

which she heedfully secured. 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 a fact than asking a question,

“Thou art Saxon, father---Deny it not,” she continued, observing

that Cedric hastened not to reply; “the sounds of my native

language are sweet to mine ears, though seldom heard save from

the tongues of the wretched and degraded serfs on whom the proud

Normans impose the meanest drudgery of this dwelling. Thou art a

Saxon, father---a Saxon, and, save as thou art a servant of God,

a freeman.---Thine accents are sweet in mine ear.”

“Do not Saxon priests visit this castle, then?” replied Cedric;

“it were, methinks, their duty to comfort the outcast and

oppressed children of the soil.”

“They come not---or if they come, they better love to revel at

the boards of their conquerors,” answered Urfried, “than to hear

the groans of their countrymen---so, at least, report speaks of

them---of myself I can say little. This castle, for ten years,

has opened to no priest save the debauched Norman chaplain who

partook the