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

in an instant at

his master’s feet---”THEOW and ESNE*

Thrall and bondsman.

art thou no longer,” said Cedric touching him with a wand;

“FOLKFREE and SACLESS*

A lawful freeman.

art thou in town and from town, in the forest as in the field.

A hide of land I give to thee in my steads of Walbrugham, from me

and mine to thee and thine aye and for ever; and God’s malison on

his head who this gainsays!”

No longer a serf, but a freeman and a landholder, Gurth sprung

upon his feet, and twice bounded aloft to almost his own height

from the ground. “A smith and a file,” he cried, “to do away the

collar from the neck of a freeman!---Noble master! doubled is my

strength by your gift, and doubly will I fight for you!---There

is a free spirit in my breast---I am a man changed to myself and

all around.---Ha, Fangs!” he continued,---for that faithful cur,

seeing his master thus transported, began to jump upon him, to

express his sympathy,---“knowest thou thy master still?”

“Ay,” said Wamba, “Fangs and I still know thee, Gurth, though we

must needs abide by the collar; it is only thou art likely to

forget both us and thyself.”

“I shall forget myself indeed ere I forget thee, true comrade,”

said Gurth; “and were freedom fit for thee, Wamba, the master

would not let thee want it.”

“Nay,” said Wamba, “never think I envy thee, brother Gurth; the

serf sits by the hall-fire when the freeman must forth to the

field of battle---And what saith Oldhelm of Malmsbury---Better a

fool at a feast than a wise man at a fray.”

The tramp of horses was now heard, and the Lady Rowena appeared,

surrounded by several riders, and a much stronger party of

footmen, who joyfully shook their pikes and clashed their

brown-bills for joy of her freedom. She herself, richly attired,

and mounted on a dark chestnut palfrey, had recovered all the

dignity of her manner, and only an unwonted degree of paleness

showed the sufferings she had undergone. Her lovely brow, though

sorrowful, bore on it a cast of reviving hope for the future, as

well as of grateful thankfulness for the past deliverance---She

knew that Ivanhoe was safe, and she knew that Athelstane was

dead. The former assurance filled her with the most sincere

delight; and if she did not absolutely rejoice at the latter, she

might be pardoned for feeling the full advantage of being freed

from further persecution on the only subject in which she had

ever been contradicted by her guardian Cedric.

As Rowena bent her steed towards Locksley’s seat, that bold

yeoman, with all his followers, rose to receive her, as if by a

general instinct of courtesy. The blood rose to her cheeks, as,

courteously waving her hand, and bending so low that her

beautiful and loose tresses were for an instant mixed with the

flowing mane of her palfrey, she expressed in few but apt words

her obligations and her gratitude to Locksley and her other

deliverers.---“God bless you, brave men,” she concluded, “God and

Our Lady bless you and requite you for gallantly perilling

yourselves in the cause of the oppressed!---If any of you should

hunger, remember Rowena has food---if you should thirst, she has

many a butt of wine and brown ale---and if the Normans drive ye

from these walks, Rowena has forests of her own, where her

gallant deliverers may range at full freedom, and never ranger

ask whose arrow hath struck down the deer.”

“Thanks, gentle lady,” said Locksley; “thanks from my company and

myself. But, to have saved you requites itself. We who walk the

greenwood do many a wild deed, and the Lady Rowena’s deliverance

may be received as an atonement.”

Again bowing from her palfrey, Rowena turned to depart; but

pausing a moment, while Cedric, who was to attend her, was also

taking his leave, she found herself unexpectedly close by the

prisoner De Bracy. He stood under a tree in deep meditation, his

arms crossed upon his breast, and Rowena was in hopes she might

pass him unobserved. He looked up, however, and, when aware of

her presence, a deep flush of shame suffused his handsome

countenance. He stood a moment most irresolute; then, stepping

forward, took her palfrey by the rein, and bent his knee before

her.

“Will the Lady Rowena deign to cast an eye---on a captive knight

---on a dishonoured soldier?”

“Sir Knight,” answered Rowena, “in enterprises such as yours, the

real dishonour lies not in failure, but in success.”

“Conquest, lady, should soften the heart,” answered De Bracy;

“let me but know that the Lady Rowena forgives the violence

occasioned by an ill-fated passion, and she shall soon learn that

De Bracy knows how to serve her in nobler ways.”

“I forgive you, Sir Knight,” said Rowena, “as a Christian.”

“That means,” said Wamba, “that she does not forgive him at all.”

“But I can never forgive the misery and desolation your madness

has occasioned,” continued Rowena.

“Unloose your hold on the lady’s rein,” said Cedric, coming up.

“By the bright sun above us, but it were shame, I would pin thee

to the earth with my javelin---but be well assured, thou shalt

smart, Maurice de Bracy, for thy share in this foul deed.”

“He threatens safely who threatens a prisoner,” said De Bracy;

“but when had a Saxon any touch of courtesy?”

Then retiring two steps backward, he permitted the lady to move

on.

Cedric, ere they departed, expressed his peculiar gratitude to

the Black Champion, and earnestly entreated him to accompany him

to Rotherwood.

“I know,” he said, “that ye errant knights desire to carry your

fortunes on the point of your lance, and reck not of land or

goods; but war is a changeful mistress, and a home is sometimes

desirable even to the champion whose trade is wandering. Thou

hast earned one in the halls of Rotherwood, noble knight. Cedric

has wealth enough to repair the injuries of fortune, and all he

has is his deliverer’s---Come, therefore, to Rotherwood, not as

a guest, but as a son or brother.”

“Cedric has already made me rich,” said the Knight,---“he has

taught me the value of Saxon virtue. To Rotherwood will I come,

brave Saxon, and that speedily; but, as now, pressing matters of

moment detain me from your halls. Peradventure when I come

hither, I will ask such a boon as will put even thy generosity to

the test.”

“It is granted ere spoken out,” said Cedric, striking his ready

hand into the gauntleted palm of the Black Knight,---“it is

granted already, were it to affect half my fortune.”

“Gage not thy promise so lightly,” said the Knight of the

Fetterlock; “yet well I hope to gain the boon I shall ask.

Meanwhile, adieu.”

“I have but to say,” added the Saxon, “that, during the funeral

rites of the noble Athelstane, I shall be an inhabitant of the

halls of his castle of Coningsburgh---They will be open to all

who choose to partake of the funeral banqueting; and, I speak in

name of the noble Edith, mother of the fallen prince, they will

never be shut against him who laboured so bravely, though

unsuccessfully, to save Athelstane from Norman chains and Norman

steel.”

“Ay, ay,” said Wamba, who had resumed his attendance on his

master, “rare feeding there will be---pity that the noble

Athelstane cannot banquet at his own funeral.---But he,”

continued the Jester, lifting up his eyes gravely, “is supping in

Paradise, and doubtless does honour to the cheer.”

“Peace, and move on,” said Cedric, his anger at this untimely

jest being checked by the recollection of Wamba’s recent

services. Rowena waved a graceful adieu to him of the Fetterlock

---the Saxon bade God speed him, and on they moved through a wide

glade of the forest.

They had scarce departed, ere a sudden procession moved from

under the greenwood branches, swept slowly round the silvan

amphitheatre, and took the same direction with Rowena and her

followers. The priests of a neighbouring convent, in

expectation of the ample donation, or “soul-scat”, which Cedric

had propined, attended upon the car in which the body of

Athelstane was laid, and sang hymns as it was sadly and slowly

borne on the shoulders of his vassals to his castle of

Coningsburgh, to be there deposited in the grave of Hengist, from

whom the deceased derived his long descent. Many of his vassals

had assembled at the news of his death, and followed the bier

with all the external marks, at least, of dejection and sorrow.

Again the outlaws arose, and paid the same rude and spontaneous

homage to death, which they had so lately rendered to beauty

---the slow chant and mournful step of the priests brought back

to their remembrance such of their comrades as had fallen in the

yesterday’s array. But such recollections dwell not long with

those who lead a life of danger and enterprise, and ere the sound

of the death-hymn had died on the wind, the outlaws were again

busied in the distribution of their spoil.

“Valiant knight,” said Locksley to the Black Champion, “without

whose good heart and mighty arm our enterprise must altogether

have failed, will it please you to take from that mass of spoil

whatever may best serve to pleasure you, and to remind you of

this my Trysting-tree?”

“I accept the offer,” said the Knight, “as frankly as it is

given; and I ask permission to dispose of Sir Maurice de Bracy at

my own pleasure.”

“He is thine already,” said Locksley, “and well for him! else the

tyrant had graced the highest bough of this oak, with as many of

his Free-Companions as we could gather, hanging thick as acorns

around him.---But he is thy prisoner, and he is safe, though he

had slain my father.”

“De Bracy,” said the Knight, “thou art free---depart. He whose

prisoner thou art scorns to take mean revenge for what is past.

But beware of the future, lest a worse thing befall thee.

---Maurice de Bracy, I say BEWARE!”

De Bracy bowed low and in silence, and was about to withdraw,

when the yeomen burst at once into a shout of execration and

derision. The proud knight instantly stopped, turned back,

folded his arms, drew up his form to its full height, and

exclaimed, “Peace, ye yelping curs! who open upon a cry which ye

followed not when the stag was at bay---De Bracy scorns your

censure as he would disdain your applause. To your brakes and

caves, ye outlawed thieves! and be silent when aught knightly or

noble is but spoken within a league of your fox-earths.”

This ill-timed defiance might have procured for De Bracy a volley

of arrows, but for the hasty and imperative interference of the

outlaw Chief. Meanwhile the knight caught a horse by the rein,

for several which had been taken in the stables of Front-de-Boeuf

stood accoutred around, and were a valuable part of the booty.

He threw himself upon the saddle, and galloped off through the

wood.

When the bustle occasioned by this incident was somewhat

composed, the chief Outlaw took from his neck the rich horn and

baldric which he had recently gained at the strife of archery

near Ashby.

“Noble knight.” he said to him of the Fetterlock, “if you disdain

not to grace by your acceptance a bugle which an English yeoman

has once worn, this I will pray you to keep as a memorial of your

gallant bearing---and if ye have aught to do, and, as happeneth

oft to a gallant knight, ye chance to be hard bested in any

forest between Trent and Tees, wind three mots*

The notes upon the