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

they gave him the means of supplying his own very

considerable expenses, afforded also those largesses which he

bestowed among the peasantry, and with which he frequently

relieved the distresses of the oppressed. If Prior Aymer rode

hard in the chase, or remained long at the banquet,---if Prior

Aymer was seen, at the early peep of dawn, to enter the postern

of the abbey, as he glided home from some rendezvous which had

occupied the hours of darkness, men only shrugged up their

shoulders, and reconciled themselves to his irregularities, by

recollecting that the same were practised by many of his brethren

who had no redeeming qualities whatsoever to atone for them.

Prior Aymer, therefore, and his character, were well known to our

Saxon serfs, who made their rude obeisance, and received his

“benedicite, mes filz,” in return.

But the singular appearance of his companion and his attendants,

arrested their attention and excited their wonder, and they could

scarcely attend to the Prior of Jorvaulx’ question, when he

demanded if they knew of any place of harbourage in the vicinity;

so much were they surprised at the half monastic, half military

appearance of the swarthy stranger, and at the uncouth dress and

arms of his Eastern attendants. It is probable, too, that the

language in which the benediction was conferred, and the

information asked, sounded ungracious, though not probably

unintelligible, in the ears of the Saxon peasants.

“I asked you, my children,” said the Prior, raising his voice,

and using the lingua Franca, or mixed language, in which the

Norman and Saxon races conversed with each other, “if there be in

this neighbourhood any good man, who, for the love of God, and

devotion to Mother Church, will give two of her humblest

servants, with their train, a night’s hospitality and

refreshment?”

This he spoke with a tone of conscious importance, which formed a

strong contrast to the modest terms which he thought it proper to

employ.

“Two of the humblest servants of Mother Church!” repeated Wamba

to himself,---but, fool as he was, taking care not to make his

observation audible; “I should like to see her seneschals, her

chief butlers, and other principal domestics!”

After this internal commentary on the Prior’s speech, he raised

his eyes, and replied to the question which had been put.

“If the reverend fathers,” he said, “loved good cheer and soft

lodging, few miles of riding would carry them to the Priory of

Brinxworth, where their quality could not but secure them the

most honourable reception; or if they preferred spending a

penitential evening, they might turn down yonder wild glade,

which would bring them to the hermitage of Copmanhurst, where a

pious anchoret would make them sharers for the night of the

shelter of his roof and the benefit of his prayers.”

The Prior shook his head at both proposals.

“Mine honest friend,” said he, “if the jangling of thy bells had

not dizzied thine understanding, thou mightst know “Clericus

clericum non decimat”; that is to say, we churchmen do not

exhaust each other’s hospitality, but rather require that of the

laity, giving them thus an opportunity to serve God in honouring

and relieving his appointed servants.”

“It is true,” replied Wamba, “that I, being but an ass, am,

nevertheless, honoured to hear the bells as well as your

reverence’s mule; notwithstanding, I did conceive that the

charity of Mother Church and her servants might be said, with

other charity, to begin at home.”

“A truce to thine insolence, fellow,” said the armed rider,

breaking in on his prattle with a high and stern voice, “and tell

us, if thou canst, the road to---How call’d you your Franklin,

Prior Aymer?”

“Cedric,” answered the Prior; “Cedric the Saxon.---Tell me, good

fellow, are we near his dwelling, and can you show us the road?”

“The road will be uneasy to find,” answered Gurth, who broke

silence for the first time, “and the family of Cedric retire

early to rest.”

“Tush, tell not me, fellow,” said the military rider; “‘tis easy

for them to arise and supply the wants of travellers such as we

are, who will not stoop to beg the hospitality which we have a

right to command.”

“I know not,” said Gurth, sullenly, “if I should show the way to

my master’s house, to those who demand as a right, the shelter

which most are fain to ask as a favour.”

“Do you dispute with me, slave!” said the soldier; and, setting

spurs to his horse, he caused him make a demivolte across the

path, raising at the same time the riding rod which he held in

his hand, with a purpose of chastising what he considered as the

insolence of the peasant.

Gurth darted at him a savage and revengeful scowl, and with a

fierce, yet hesitating motion, laid his hand on the haft of his

knife; but the interference of Prior Aymer, who pushed his mule

betwixt his companion and the swineherd, prevented the meditated

violence.

“Nay, by St Mary, brother Brian, you must not think you are now

in Palestine, predominating over heathen Turks and infidel

Saracens; we islanders love not blows, save those of holy Church,

who chasteneth whom she loveth.---Tell me, good fellow,” said he

to Wamba, and seconded his speech by a small piece of silver

coin, “the way to Cedric the Saxon’s; you cannot be ignorant of

it, and it is your duty to direct the wanderer even when his

character is less sanctified than ours.”

“In truth, venerable father,” answered the Jester, “the Saracen

head of your right reverend companion has frightened out of mine

the way home---I am not sure I shall get there to-night myself.”

“Tush,” said the Abbot, “thou canst tell us if thou wilt. This

reverend brother has been all his life engaged in fighting among

the Saracens for the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre; he is of the

order of Knights Templars, whom you may have heard of; he is half

a monk, half a soldier.”

“If he is but half a monk,” said the Jester, “he should not be

wholly unreasonable with those whom he meets upon the road, even

if they should be in no hurry to answer questions that no way

concern them.”

“I forgive thy wit,” replied the Abbot, “on condition thou wilt

show me the way to Cedric’s mansion.”

“Well, then,” answered Wamba, “your reverences must hold on this

path till you come to a sunken cross, of which scarce a cubit’s

length remains above ground; then take the path to the left, for

there are four which meet at Sunken Cross, and I trust your

reverences will obtain shelter before the storm comes on.”

The Abbot thanked his sage adviser; and the cavalcade, setting

spurs to their horses, rode on as men do who wish to reach their

inn before the bursting of a night-storm. As their horses’ hoofs

died away, Gurth said to his companion, “If they follow thy wise

direction, the reverend fathers will hardly reach Rotherwood this

night.”

“No,” said the Jester, grinning, “but they may reach Sheffield if

they have good luck, and that is as fit a place for them. I am

not so bad a woodsman as to show the dog where the deer lies, if

I have no mind he should chase him.”

“Thou art right,” said Gurth; “it were ill that Aymer saw the

Lady Rowena; and it were worse, it may be, for Cedric to quarrel,

as is most likely he would, with this military monk. But, like

good servants let us hear and see, and say nothing.”

We return to the riders, who had soon left the bondsmen far

behind them, and who maintained the following conversation in the

Norman-French language, usually employed by the superior classes,

with the exception of the few who were still inclined to boast

their Saxon descent.

“What mean these fellows by their capricious insolence?” said the

Templar to the Benedictine, “and why did you prevent me from

chastising it?”

“Marry, brother Brian,” replied the Prior, “touching the one of

them, it were hard for me to render a reason for a fool speaking

according to his folly; and the other churl is of that savage,

fierce, intractable race, some of whom, as I have often told you,

are still to be found among the descendants of the conquered

Saxons, and whose supreme pleasure it is to testify, by all means

in their power, their aversion to their conquerors.”

“I would soon have beat him into courtesy,” observed Brian; “I am

accustomed to deal with such spirits: Our Turkish captives are as

fierce and intractable as Odin himself could have been; yet two

months in my household, under the management of my master of the

slaves, has made them humble, submissive, serviceable, and

observant of your will. Marry, sir, you must be aware of the

poison and the dagger; for they use either with free will when

you give them the slightest opportunity.”

“Ay, but,” answered Prior Aymer, “every land has its own manners

and fashions; and, besides that beating this fellow could procure

us no information respecting the road to Cedric’s house, it would

have been sure to have established a quarrel betwixt you and him

had we found our way thither. Remember what I told you: this

wealthy franklin is proud, fierce, jealous, and irritable, a

withstander of the nobility, and even of his neighbors, Reginald

Front-de-Boeuf and Philip Malvoisin, who are no babies to strive

with. He stands up sternly for the privileges of his race, and

is so proud of his uninterrupted descend from Hereward, a

renowned champion of the Heptarchy, that he is universally called

Cedric the Saxon; and makes a boast of his belonging to a people

from whom many others endeaver to hide their descent, lest they

should encounter a share of the ‘vae victis,’ or severities

imposed upon the vanquished.”

“Prior Aymer,” said the Templar, “you are a man of gallantry,

learned in the study of beauty, and as expert as a troubadour in

all matters concerning the ‘arrets’ of love; but I shall expect

much beauty in this celebrated Rowena to counterbalance the

self-denial and forbearance which I must exert if I am to court

the favor of such a seditious churl as you have described her

father Cedric.”

“Cedric is not her father,” replied the Prior, “and is but of

remote relation: she is descended from higher blood than even he

pretends to, and is but distantly connected with him by birth.

Her guardian, however, he is, self-constituted as I believe; but

his ward is as dear to him as if she were his own child. Of her

beauty you shall soon be judge; and if the purity of her

complexion, and the majestic, yet soft expression of a mild blue

eye, do not chase from your memory the black-tressed girls of

Palestine, ay, or the houris of old Mahound’s paradise, I am an

infidel, and no true son of the church.”

“Should your boasted beauty,” said the Templar, “be weighed in

the balance and found wanting, you know our wager?”

“My gold collar,” answered the Prior, “against ten butts of Chian

wine;---they are mine as securely as if they were already in the

convent vaults, under the key of old Dennis the cellarer.”

“And I am myself to be judge,” said the Templar, “and am only to

be convicted on my own admission, that I have seen no maiden so

beautiful since Pentecost was a twelvemonth. Ran it not so?

---Prior, your collar is in danger; I will wear it over my gorget

in the lists of Ashby-de-la-Zouche.”

“Win it fairly,” said the Prior, “and wear it as ye will; I will

trust your giving true response, on your word