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

however undauntedly he presented

himself in the lists, either from weakness, weariness, or both,

seemed scarce able to support himself in the saddle.

To the summons of the herald, who demanded his rank, his name,

and purpose, the stranger knight answered readily and boldly, “I

am a good knight and noble, come hither to sustain with lance and

sword the just and lawful quarrel of this damsel, Rebecca,

daughter of Isaac of York; to uphold the doom pronounced against

her to be false and truthless, and to defy Sir Brian de

Bois-Guilbert, as a traitor, murderer, and liar; as I will prove

in this field with my body against his, by the aid of God, of Our

Lady, and of Monseigneur Saint George, the good knight.”

“The stranger must first show,” said Malvoisin, “that he is good

knight, and of honourable lineage. The Temple sendeth not forth

her champions against nameless men.”

“My name,” said the Knight, raising his helmet, “is better known,

my lineage more pure, Malvoisin, than thine own. I am Wilfred

of Ivanhoe.”

“I will not fight with thee at present,” said the Templar, in a

changed and hollow voice. “Get thy wounds healed, purvey thee a

better horse, and it may be I will hold it worth my while to

scourge out of thee this boyish spirit of bravado.”

“Ha! proud Templar,” said Ivanhoe, “hast thou forgotten that

twice didst thou fall before this lance? Remember the lists at

Acre---remember the Passage of Arms at Ashby---remember thy proud

vaunt in the halls of Rotherwood, and the gage of your gold chain

against my reliquary, that thou wouldst do battle with Wilfred of

Ivanhoe, and recover the honour thou hadst lost! By that

reliquary and the holy relic it contains, I will proclaim thee,

Templar, a coward in every court in Europe---in every Preceptory

of thine Order—unless thou do battle without farther delay.”

Bois-Guilbert turned his countenance irresolutely towards

Rebecca, and then exclaimed, looking fiercely at Ivanhoe, “Dog of

a Saxon! take thy lance, and prepare for the death thou hast

drawn upon thee!”

“Does the Grand Master allow me the combat?” said Ivanhoe.

“I may not deny what thou hast challenged,” said the Grand

Master, “provided the maiden accepts thee as her champion. Yet I

would thou wert in better plight to do battle. An enemy of our

Order hast thou ever been, yet would I have thee honourably met

with.”

“Thus---thus as I am, and not otherwise,” said Ivanhoe; “it is

the judgment of God---to his keeping I commend myself.

---Rebecca,” said he, riding up to the fatal chair, “dost thou

accept of me for thy champion?”

“I do,” she said---“I do,” fluttered by an emotion which the fear

of death had been unable to produce, “I do accept thee as the

champion whom Heaven hath sent me. Yet, no---no---thy wounds are

uncured---Meet not that proud man---why shouldst thou perish

also?”

But Ivanhoe was already at his post, and had closed his visor,

and assumed his lance. Bois-Guilbert did the same; and his

esquire remarked, as he clasped his visor, that his face, which

had, notwithstanding the variety of emotions by which he had been

agitated, continued during the whole morning of an ashy paleness,

was now become suddenly very much flushed.

The herald, then, seeing each champion in his place, uplifted his

voice, repeating thrice---“Faites vos devoirs, preux chevaliers!”

After the third cry, he withdrew to one side of the lists, and

again proclaimed, that none, on peril of instant death, should

dare, by word, cry, or action, to interfere with or disturb this

fair field of combat. The Grand Master, who held in his hand the

gage of battle, Rebecca’s glove, now threw it into the lists, and

pronounced the fatal signal words, “Laissez aller”.

The trumpets sounded, and the knights charged each other in full

career. The wearied horse of Ivanhoe, and its no less exhausted

rider, went down, as all had expected, before the well-aimed

lance and vigorous steed of the Templar. This issue of the

combat all had foreseen; but although the spear of Ivanhoe did

but, in comparison, touch the shield of Bois-Guilbert, that

champion, to the astonishment of all who beheld it reeled in his

saddle, lost his stirrups, and fell in the lists.

Ivanhoe, extricating himself from his fallen horse, was soon on

foot, hastening to mend his fortune with his sword; but his

antagonist arose not. Wilfred, placing his foot on his breast,

and the sword’s point to his throat, commanded him to yield him,

or die on the spot. Bois-Guilbert returned no answer.

“Slay him not, Sir Knight,” cried the Grand Master, “unshriven

and unabsolved---kill not body and soul! We allow him

vanquished.”

He descended into the lists, and commanded them to unhelm the

conquered champion. His eyes were closed---the dark red flush

was still on his brow. As they looked on him in astonishment,

the eyes opened---but they were fixed and glazed. The flush

passed from his brow, and gave way to the pallid hue of death.

Unscathed by the lance of his enemy, he had died a victim to the

violence of his own contending passions.

“This is indeed the judgment of God,” said the Grand Master,

looking upwards---“‘Fiat voluntas tua!’”

CHAPTER XLIV

So! now ‘tis ended, like an old wife’s story.

Webster

When the first moments of surprise were over, Wilfred of Ivanhoe

demanded of the Grand Master, as judge of the field, if he had

manfully and rightfully done his duty in the combat? “Manfully

and rightfully hath it been done,” said the Grand Master. “I

pronounce the maiden free and guiltless---The arms and the body

of the deceased knight are at the will of the victor.”

“I will not despoil him of his weapons,” said the Knight of

Ivanhoe, “nor condemn his corpse to shame---he hath fought for

Christendom---God’s arm, no human hand, hath this day struck him

down. But let his obsequies be private, as becomes those of a

man who died in an unjust quarrel.---And for the maiden---”

He was interrupted by a clattering of horses’ feet, advancing in

such numbers, and so rapidly, as to shake the ground before them;

and the Black Knight galloped into the lists. He was followed by

a numerous band of men-at-arms, and several knights in complete

armour.

“I am too late,” he said, looking around him. “I had doomed

Bois-Guilbert for mine own property.---Ivanhoe, was this well,

to take on thee such a venture, and thou scarce able to keep thy

saddle?”

“Heaven, my Liege,” answered Ivanhoe, “hath taken this proud man

for its victim. He was not to be honoured in dying as your will

had designed.”

“Peace be with him,” said Richard, looking steadfastly on the

corpse, “if it may be so---he was a gallant knight, and has died

in his steel harness full knightly. But we must waste no time

---Bohun, do thine office!”

A Knight stepped forward from the King’s attendants, and, laying

his hand on the shoulder of Albert de Malvoisin, said, “I arrest

thee of High Treason.”

The Grand Master had hitherto stood astonished at the appearance

of so many warriors.---He now spoke.

“Who dares to arrest a Knight of the Temple of Zion, within the

girth of his own Preceptory, and in the presence of the Grand

Master? and by whose authority is this bold outrage offered?”

“I make the arrest,” replied the Knight---“I, Henry Bohun, Earl

of Essex, Lord High Constable of England.”

“And he arrests Malvoisin,” said the King, raising his visor, “by

the order of Richard Plantagenet, here present.---Conrade

Mont-Fitchet, it is well for thee thou art born no subject of

mine.---But for thee, Malvoisin, thou diest with thy brother

Philip, ere the world be a week older.”

“I will resist thy doom,” said the Grand Master.

“Proud Templar,” said the King, “thou canst not---look up, and

behold the Royal Standard of England floats over thy towers

instead of thy Temple banner!---Be wise, Beaumanoir, and make no

bootless opposition---Thy hand is in the lion’s mouth.”

“I will appeal to Rome against thee,” said the Grand Master, “for

usurpation on the immunities and privileges of our Order.”

“Be it so,” said the King; “but for thine own sake tax me not

with usurpation now. Dissolve thy Chapter, and depart with thy

followers to thy next Preceptory, (if thou canst find one), which

has not been made the scene of treasonable conspiracy against the

King of England---Or, if thou wilt, remain, to share our

hospitality, and behold our justice.”

“To be a guest in the house where I should command?” said the

Templar; “never!---Chaplains, raise the Psalm, ‘Quare fremuerunt

Gentes?’---Knights, squires, and followers of the Holy Temple,

prepare to follow the banner of ‘Beau-seant!’”

The Grand Master spoke with a dignity which confronted even that

of England’s king himself, and inspired courage into his

surprised and dismayed followers. They gathered around him like

the sheep around the watch-dog, when they hear the baying of the

wolf. But they evinced not the timidity of the scared flock

---there were dark brows of defiance, and looks which menaced the

hostility they dared not to proffer in words. They drew together

in a dark line of spears, from which the white cloaks of the

knights were visible among the dusky garments of their retainers,

like the lighter-coloured edges of a sable cloud. The multitude,

who had raised a clamorous shout of reprobation, paused and gazed

in silence on the formidable and experienced body to which they

had unwarily bade defiance, and shrunk back from their front.

The Earl of Essex, when he beheld them pause in their assembled

force, dashed the rowels into his charger’s sides, and galloped

backwards and forwards to array his followers, in opposition to a

band so formidable. Richard alone, as if he loved the danger his

presence had provoked, rode slowly along the front of the

Templars, calling aloud, “What, sirs! Among so many gallant

knights, will none dare splinter a spear with Richard?---Sirs of

the Temple! your ladies are but sun-burned, if they are not worth

the shiver of a broken lance?”

“The Brethren of the Temple,” said the Grand Master, riding

forward in advance of their body, “fight not on such idle and

profane quarrel---and not with thee, Richard of England, shall a

Templar cross lance in my presence. The Pope and Princes of

Europe shall judge our quarrel, and whether a Christian prince

has done well in bucklering the cause which thou hast to-day

adopted. If unassailed, we depart assailing no one. To thine

honour we refer the armour and household goods of the Order which

we leave behind us, and on thy conscience we lay the scandal and

offence thou hast this day given to Christendom.”

With these words, and without waiting a reply, the Grand Master

gave the signal of departure. Their trumpets sounded a wild

march, of an Oriental character, which formed the usual signal

for the Templars to advance. They changed their array from a

line to a column of march, and moved off as slowly as their

horses could step, as if to show it was only the will of their

Grand Master, and no fear of the opposing and superior force,

which compelled them to withdraw.

“By the splendour of Our Lady’s brow!” said King Richard, “it is

pity of their lives that these Templars are not so trusty as they

are disciplined and valiant.”

The multitude, like a timid cur which waits to bark till the

object of its challenge has turned his back, raised a feeble

shout as the rear of the squadron left the ground.

During the tumult which attended the retreat of the Templars,

Rebecca saw and heard nothing---she was locked in the arms of her

aged father, giddy, and