Ivanhoe, Walter Scott [philippa perry book .txt] 📗

the villains to the earth with my lance, Wamba, if they offered us any impediment.”

“But what if there were four of them?”

“They should drink of the same cup,” answered the Knight.

“What if six,” continued Wamba, “and we as we now are, barely two⁠—would you not remember Locksley’s horn?”

“What! sound for aid,” exclaimed the Knight, “against a score of such rascaille as these, whom one good knight could drive before him, as the wind drives the withered leaves?”

“Nay, then,” said Wamba, “I will pray you for a close sight of that same horn that hath so powerful a breath.”

The Knight undid the clasp of the baldric, and indulged his fellow-traveller, who immediately hung the bugle round his own neck.

“Tra-lira-la,” said he, whistling the notes; “nay, I know my gamut as well as another.”

“How mean you, knave?” said the Knight; “restore me the bugle.”

“Content you, Sir Knight, it is in safe keeping. When Valour and Folly travel, Folly should bear the horn, because she can blow the best.”

“Nay but, rogue,” said the Black Knight, “this exceedeth thy license⁠—Beware ye tamper not with my patience.”

“Urge me not with violence, Sir Knight,” said the Jester, keeping at a distance from the impatient champion, “or Folly will show a clean pair of heels, and leave Valour to find out his way through the wood as best he may.”

“Nay, thou hast hit me there,” said the Knight; “and, sooth to say, I have little time to jangle with thee. Keep the horn an thou wilt, but let us proceed on our journey.”

“You will not harm me, then?” said Wamba.

“I tell thee no, thou knave!”

“Ay, but pledge me your knightly word for it,” continued Wamba, as he approached with great caution.

“My knightly word I pledge; only come on with thy foolish self.”

“Nay, then, Valour and Folly are once more boon companions,” said the Jester, coming up frankly to the Knight’s side; “but, in truth, I love not such buffets as that you bestowed on the burly Friar, when his holiness rolled on the green like a king of the ninepins. And now that Folly wears the horn, let Valour rouse himself, and shake his mane; for, if I mistake not, there are company in yonder brake that are on the lookout for us.”

“What makes thee judge so?” said the Knight.

“Because I have twice or thrice noticed the glance of a motion from amongst the green leaves. Had they been honest men, they had kept the path. But yonder thicket is a choice chapel for the Clerks of Saint Nicholas.”

“By my faith,” said the Knight, closing his visor, “I think thou be’st in the right on’t.”

And in good time did he close it, for three arrows, flew at the same instant from the suspected spot against his head and breast, one of which would have penetrated to the brain, had it not been turned aside by the steel visor. The other two were averted by the gorget, and by the shield which hung around his neck.

“Thanks, trusty armourers,” said the Knight.⁠—“Wamba, let us close with them,”⁠—and he rode straight to the thicket. He was met by six or seven men-at-arms, who ran against him with their lances at full career. Three of the weapons struck against him, and splintered with as little effect as if they had been driven against a tower of steel. The Black Knight’s eyes seemed to flash fire even through the aperture of his visor. He raised himself in his stirrups with an air of inexpressible dignity, and exclaimed, “What means this, my masters!”⁠—The men made no other reply than by drawing their swords and attacking him on every side, crying, “Die, tyrant!”

“Ha! Saint Edward! Ha! Saint George!” said the Black Knight, striking down a man at every invocation; “have we traitors here?”

His opponents, desperate as they were, bore back from an arm which carried death in every blow, and it seemed as if the terror of his single strength was about to gain the battle against such odds, when a knight, in blue armour, who had hitherto kept himself behind the other assailants, spurred forward with his lance, and taking aim, not at the rider but at the steed, wounded the noble animal mortally.

“That was a felon stroke!” exclaimed the Black Knight, as the steed fell to the earth, bearing his rider along with him.

And at this moment, Wamba winded the bugle, for the whole had passed so speedily, that he had not time to do so sooner. The sudden sound made the murderers bear back once more, and Wamba, though so imperfectly weaponed, did not hesitate to rush in and assist the Black Knight to rise.

“Shame on ye, false cowards!” exclaimed he in the blue harness, who seemed to lead the assailants, “do ye fly from the empty blast of a horn blown by a Jester?”

Animated by his words, they attacked the Black Knight anew, whose best refuge was now to place his back against an oak, and defend himself with his sword. The felon knight, who had taken another spear, watching the moment when his formidable antagonist was most closely pressed, galloped against him in hopes to nail him with his lance against the tree, when his purpose was again intercepted by Wamba. The Jester, making up by agility the want of strength, and little noticed by the men-at-arms, who were busied in their more important object, hovered on the skirts of the fight, and effectually checked the fatal career of the Blue Knight, by hamstringing his horse with a stroke of his sword. Horse and man went to the ground; yet the situation of the Knight of the Fetterlock continued very precarious, as he was pressed close by several men completely armed, and began to be fatigued by the violent exertions necessary to defend himself on so many points at nearly the same moment, when a grey-goose shaft suddenly stretched on the earth one of the most formidable of his assailants, and a band of yeomen broke forth from the