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

glade, headed by Locksley and the jovial Friar, who, taking ready and effectual part in the fray, soon disposed of the ruffians, all of whom lay on the spot dead or mortally wounded. The Black Knight thanked his deliverers with a dignity they had not observed in his former bearing, which hitherto had seemed rather that of a blunt bold soldier, than of a person of exalted rank.

“It concerns me much,” he said, “even before I express my full gratitude to my ready friends, to discover, if I may, who have been my unprovoked enemies.⁠—Open the visor of that Blue Knight, Wamba, who seems the chief of these villains.”

The Jester instantly made up to the leader of the assassins, who, bruised by his fall, and entangled under the wounded steed, lay incapable either of flight or resistance.

“Come, valiant sir,” said Wamba, “I must be your armourer as well as your equerry⁠—I have dismounted you, and now I will unhelm you.”

So saying, with no very gentle hand he undid the helmet of the Blue Knight, which, rolling to a distance on the grass, displayed to the Knight of the Fetterlock grizzled locks, and a countenance he did not expect to have seen under such circumstances.

“Waldemar Fitzurse!” he said in astonishment; “what could urge one of thy rank and seeming worth to so foul an undertaking?”

“Richard,” said the captive Knight, looking up to him, “thou knowest little of mankind, if thou knowest not to what ambition and revenge can lead every child of Adam.”

“Revenge?” answered the Black Knight; “I never wronged thee⁠—On me thou hast nought to revenge.”

“My daughter, Richard, whose alliance thou didst scorn⁠—was that no injury to a Norman, whose blood is noble as thine own?”

“Thy daughter?” replied the Black Knight; “a proper cause of enmity, and followed up to a bloody issue!⁠—Stand back, my masters, I would speak to him alone.⁠—And now, Waldemar Fitzurse, say me the truth⁠—confess who set thee on this traitorous deed.”

“Thy father’s son,” answered Waldemar, “who, in so doing, did but avenge on thee thy disobedience to thy father.”

Richard’s eyes sparkled with indignation, but his better nature overcame it. He pressed his hand against his brow, and remained an instant gazing on the face of the humbled baron, in whose features pride was contending with shame.

“Thou dost not ask thy life, Waldemar,” said the King.

“He that is in the lion’s clutch,” answered Fitzurse, “knows it were needless.”

“Take it, then, unasked,” said Richard; “the lion preys not on prostrate carcasses.⁠—Take thy life, but with this condition, that in three days thou shalt leave England, and go to hide thine infamy in thy Norman castle, and that thou wilt never mention the name of John of Anjou as connected with thy felony. If thou art found on English ground after the space I have allotted thee, thou diest⁠—or if thou breathest aught that can attaint the honour of my house, by Saint George! not the altar itself shall be a sanctuary. I will hang thee out to feed the ravens, from the very pinnacle of thine own castle.⁠—Let this knight have a steed, Locksley, for I see your yeomen have caught those which were running loose, and let him depart unharmed.”

“But that I judge I listen to a voice whose behests must not be disputed,” answered the yeoman, “I would send a shaft after the skulking villain that should spare him the labour of a long journey.”

“Thou bearest an English heart, Locksley,” said the Black Knight, “and well dost judge thou art the more bound to obey my behest⁠—I am Richard of England!”

At these words, pronounced in a tone of majesty suited to the high rank, and no less distinguished character of Coeur-de-Lion, the yeomen at once kneeled down before him, and at the same time tendered their allegiance, and implored pardon for their offences.

“Rise, my friends,” said Richard, in a gracious tone, looking on them with a countenance in which his habitual good-humour had already conquered the blaze of hasty resentment, and whose features retained no mark of the late desperate conflict, excepting the flush arising from exertion⁠—“Arise,” he said, “my friends!⁠—Your misdemeanours, whether in forest or field, have been atoned by the loyal services you rendered my distressed subjects before the walls of Torquilstone, and the rescue you have this day afforded to your sovereign. Arise, my liegemen, and be good subjects in future.⁠—And thou, brave Locksley⁠—”

“Call me no longer Locksley, my Liege, but know me under the name, which, I fear, fame hath blown too widely not to have reached even your royal ears⁠—I am Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest.”56

“King of Outlaws, and Prince of good fellows!” said the King, “who hath not heard a name that has been borne as far as Palestine? But be assured, brave Outlaw, that no deed done in our absence, and in the turbulent times to which it hath given rise, shall be remembered to thy disadvantage.”

“True says the proverb,” said Wamba, interposing his word, but with some abatement of his usual petulance⁠—

“ ‘When the cat is away,
The mice will play.’ ”

“What, Wamba, art thou there?” said Richard; “I have been so long of hearing thy voice, I thought thou hadst taken flight.”

“I take flight!” said Wamba; “when do you ever find Folly separated from Valour? There lies the trophy of my sword, that good grey gelding, whom I heartily wish upon his legs again, conditioning his master lay there houghed in his place. It is true, I gave a little ground at first, for a motley jacket does not brook lance-heads, as a steel doublet will. But if I fought not at sword’s point, you will grant me that I sounded the onset.”

“And to good purpose, honest Wamba,” replied the King. “Thy good service shall not be forgotten.”

“Confiteor! Confiteor!”⁠—exclaimed, in a submissive tone, a voice near the King’s side⁠—“my Latin will carry me no farther⁠—but I confess my deadly treason, and pray leave to have absolution before I