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

To Cedric, however, who, as we have observed, was not remarkably clear-sighted on such occasions, the sorrow of his ward seemed so much deeper than any of the other maidens, that he deemed it proper to whisper the explanation⁠—“She was the affianced bride of the noble Athelstane.”⁠—It may be doubted whether this communication went a far way to increase Wilfred’s disposition to sympathize with the mourners of Coningsburgh.

Having thus formally introduced the guests to the different chambers in which the obsequies of Athelstane were celebrated under different forms, Cedric conducted them into a small room, destined, as he informed them, for the exclusive accomodation of honourable guests, whose more slight connection with the deceased might render them unwilling to join those who were immediately effected by the unhappy event. He assured them of every accommodation, and was about to withdraw when the Black Knight took his hand.

“I crave to remind you, noble Thane,” he said, “that when we last parted, you promised, for the service I had the fortune to render you, to grant me a boon.”

“It is granted ere named, noble Knight,” said Cedric; “yet, at this sad moment⁠—”

“Of that also,” said the King, “I have bethought me⁠—but my time is brief⁠—neither does it seem to me unfit, that, when closing the grave on the noble Athelstane, we should deposit therein certain prejudices and hasty opinions.”

“Sir Knight of the Fetterlock,” said Cedric, colouring, and interrupting the King in his turn, “I trust your boon regards yourself and no other; for in that which concerns the honour of my house, it is scarce fitting that a stranger should mingle.”

“Nor do I wish to mingle,” said the King, mildly, “unless in so far as you will admit me to have an interest. As yet you have known me but as the Black Knight of the Fetterlock⁠—Know me now as Richard Plantagenet.”

“Richard of Anjou!” exclaimed Cedric, stepping backward with the utmost astonishment.

“No, noble Cedric⁠—Richard of England!⁠—whose deepest interest⁠—whose deepest wish, is to see her sons united with each other.⁠—And, how now, worthy Thane! hast thou no knee for thy prince?”

“To Norman blood,” said Cedric, “it hath never bended.”

“Reserve thine homage then,” said the Monarch, “until I shall prove my right to it by my equal protection of Normans and English.”

“Prince,” answered Cedric, “I have ever done justice to thy bravery and thy worth⁠—Nor am I ignorant of thy claim to the crown through thy descent from Matilda, niece to Edgar Atheling, and daughter to Malcolm of Scotland. But Matilda, though of the royal Saxon blood, was not the heir to the monarchy.”

“I will not dispute my title with thee, noble Thane,” said Richard, calmly; “but I will bid thee look around thee, and see where thou wilt find another to be put into the scale against it.”

“And hast thou wandered hither, Prince, to tell me so?” said Cedric⁠—“To upbraid me with the ruin of my race, ere the grave has closed o’er the last scion of Saxon royalty?”⁠—His countenance darkened as he spoke.⁠—“It was boldly⁠—it was rashly done!”

“Not so, by the holy rood!” replied the King; “it was done in the frank confidence which one brave man may repose in another, without a shadow of danger.”

“Thou sayest well, Sir King⁠—for King I own thou art, and wilt be, despite of my feeble opposition.⁠—I dare not take the only mode to prevent it, though thou hast placed the strong temptation within my reach!”

“And now to my boon,” said the King, “which I ask not with one jot the less confidence, that thou hast refused to acknowledge my lawful sovereignty. I require of thee, as a man of thy word, on pain of being held faithless, man-sworn, and nidering,59 to forgive and receive to thy paternal affection the good knight, Wilfred of Ivanhoe. In this reconciliation thou wilt own I have an interest⁠—the happiness of my friend, and the quelling of dissension among my faithful people.”

“And this is Wilfred!” said Cedric, pointing to his son.

“My father!⁠—my father!” said Ivanhoe, prostrating himself at Cedric’s feet, “grant me thy forgiveness!”

“Thou hast it, my son,” said Cedric, raising him up. “The son of Hereward knows how to keep his word, even when it has been passed to a Norman. But let me see thee use the dress and costume of thy English ancestry⁠—no short cloaks, no gay bonnets, no fantastic plumage in my decent household. He that would be the son of Cedric, must show himself of English ancestry.⁠—Thou art about to speak,” he added, sternly, “and I guess the topic. The Lady Rowena must complete two years’ mourning, as for a betrothed husband⁠—all our Saxon ancestors would disown us were we to treat of a new union for her ere the grave of him she should have wedded⁠—him, so much the most worthy of her hand by birth and ancestry⁠—is yet closed. The ghost of Athelstane himself would burst his bloody cerements and stand before us to forbid such dishonour to his memory.”

It seemed as if Cedric’s words had raised a spectre; for, scarce had he uttered them ere the door flew open, and Athelstane, arrayed in the garments of the grave, stood before them, pale, haggard, and like something arisen from the dead!60

The effect of this apparition on the persons present was utterly appalling. Cedric started back as far as the wall of the apartment would permit, and, leaning against it as one unable to support himself, gazed on the figure of his friend with eyes that seemed fixed, and a mouth which he appeared incapable of shutting. Ivanhoe crossed himself, repeating prayers in Saxon, Latin, or Norman-French, as they occurred to his memory, while Richard alternately said, Benedicite, and swore, Mort de ma vie!

In the meantime, a horrible noise was heard below stairs, some crying, “Secure the treacherous monks!”⁠—others, “Down with them into the dungeon!”⁠—others, “Pitch them from the highest battlements!”

“In the name of God!” said Cedric,