Ivanhoe - Walter Scott (e ink ebook reader txt) 📗

her voice seemed to startle him from his silence.

“Lady,” said Cedric, “this beseems not; were further pledge

necessary, I myself, offended, and justly offended, as I am,

would yet gage my honour for the honour of Ivanhoe. But the

wager of battle is complete, even according to the fantastic

fashions of Norman chivalry---Is it not, Father Aymer?”

“It is,” replied the Prior; “and the blessed relic and rich chain

will I bestow safely in the treasury of our convent, until the

decision of this warlike challenge.”

Having thus spoken, he crossed himself again and again, and after

many genuflections and muttered prayers, he delivered the

reliquary to Brother Ambrose, his attendant monk, while he

himself swept up with less ceremony, but perhaps with no less

internal satisfaction, the golden chain, and bestowed it in a

pouch lined with perfumed leather, which opened under his arm.

“And now, Sir Cedric,” he said, “my ears are chiming vespers with

the strength of your good wine---permit us another pledge to the

welfare of the Lady Rowena, and indulge us with liberty to pass

to our repose.”

“By the rood of Bromholme,” said the Saxon, “you do but small

credit to your fame, Sir Prior! Report speaks you a bonny monk,

that would hear the matin chime ere he quitted his bowl; and, old

as I am, I feared to have shame in encountering you. But, by my

faith, a Saxon boy of twelve, in my time, would not so soon have

relinquished his goblet.”

The Prior had his own reasons, however, for persevering in the

course of temperance which he had adopted. He was not only a

professional peacemaker, but from practice a hater of all feuds

and brawls. It was not altogether from a love to his neighbour,

or to himself, or from a mixture of both. On the present

occasion, he had an instinctive apprehension of the fiery temper

of the Saxon, and saw the danger that the reckless and

presumptuous spirit, of which his companion had already given so

many proofs, might at length produce some disagreeable explosion.

He therefore gently insinuated the incapacity of the native of

any other country to engage in the genial conflict of the bowl

with the hardy and strong-headed Saxons; something he mentioned,

but slightly, about his own holy character, and ended by pressing

his proposal to depart to repose.

The grace-cup was accordingly served round, and the guests, after

making deep obeisance to their landlord and to the Lady Rowena,

arose and mingled in the hall, while the heads of the family, by

separate doors, retired with their attendants.

“Unbelieving dog,” said the Templar to Isaac the Jew, as he

passed him in the throng, “dost thou bend thy course to the

tournament?”

“I do so propose,” replied Isaac, bowing in all humility, “if it

please your reverend valour.”

“Ay,” said the Knight, “to gnaw the bowels of our nobles with

usury, and to gull women and boys with gauds and toys---I warrant

thee store of shekels in thy Jewish scrip.”

“Not a shekel, not a silver penny, not a halfling---so help me

the God of Abraham!” said the Jew, clasping his hands; “I go but

to seek the assistance of some brethren of my tribe to aid me to

pay the fine which the Exchequer of the Jews*

In those days the Jews were subjected to an Exchequer, specially dedicated to that purpose, and which laid them under the most exorbitant impositions.---L. T.

have imposed upon me---Father Jacob be my speed! I am an

impoverished wretch---the very gaberdine I wear is borrowed from

Reuben of Tadcaster.”

The Templar smiled sourly as he replied, “Beshrew thee for a

false-hearted liar!” and passing onward, as if disdaining farther

conference, he communed with his Moslem slaves in a language

unknown to the bystanders. The poor Israelite seemed so

staggered by the address of the military monk, that the Templar

had passed on to the extremity of the hall ere he raised his

head from the humble posture which he had assumed, so far as to

be sensible of his departure. And when he did look around, it

was with the astonished air of one at whose feet a thunderbolt

has just burst, and who hears still the astounding report ringing

in his ears.

The Templar and Prior were shortly after marshalled to their

sleeping apartments by the steward and the cupbearer, each

attended by two torchbearers and two servants carrying

refreshments, while servants of inferior condition indicated to

their retinue and to the other guests their respective places of

repose.

CHAPTER VI

To buy his favour I extend this friendship:

If he will take it, so; if not, adieu;

And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not.

Merchant of Venice

As the Palmer, lighted by a domestic with a torch, passed through

the intricate combination of apartments of this large and

irregular mansion, the cupbearer coming behind him whispered in

his ear, that if he had no objection to a cup of good mead in his

apartment, there were many domestics in that family who would

gladly hear the news he had brought from the Holy Land, and

particularly that which concerned the Knight of Ivanhoe. Wamba

presently appeared to urge the same request, observing that a cup

after midnight was worth three after curfew. Without disputing a

maxim urged by such grave authority, the Palmer thanked them for

their courtesy, but observed that he had included in his

religious vow, an obligation never to speak in the kitchen on

matters which were prohibited in the hall. “That vow,” said

Wamba to the cupbearer, “would scarce suit a serving-man.”

The cupbearer shrugged up his shoulders in displeasure. “I

thought to have lodged him in the solere chamber,” said he; “but

since he is so unsocial to Christians, e’en let him take the next

stall to Isaac the Jew’s.---Anwold,” said he to the torchbearer,

“carry the Pilgrim to the southern cell.---I give you

good-night,” he added, “Sir Palmer, with small thanks for short

courtesy.”

“Good-night, and Our Lady’s benison,” said the Palmer, with

composure; and his guide moved forward.

In a small antechamber, into which several doors opened, and

which was lighted by a small iron lamp, they met a second

interruption from the waiting-maid of Rowena, who, saying in a

tone of authority, that her mistress desired to speak with the

Palmer, took the torch from the hand of Anwold, and, bidding him

await her return, made a sign to the Palmer to follow.

Apparently he did not think it proper to decline this invitation

as he had done the former; for, though his gesture indicated some

surprise at the summons, he obeyed it without answer or

remonstrance.

A short passage, and an ascent of seven steps, each of which was

composed of a solid beam of oak, led him to the apartment of the

Lady Rowena, the rude magnificence of which corresponded to the

respect which was paid to her by the lord of the mansion. The

walls were covered with embroidered hangings, on which

different-coloured silks, interwoven with gold and silver

threads, had been employed with all the art of which the age was

capable, to represent the sports of hunting and hawking. The bed

was adorned with the same rich tapestry, and surrounded with

curtains dyed with purple. The seats had also their stained

coverings, and one, which was higher than the rest, was

accommodated with a footstool of ivory, curiously carved.

No fewer than four silver candelabras, holding great waxen

torches, served to illuminate this apartment. Yet let not

modern beauty envy the magnificence of a Saxon princess. The

walls of the apartment were so ill finished and so full of

crevices, that the rich hangings shook in the night blast, and,

in despite of a sort of screen intended to protect them from the

wind, the flame of the torches streamed sideways into the air,

like the unfurled pennon of a chieftain. Magnificence there was,

with some rude attempt at taste; but of comfort there was little,

and, being unknown, it was unmissed.

The Lady Rowena, with three of her attendants standing at her

back, and arranging her hair ere she lay down to rest, was seated

in the sort of throne already mentioned, and looked as if born to

exact general homage. The Pilgrim acknowledged her claim to it

by a low genuflection.

“Rise, Palmer,” said she graciously. “The defender of the absent

has a right to favourable reception from all who value truth, and

honour manhood.” She then said to her train, “Retire, excepting

only Elgitha; I would speak with this holy Pilgrim.”

The maidens, without leaving the apartment, retired to its

further extremity, and sat down on a small bench against the

wall, where they remained mute as statues, though at such a

distance that their whispers could not have interrupted the

conversation of their mistress.

“Pilgrim,” said the lady, after a moment’s pause, during which

she seemed uncertain how to address him, “you this night

mentioned a name---I mean,” she said, with a degree of effort,

“the name of Ivanhoe, in the halls where by nature and kindred

it should have sounded most acceptably; and yet, such is the

perverse course of fate, that of many whose hearts must have

throbbed at the sound, I, only, dare ask you where, and in what

condition, you left him of whom you spoke?---We heard, that,

having remained in Palestine, on account of his impaired health,

after the departure of the English army, he had experienced the

persecution of the French faction, to whom the Templars are known

to be attached.”

“I know little of the Knight of Ivanhoe,” answered the Palmer,

with a troubled voice. “I would I knew him better, since you,

lady, are interested in his fate. He hath, I believe,

surmounted the persecution of his enemies in Palestine, and is

on the eve of returning to England, where you, lady, must know

better than I, what is his chance of happiness.”

The Lady Rowena sighed deeply, and asked more particularly when

the Knight of Ivanhoe might be expected in his native country,

and whether he would not be exposed to great dangers by the road.

On the first point, the Palmer professed ignorance; on the

second, he said that the voyage might be safely made by the way

of Venice and Genoa, and from thence through France to England.

“Ivanhoe,” he said, “was so well acquainted with the language and

manners of the French, that there was no fear of his incurring

any hazard during that part of his travels.”

“Would to God,” said the Lady Rowena, “he were here safely

arrived, and able to bear arms in the approaching tourney, in

which the chivalry of this land are expected to display their

address and valour. Should Athelstane of Coningsburgh obtain

the prize, Ivanhoe is like to hear evil tidings when he reaches

England.---How looked he, stranger, when you last saw him? Had

disease laid her hand heavy upon his strength and comeliness?”

“He was darker,” said the Palmer, “and thinner, than when he came

from Cyprus in the train of Coeur-de-Lion, and care seemed to sit

heavy on his brow; but I approached not his presence, because he

is unknown to me.”

“He will,” said the lady, “I fear, find little in his native land

to clear those clouds from his countenance. Thanks, good

Pilgrim, for your information concerning the companion of my

childhood.---Maidens,” she said, “draw near---offer the sleeping

cup to this holy man, whom I will no longer detain from repose.”

One of the maidens presented a silver cup, containing a rich

mixture of wine and spice, which Rowena barely put to her lips.

It was then offered to the Palmer, who, after a low obeisance,

tasted a few