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

maiden?” which

recalled her to herself, and reminded her the sensations which

she felt were not and could not be mutual. A sigh escaped, but

it was scarce audible; and the questions which she asked the

knight concerning his state of health were put in the tone of

calm friendship. Ivanhoe answered her hastily that he was, in

point of health, as well, and better than he could have expected

---“Thanks,” he said, “dear Rebecca, to thy helpful skill.”

“He calls me DEAR Rebecca,” said the maiden to herself, “but it

is in the cold and careless tone which ill suits the word. His

war-horse---his hunting hound, are dearer to him than the

despised Jewess!”

“My mind, gentle maiden,” continued Ivanhoe, “is more disturbed

by anxiety, than my body with pain. From the speeches of those

men who were my warders just now, I learn that I am a prisoner,

and, if I judge aright of the loud hoarse voice which even now

dispatched them hence on some military duty, I am in the castle

of Front-de-Boeuf---If so, how will this end, or how can I

protect Rowena and my father?”

“He names not the Jew or Jewess,” said Rebecca internally; “yet

what is our portion in him, and how justly am I punished by

Heaven for letting my thoughts dwell upon him!” She hastened

after this brief self-accusation to give Ivanhoe what information

she could; but it amounted only to this, that the Templar

Bois-Guilbert, and the Baron Front-de-Boeuf, were commanders

within the castle; that it was beleaguered from without, but by

whom she knew not. She added, that there was a Christian priest

within the castle who might be possessed of more information.

“A Christian priest!” said the knight, joyfully; “fetch him

hither, Rebecca, if thou canst---say a sick man desires his

ghostly counsel---say what thou wilt, but bring him---something I

must do or attempt, but how can I determine until I know how

matters stand without?”

Rebecca in compliance with the wishes of Ivanhoe, made that

attempt to bring Cedric into the wounded Knight’s chamber,

which was defeated as we have already seen by the interference of

Urfried, who had also been on the watch to intercept the supposed

monk. Rebecca retired to communicate to Ivanhoe the result of

her errand.

They had not much leisure to regret the failure of this source of

intelligence, or to contrive by what means it might be supplied;

for the noise within the castle, occasioned by the defensive

preparations which had been considerable for some time, now

increased into tenfold bustle and clamour. The heavy, yet hasty

step of the men-at-arms, traversed the battlements or resounded

on the narrow and winding passages and stairs which led to the

various bartisans and points of defence. The voices of the

knights were heard, animating their followers, or directing means

of defence, while their commands were often drowned in the

clashing of armour, or the clamorous shouts of those whom they

addressed. Tremendous as these sounds were, and yet more

terrible from the awful event which they presaged, there was a

sublimity mixed with them, which Rebecca’s high-toned mind could

feel even in that moment of terror. Her eye kindled, although

the blood fled from her cheeks; and there was a strong mixture of

fear, and of a thrilling sense of the sublime, as she repeated,

half whispering to herself, half speaking to her companion, the

sacred text,---“The quiver rattleth---the glittering spear and

the shield---the noise of the captains and the shouting!”

But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime passage,

glowing with impatience at his inactivity, and with his ardent

desire to mingle in the affray of which these sounds were the

introduction. “If I could but drag myself,” he said, “to yonder

window, that I might see how this brave game is like to go---If I

had but bow to shoot a shaft, or battle-axe to strike were it but

a single blow for our deliverance!---It is in vain---it is in

vain---I am alike nerveless and weaponless!”

“Fret not thyself, noble knight,” answered Rebecca, “the sounds

have ceased of a sudden---it may be they join not battle.”

“Thou knowest nought of it,” said Wilfred, impatiently; “this

dead pause only shows that the men are at their posts on the

walls, and expecting an instant attack; what we have heard was

but the instant muttering of the storm---it will burst anon in

all its fury.---Could I but reach yonder window!”

“Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt, noble knight,”

replied his attendant. Observing his extreme solicitude, she

firmly added, “I myself will stand at the lattice, and describe

to you as I can what passes without.”

“You must not---you shall not!” exclaimed Ivanhoe; “each lattice,

each aperture, will be soon a mark for the archers; some random

shaft---”

“It shall be welcome!” murmured Rebecca, as with firm pace she

ascended two or three steps, which led to the window of which

they spoke.

“Rebecca, dear Rebecca!” exclaimed Ivanhoe, “this is no maiden’s

pastime---do not expose thyself to wounds and death, and render

me for ever miserable for having given the occasion; at least,

cover thyself with yonder ancient buckler, and show as little of

your person at the lattice as may be.”

Following with wonderful promptitude the directions of Ivanhoe,

and availing herself of the protection of the large ancient

shield, which she placed against the lower part of the window,

Rebecca, with tolerable security to herself, could witness part

of what was passing without the castle, and report to Ivanhoe the

preparations which the assailants were making for the storm.

Indeed the situation which she thus obtained was peculiarly

favourable for this purpose, because, being placed on an angle

of the main building, Rebecca could not only see what passed

beyond the precincts of the castle, but also commanded a view of

the outwork likely to be the first object of the meditated

assault. It was an exterior fortification of no great height

or strength, intended to protect the postern-gate, through which

Cedric had been recently dismissed by Front-de-Boeuf. The castle

moat divided this species of barbican from the rest of the

fortress, so that, in case of its being taken, it was easy to

cut off the communication with the main building, by withdrawing

the temporary bridge. In the outwork was a sallyport

corresponding to the postern of the castle, and the whole was

surrounded by a strong palisade. Rebecca could observe, from the

number of men placed for the defence of this post, that the

besieged entertained apprehensions for its safety; and from the

mustering of the assailants in a direction nearly opposite to the

outwork, it seemed no less plain that it had been selected as a

vulnerable point of attack.

These appearances she hastily communicated to Ivanhoe, and added,

“The skirts of the wood seem lined with archers, although only a

few are advanced from its dark shadow.”

“Under what banner?” asked Ivanhoe.

“Under no ensign of war which I can observe,” answered Rebecca.

“A singular novelty,” muttered the knight, “to advance to storm

such a castle without pennon or banner displayed!---Seest thou

who they be that act as leaders?”

“A knight, clad in sable armour, is the most conspicuous,” said

the Jewess; “he alone is armed from head to heel, and seems to

assume the direction of all around him.”

“What device does he bear on his shield?” replied Ivanhoe.

“Something resembling a bar of iron, and a padlock painted blue

on the black shield.”*

Note F. Heraldry

“A fetterlock and shacklebolt azure,” said Ivanhoe; “I know not

who may bear the device, but well I ween it might now be mine

own. Canst thou not see the motto?”

“Scarce the device itself at this distance,” replied Rebecca;

“but when the sun glances fair upon his shield, it shows as I

tell you.”

“Seem there no other leaders?” exclaimed the anxious enquirer.

“None of mark and distinction that I can behold from this

station,” said Rebecca; “but, doubtless, the other side of the

castle is also assailed. They appear even now preparing to

advance---God of Zion, protect us!---What a dreadful sight!

---Those who advance first bear huge shields and defences made of

plank; the others follow, bending their bows as they come on.

---They raise their bows!---God of Moses, forgive the creatures

thou hast made!”

Her description was here suddenly interrupted by the signal for

assault, which was given by the blast of a shrill bugle, and at

once answered by a flourish of the Norman trumpets from the

battlements, which, mingled with the deep and hollow clang of the

nakers, (a species of kettle-drum,) retorted in notes of defiance

the challenge of the enemy. The shouts of both parties augmented

the fearful din, the assailants crying, “Saint George for merry

England!” and the Normans answering them with loud cries of “En

avant De Bracy Beau-seant!---Front-de-Boeuf a la

rescousse!” according to the war-cries of their different

commanders.

It was not, however, by clamour that the contest was to be

decided, and the desperate efforts of the assailants were met by

an equally vigorous defence on the part of the besieged. The

archers, trained by their woodland pastimes to the most effective

use of the long-bow, shot, to use the appropriate phrase of the

time, so “wholly together,” that no point at which a defender

could show the least part of his person, escaped their cloth-yard

shafts. By this heavy discharge, which continued as thick and

sharp as hail, while, notwithstanding, every arrow had its

individual aim, and flew by scores together against each

embrasure and opening in the parapets, as well as at every

window where a defender either occasionally had post, or might be

suspected to be stationed,---by this sustained discharge, two or

three of the garrison were slain, and several others wounded.

But, confident in their armour of proof, and in the cover which

their situation afforded, the followers of Front-de-Boeuf, and

his allies, showed an obstinacy in defence proportioned to the

fury of the attack and replied with the discharge of their large

cross-bows, as well as with their long-bows, slings, and other

missile weapons, to the close and continued shower of arrows;

and, as the assailants were necessarily but indifferently

protected, did considerably more damage than they received at

their hand. The whizzing of shafts and of missiles, on both

sides, was only interrupted by the shouts which arose when either

side inflicted or sustained some notable loss.

“And I must lie here like a bedridden monk,” exclaimed Ivanhoe,

“while the game that gives me freedom or death is played out by

the hand of others!---Look from the window once again, kind

maiden, but beware that you are not marked by the archers beneath

—Look out once more, and tell me if they yet advance to the

storm.”

With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which she had

employed in mental devotion, Rebecca again took post at the

lattice, sheltering herself, however, so as not to be visible

from beneath.

“What dost thou see, Rebecca?” again demanded the wounded knight.

“Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle

mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot them.”

“That cannot endure,” said Ivanhoe; “if they press not right on

to carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail

but little against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the Knight

of the Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how he bears himself;

for as the leader is, so will his followers be.”

“I see him not,” said Rebecca.

“Foul craven!” exclaimed Ivanhoe; “does he blench from the helm

when the wind blows highest?”

“He blenches not! he blenches not!” said Rebecca, “I see him now;

he leads a