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

words in a tone like

that of the night-raven?---Come before my couch that I may see

thee.”

“I am thine evil angel, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” replied the

voice.

“Let me behold thee then in thy bodily shape, if thou be’st indeed

a fiend,” replied the dying knight; “think not that I will blench

from thee.---By the eternal dungeon, could I but grapple with

these horrors that hover round me, as I have done with mortal

dangers, heaven or hell should never say that I shrunk from the

conflict!”

“Think on thy sins, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said the almost

unearthly voice, “on rebellion, on rapine, on murder!---Who

stirred up the licentious John to war against his grey-headed

father---against his generous brother?”

“Be thou fiend, priest, or devil,” replied Front-de-Boeuf, “thou

liest in thy throat!---Not I stirred John to rebellion---not I

alone---there were fifty knights and barons, the flower of the

midland counties---better men never laid lance in rest---And

must I answer for the fault done by fifty?---False fiend, I defy

thee! Depart, and haunt my couch no more---let me die in peace

if thou be mortal---if thou be a demon, thy time is not yet

come.”

“In peace thou shalt NOT die,” repeated the voice; “even in death

shalt thou think on thy murders---on the groans which this castle

has echoed--- on the blood that is engrained in its floors!”

“Thou canst not shake me by thy petty malice,” answered

Front-de-Boeuf, with a ghastly and constrained laugh. “The

infidel Jew---it was merit with heaven to deal with him as I did,

else wherefore are men canonized who dip their hands in the blood

of Saracens?---The Saxon porkers, whom I have slain, they were

the foes of my country, and of my lineage, and of my liege lord.

---Ho! ho! thou seest there is no crevice in my coat of plate

---Art thou fled?---art thou silenced?”

“No, foul parricide!” replied the voice; “think of thy father!

---think of his death!---think of his banquet-room flooded with

his gore, and that poured forth by the hand of a son!”

“Ha!” answered the Baron, after a long pause, “an thou knowest

that, thou art indeed the author of evil, and as omniscient as

the monks call thee!---That secret I deemed locked in my own

breast, and in that of one besides---the temptress, the partaker

of my guilt.---Go, leave me, fiend! and seek the Saxon witch

Ulrica, who alone could tell thee what she and I alone witnessed.

---Go, I say, to her, who washed the wounds, and straighted the

corpse, and gave to the slain man the outward show of one parted

in time and in the course of nature---Go to her, she was my

temptress, the foul provoker, the more foul rewarder, of the deed

---let her, as well as I, taste of the tortures which anticipate

hell!”

“She already tastes them,” said Ulrica, stepping before the couch

of Front-de-Boeuf; “she hath long drunken of this cup, and its

bitterness is now sweetened to see that thou dost partake it.

---Grind not thy teeth, Front-de-Boeuf---roll not thine eyes

---clench not thine hand, nor shake it at me with that gesture of

menace!---The hand which, like that of thy renowned ancestor who

gained thy name, could have broken with one stroke the skull of a

mountain-bull, is now unnerved and powerless as mine own!”

“Vile murderous hag!” replied Front-de-Boeuf; “detestable

screech-owl! it is then thou who art come to exult over the ruins

thou hast assisted to lay low?”

“Ay, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” answered she, “it is Ulrica!---it

is the daughter of the murdered Torquil Wolfganger!---it is the

sister of his slaughtered sons!---it is she who demands of thee,

and of thy father’s house, father and kindred, name and fame

---all that she has lost by the name of Front-de-Boeuf!---Think

of my wrongs, Front-de-Boeuf, and answer me if I speak not truth.

Thou hast been my evil angel, and I will be thine---I will dog

thee till the very instant of dissolution!”

“Detestable fury!” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, “that moment shalt

thou never witness---Ho! Giles, Clement, and Eustace! Saint Maur,

and Stephen! seize this damned witch, and hurl her from the

battlements headlong---she has betrayed us to the Saxon

Saint Maur! Clement! false-hearted, knaves, where tarry ye?”

“Call on them again, valiant Baron,” said the hag, with a smile

of grisly mockery; “summon thy vassals around thee, doom them

that loiter to the scourge and the dungeon---But know, mighty

chief,” she continued, suddenly changing her tone, “thou shalt

have neither answer, nor aid, nor obedience at their hands.

---Listen to these horrid sounds,” for the din of the

recommenced assault and defence now rung fearfully loud from the

battlements of the castle; “in that war-cry is the downfall of

thy house---The blood-cemented fabric of Front-de-Boeuf’s power

totters to the foundation, and before the foes he most despised!

---The Saxon, Reginald!---the scorned Saxon assails thy walls!

---Why liest thou here, like a worn-out hind, when the Saxon

storms thy place of strength?”

“Gods and fiends!” exclaimed the wounded knight; “O, for one

moment’s strength, to drag myself to the ‘melee’, and perish as

becomes my name!”

“Think not of it, valiant warrior!” replied she; “thou shalt die

no soldier’s death, but perish like the fox in his den, when the

peasants have set fire to the cover around it.”

“Hateful hag! thou liest!” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf; “my

followers bear them bravely---my walls are strong and high---my

comrades in arms fear not a whole host of Saxons, were they

headed by Hengist and Horsa!---The war-cry of the Templar and of

the Free Companions rises high over the conflict! And by mine

honour, when we kindle the blazing beacon, for joy of our

defence, it shall consume thee, body and bones; and I shall live

to hear thou art gone from earthly fires to those of that hell,

which never sent forth an incarnate fiend more utterly

diabolical!”

“Hold thy belief,” replied Ulrica, “till the proof reach thee

---But, no!” she said, interrupting herself, “thou shalt know,

even now, the doom, which all thy power, strength, and courage,

is unable to avoid, though it is prepared for thee by this feeble

band. Markest thou the smouldering and suffocating vapour which

already eddies in sable folds through the chamber?---Didst thou

think it was but the darkening of thy bursting eyes---the

difficulty of thy cumbered breathing?---No! Front-de-Boeuf, there

is another cause---Rememberest thou the magazine of fuel that is

stored beneath these apartments?”

“Woman!” he exclaimed with fury, “thou hast not set fire to it?

---By heaven, thou hast, and the castle is in flames!”

“They are fast rising at least,” said Ulrica, with frightful

composure; “and a signal shall soon wave to warn the besiegers to

press hard upon those who would extinguish them.---Farewell,

Front-de-Boeuf!---May Mista, Skogula, and Zernebock, gods of the

ancient Saxons---fiends, as the priests now call them---supply

the place of comforters at your dying bed, which Ulrica now

relinquishes!---But know, if it will give thee comfort to know

it, that Ulrica is bound to the same dark coast with thyself, the

companion of thy punishment as the companion of thy guilt.---And

now, parricide, farewell for ever!---May each stone of this

vaulted roof find a tongue to echo that title into thine ear!”

So saying, she left the apartment; and Front-de-Boeuf could hear

the crash of the ponderous key, as she locked and double-locked

the door behind her, thus cutting off the most slender chance of

escape. In the extremity of agony he shouted upon his servants

and allies—“Stephen and Saint Maur!---Clement and Giles!---I

burn here unaided!---To the rescue---to the rescue, brave

Bois-Guilbert, valiant De Bracy!---It is Front-de-Boeuf who

calls!---It is your master, ye traitor squires!---Your ally

---your brother in arms, ye perjured and faithless knights!---all

the curses due to traitors upon your recreant heads, do you

abandon me to perish thus miserably!---They hear me not---they

cannot hear me---my voice is lost in the din of battle.---The

smoke rolls thicker and thicker---the fire has caught upon the

floor below---O, for one drought of the air of heaven, were it to

be purchased by instant annihilation!” And in the mad frenzy of

despair, the wretch now shouted with the shouts of the fighters,

now muttered curses on himself, on mankind, and on Heaven itself.

---“The red fire flashes through the thick smoke!” he exclaimed;

“the demon marches against me under the banner of his own element

---Foul spirit, avoid!---I go not with thee without my comrades

---all, all are thine, that garrison these walls---Thinkest thou

Front-de-Boeuf will be singled out to go alone?---No---the

infidel Templar---the licentious De Bracy---Ulrica, the foul

murdering strumpet---the men who aided my enterprises---the dog

Saxons and accursed Jews, who are my prisoners---all, all shall

attend me---a goodly fellowship as ever took the downward road

---Ha, ha, ha!” and he laughed in his frenzy till the vaulted

roof rang again. “Who laughed there?” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf,

in altered mood, for the noise of the conflict did not prevent

the echoes of his own mad laughter from returning upon his ear

---“who laughed there?---Ulrica, was it thou?---Speak, witch, and

I forgive thee---for, only thou or the fiend of hell himself

could have laughed at such a moment. Avaunt---avaunt!------”

But it were impious to trace any farther the picture of the

blasphemer and parricide’s deathbed.

CHAPTER XXXI

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,

Or, close the wall up with our English dead.

--------------- And you, good yeomen,

Whose limbs were made in England, show us here

The mettle of your pasture---let us swear

That you are worth your breeding.

King Henry V

Cedric, although not greatly confident in Ulrica’s message,

omitted not to communicate her promise to the Black Knight and

Locksley. They were well pleased to find they had a friend

within the place, who might, in the moment of need, be able to

facilitate their entrance, and readily agreed with the Saxon that

a storm, under whatever disadvantages, ought to be attempted, as

the only means of liberating the prisoners now in the hands of

the cruel Front-de-Boeuf.

“The royal blood of Alfred is endangered,” said Cedric.

“The honour of a noble lady is in peril,” said the Black Knight.

“And, by the Saint Christopher at my baldric,” said the good

yeoman, “were there no other cause than the safety of that poor

faithful knave, Wamba, I would jeopard a joint ere a hair of his

head were hurt.”

“And so would I,” said the Friar; “what, sirs! I trust well that

a fool---I mean, d’ye see me, sirs, a fool that is free of his

guild and master of his craft, and can give as much relish and

flavour to a cup of wine as ever a flitch of bacon can---I say,

brethren, such a fool shall never want a wise clerk to pray for

or fight for him at a strait, while I can say a mass or flourish

a partisan.” And with that he made his heavy halberd to play

around his head as a shepherd boy flourishes his light crook.

“True, Holy Clerk,” said the Black Knight, “true as if Saint

Dunstan himself had said it.---And now, good Locksley, were it

not well that noble Cedric should assume the direction of this

assault?”

“Not a jot I,” returned Cedric; “I have never been wont to study

either how to take or how to hold out those abodes of tyrannic

power, which the Normans have erected in this groaning land. I

will fight among the foremost; but my honest neighbours well know

I am not a trained soldier in the discipline of wars, or the

attack of strongholds.”

“Since it stands thus with noble Cedric,” said Locksley, “I am

most willing to take on me the direction of the archery; and ye

shall hang me up on my own Trysting-tree, an