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

the defenders be

permitted to show themselves over the walls without being stuck

with as many shafts as there are cloves in a gammon of bacon at

Christmas.”

“Well said, stout yeoman,” answered the Black Knight; “and if I

be thought worthy to have a charge in these matters, and can find

among these brave men as many as are willing to follow a true

English knight, for so I may surely call myself, I am ready, with

such skill as my experience has taught me, to lead them to the

attack of these walls.”

The parts being thus distributed to the leaders, they commenced

the first assault, of which the reader has already heard the

issue.

When the barbican was carried, the Sable Knight sent notice of

the happy event to Locksley, requesting him at the same time, to

keep such a strict observation on the castle as might prevent the

defenders from combining their force for a sudden sally, and

recovering the outwork which they had lost. This the knight was

chiefly desirous of avoiding, conscious that the men whom he led,

being hasty and untrained volunteers, imperfectly armed and

unaccustomed to discipline, must, upon any sudden attack, fight

at great disadvantage with the veteran soldiers of the Norman

knights, who were well provided with arms both defensive and

offensive; and who, to match the zeal and high spirit of the

besiegers, had all the confidence which arises from perfect

discipline and the habitual use of weapons.

The knight employed the interval in causing to be constructed a

sort of floating bridge, or long raft, by means of which he hoped

to cross the moat in despite of the resistance of the enemy.

This was a work of some time, which the leaders the less

regretted, as it gave Ulrica leisure to execute her plan of

diversion in their favour, whatever that might be.

When the raft was completed, the Black Knight addressed the

besiegers:---“It avails not waiting here longer, my friends; the

sun is descending to the west---and I have that upon my hands

which will not permit me to tarry with you another day. Besides,

it will be a marvel if the horsemen come not upon us from York,

unless we speedily accomplish our purpose. Wherefore, one of ye

go to Locksley, and bid him commence a discharge of arrows on the

opposite side of the castle, and move forward as if about to

assault it; and you, true English hearts, stand by me, and be

ready to thrust the raft endlong over the moat whenever the

postern on our side is thrown open. Follow me boldly across, and

aid me to burst yon sallyport in the main wall of the castle. As

many of you as like not this service, or are but ill armed to

meet it, do you man the top of the outwork, draw your bow-strings

to your ears, and mind you quell with your shot whatever shall

appear to man the rampart---Noble Cedric, wilt thou take the

direction of those which remain?”

“Not so, by the soul of Hereward!” said the Saxon; “lead I

cannot; but may posterity curse me in my grave, if I follow not

with the foremost wherever thou shalt point the way---The quarrel

is mine, and well it becomes me to be in the van of the battle.”

“Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon,” said the knight, “thou hast

neither hauberk, nor corslet, nor aught but that light helmet,

target, and sword.”

“The better!” answered Cedric; “I shall be the lighter to climb

these walls. And,---forgive the boast, Sir Knight,---thou shalt

this day see the naked breast of a Saxon as boldly presented to

the battle as ever ye beheld the steel corslet of a Norman.”

“In the name of God, then,” said the knight, “fling open the

door, and launch the floating bridge.”

The portal, which led from the inner-wall of the barbican to the

moat, and which corresponded with a sallyport in the main wall of

the castle, was now suddenly opened; the temporary bridge was

then thrust forward, and soon flashed in the waters, extending

its length between the castle and outwork, and forming a slippery

and precarious passage for two men abreast to cross the moat.

Well aware of the importance of taking the foe by surprise, the

Black Knight, closely followed by Cedric, threw himself upon the

bridge, and reached the opposite side. Here he began to thunder

with his axe upon the gate of the castle, protected in part from

the shot and stones cast by the defenders by the ruins of the

former drawbridge, which the Templar had demolished in his

retreat from the barbican, leaving the counterpoise still

attached to the upper part of the portal. The followers of the

knight had no such shelter; two were instantly shot with

cross-bow bolts, and two more fell into the moat; the others

retreated back into the barbican.

The situation of Cedric and of the Black Knight was now truly

dangerous, and would have been still more so, but for the

constancy of the archers in the barbican, who ceased not to

shower their arrows upon the battlements, distracting the

attention of those by whom they were manned, and thus affording

a respite to their two chiefs from the storm of missiles which

must otherwise have overwhelmed them. But their situation was

eminently perilous, and was becoming more so with every moment.

“Shame on ye all!” cried De Bracy to the soldiers around him; “do

ye call yourselves cross-bowmen, and let these two dogs keep

their station under the walls of the castle?---Heave over the

coping stones from the battlements, an better may not be---Get

pick-axe and levers, and down with that huge pinnacle!” pointing

to a heavy piece of stone carved-work that projected from the

parapet.

At this moment the besiegers caught sight of the red flag upon

the angle of the tower which Ulrica had described to Cedric. The

stout yeoman Locksley was the first who was aware of it, as he

was hasting to the outwork, impatient to see the progress of the

assault.

“Saint George!” he cried, “Merry Saint George for England!---To

the charge, bold yeomen!---why leave ye the good knight and noble

Cedric to storm the pass alone?---make in, mad priest, show thou

canst fight for thy rosary,---make in, brave yeomen!---the castle

is ours, we have friends within---See yonder flag, it is the

appointed signal---Torquilstone is ours!---Think of honour, think

of spoil---One effort, and the place is ours!”

With that he bent his good bow, and sent a shaft right through

the breast of one of the men-at-arms, who, under De Bracy’s

direction, was loosening a fragment from one of the battlements

to precipitate on the heads of Cedric and the Black Knight. A

second soldier caught from the hands of the dying man the iron

crow, with which he heaved at and had loosened the stone

pinnacle, when, receiving an arrow through his head-piece, he

dropped from the battlements into the moat a dead man. The

men-at-arms were daunted, for no armour seemed proof against the

shot of this tremendous archer.

“Do you give ground, base knaves!” said De Bracy; “‘Mount joye

Saint Dennis!’---Give me the lever!”

And, snatching it up, he again assailed the loosened pinnacle,

which was of weight enough, if thrown down, not only to have

destroyed the remnant of the drawbridge, which sheltered the two

foremost assailants, but also to have sunk the rude float of

planks over which they had crossed. All saw the danger, and the

boldest, even the stout Friar himself, avoided setting foot on

the raft. Thrice did Locksley bend his shaft against De Bracy,

and thrice did his arrow bound back from the knight’s armour of

proof.

“Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat!” said Locksley, “had English

smith forged it, these arrows had gone through, an as if it had

been silk or sendal.” He then began to call out, “Comrades!

friends! noble Cedric! bear back, and let the ruin fall.”

His warning voice was unheard, for the din which the knight

himself occasioned by his strokes upon the postern would have

drowned twenty war-trumpets. The faithful Gurth indeed sprung

forward on the planked bridge, to warn Cedric of his impending

fate, or to share it with him. But his warning would have come

too late; the massive pinnacle already tottered, and De Bracy,

who still heaved at his task, would have accomplished it, had not

the voice of the Templar sounded close in his ears:---

“All is lost, De Bracy, the castle burns.”

“Thou art mad to say so!” replied the knight.

“It is all in a light flame on the western side. I have striven

in vain to extinguish it.”

With the stern coolness which formed the basis of his character,

Brian de Bois-Guilbert communicated this hideous intelligence,

which was not so calmly received by his astonished comrade.

“Saints of Paradise!” said De Bracy; “what is to be done? I vow

to Saint Nicholas of Limoges a candlestick of pure gold---”

“Spare thy vow,” said the Templar, “and mark me. Lead thy men

down, as if to a sally; throw the postern-gate open---There are

but two men who occupy the float, fling them into the moat, and

push across for the barbican. I will charge from the main gate,

and attack the barbican on the outside; and if we can regain that

post, be assured we shall defend ourselves until we are relieved,

or at least till they grant us fair quarter.”

“It is well thought upon,” said De Bracy; “I will play my part

---Templar, thou wilt not fail me?”

“Hand and glove, I will not!” said Bois-Guilbert. “But haste

thee, in the name of God!”

De Bracy hastily drew his men together, and rushed down to the

postern-gate, which he caused instantly to be thrown open. But

scarce was this done ere the portentous strength of the Black

Knight forced his way inward in despite of De Bracy and his

followers. Two of the foremost instantly fell, and the rest gave

way notwithstanding all their leader’s efforts to stop them.

“Dogs!” said De Bracy, “will ye let TWO men win our only pass for

safety?”

“He is the devil!” said a veteran man-at-arms, bearing back from

the blows of their sable antagonist.

“And if he be the devil,” replied De Bracy, “would you fly from

him into the mouth of hell?---the castle burns behind us,

villains!---let despair give you courage, or let me forward! I

will cope with this champion myself”

And well and chivalrous did De Bracy that day maintain the fame

he had acquired in the civil wars of that dreadful period. The

vaulted passage to which the postern gave entrance, and in which

these two redoubted champions were now fighting hand to hand,

rung with the furious blows which they dealt each other, De Bracy

with his sword, the Black Knight with his ponderous axe. At

length the Norman received a blow, which, though its force was

partly parried by his shield, for otherwise never more would De

Bracy have again moved limb, descended yet with such violence on

his crest, that he measured his length on the paved floor.

“Yield thee, De Bracy,” said the Black Champion, stooping over

him, and holding against the bars of his helmet the fatal poniard

with which the knights dispatched their enemies, (and which was

called the dagger of mercy,)---“yield thee, Maurice de Bracy,

rescue or no rescue, or thou art but a dead man.”

“I will not yield,” replied De Bracy faintly, “to an unknown

conqueror. Tell me thy name, or work thy pleasure on me---it

shall never be said that Maurice de Bracy was prisoner to a

nameless churl.”

The Black Knight whispered something into the ear of the

vanquished.

“I yield