Ivanhoe - Walter Scott (bookreader txt) 📗

the saws, and harrows, and axes of iron over the men of Rabbah, and of the cities of the children of Ammon!”

“Stand up, Isaac, and hearken to me,” said the Palmer, who viewed the extremity of his distress with a compassion in which contempt was largely mingled; “you have cause for your terror, considering how your brethren have been used, in order to extort from them their hoards, both by princes and nobles; but stand up, I say, and I will point out to you the means of escape. Leave this mansion instantly, while its inmates sleep sound after the last night’s revel. I will guide you by the secret paths of the forest, known as well to me as to any forester that ranges it, and I will not leave you till you are under safe conduct of some chief or baron going to the tournament, whose goodwill you have probably the means of securing.”

As the ears of Isaac received the hopes of escape which this speech intimated, he began gradually, and inch by inch, as it were, to raise himself up from the ground, until he fairly rested upon his knees, throwing back his long grey hair and beard, and fixing his keen black eyes upon the Palmer’s face, with a look expressive at once of hope and fear, not unmingled with suspicion. But when he heard the concluding part of the sentence, his original terror appeared to revive in full force, and he dropt once more on his face, exclaiming, “I possess the means of securing goodwill! alas! there is but one road to the favour of a Christian, and how can the poor Jew find it, whom extortions have already reduced to the misery of Lazarus?” Then, as if suspicion had overpowered his other feelings, he suddenly exclaimed, “For the love of God, young man, betray me not⁠—for the sake of the Great Father who made us all, Jew as well as Gentile, Israelite and Ishmaelite⁠—do me no treason! I have not means to secure the goodwill of a Christian beggar, were he rating it at a single penny.” As he spoke these last words, he raised himself, and grasped the Palmer’s mantle with a look of the most earnest entreaty. The pilgrim extricated himself, as if there were contamination in the touch.

“Wert thou loaded with all the wealth of thy tribe,” he said, “what interest have I to injure thee?⁠—In this dress I am vowed to poverty, nor do I change it for aught save a horse and a coat of mail. Yet think not that I care for thy company, or propose myself advantage by it; remain here if thou wilt⁠—Cedric the Saxon may protect thee.”

“Alas!” said the Jew, “he will not let me travel in his train⁠—Saxon or Norman will be equally ashamed of the poor Israelite; and to travel by myself through the domains of Philip de Malvoisin and Reginald Front-de-Boeuf⁠—Good youth, I will go with you!⁠—Let us haste⁠—let us gird up our loins⁠—let us flee!⁠—Here is thy staff, why wilt thou tarry?”

“I tarry not,” said the Pilgrim, giving way to the urgency of his companion; “but I must secure the means of leaving this place⁠—follow me.”

He led the way to the adjoining cell, which, as the reader is apprised, was occupied by Gurth the swineherd.⁠—“Arise, Gurth,” said the Pilgrim, “arise quickly. Undo the postern gate, and let out the Jew and me.”

Gurth, whose occupation, though now held so mean, gave him as much consequence in Saxon England as that of Eumaeus in Ithaca, was offended at the familiar and commanding tone assumed by the Palmer. “The Jew leaving Rotherwood,” said he, raising himself on his elbow, and looking superciliously at him without quitting his pallet, “and travelling in company with the Palmer to boot⁠—”

“I should as soon have dreamt,” said Wamba, who entered the apartment at the instant, “of his stealing away with a gammon of bacon.”

“Nevertheless,” said Gurth, again laying down his head on the wooden log which served him for a pillow, “both Jew and Gentile must be content to abide the opening of the great gate⁠—we suffer no visitors to depart by stealth at these unseasonable hours.”

“Nevertheless,” said the Pilgrim, in a commanding tone, “you will not, I think, refuse me that favour.”

So saying, he stooped over the bed of the recumbent swineherd, and whispered something in his ear in Saxon. Gurth started up as if electrified. The Pilgrim, raising his finger in an attitude as if to express caution, added, “Gurth, beware⁠—thou are wont to be prudent. I say, undo the postern⁠—thou shalt know more anon.”

With hasty alacrity Gurth obeyed him, while Wamba and the Jew followed, both wondering at the sudden change in the swineherd’s demeanour. “My mule, my mule!” said the Jew, as soon as they stood without the postern.

“Fetch him his mule,” said the Pilgrim; “and, hearest thou⁠—let me have another, that I may bear him company till he is beyond these parts⁠—I will return it safely to some of Cedric’s train at Ashby. And do thou”⁠—he whispered the rest in Gurth’s ear.

“Willingly, most willingly shall it be done,” said Gurth, and instantly departed to execute the commission.

“I wish I knew,” said Wamba, when his comrade’s back was turned, “what you Palmers learn in the Holy Land.”

“To say our orisons, fool,” answered the Pilgrim, “to repent our sins, and to mortify ourselves with fastings, vigils, and long prayers.”

“Something more potent than that,” answered the Jester; “for when would repentance or prayer make Gurth do a courtesy, or fasting or vigil persuade him to lend you a mule?⁠—I trow you might as well have told his favourite black boar of thy vigils and penance, and wouldst have gotten as civil an answer.”

“Go to,” said the Pilgrim, “thou art but a Saxon fool.”

“Thou sayst well,” said the Jester; “had I been born a Norman, as I think thou art, I would have had luck on my side, and been next