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Title: The Garotters

Author: William D. Howells

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CHAPTER I

Thus communed these;
while
to their lowly dome,
The full-fed swine return'd
with evening home;
Compell'd,
reluctant,
to the several sties,
With din obstreperous,
and ungrateful cries.

Pope's _Odyssey_.

In that pleasant district of merry England which is watered by the river Don,
there extended in ancient times a large forest,
covering the greater part of the beautiful hills and valleys which lie between Sheffield and the pleasant town of Doncaster.

The remains of this extensive wood are still
to be seen at the noble seats of Wentworth,
of Warncliffe Park,
and around Rotherham.

Here haunted of yore the fabulous Dragon of Wantley;
here were fought many of the most desperate battles during the Civil Wars of the Roses;
and here also flourished in ancient times those bands of gallant outlaws,
whose deeds have been rendered so popular in English song.

Such being our chief scene,
the date of our story refers
to a period towards the end of the reign of Richard I.,
when his return from his long captivity had become an event rather wished than hoped
for by his despairing subjects,
who were in the meantime subjected
to every species of subordinate oppression.

The nobles,
whose power had become exorbitant during the reign of Stephen,
and whom the prudence of Henry the Second had scarce reduced
to some degree of subjection
to the crown,
had now resumed their ancient license in its utmost extent;
despising the feeble interference of the English Council of State,
fortifying their castles,
increasing the number of their dependants,
reducing all around them
to a state of vassalage,
and striving by every means in their power,
to place themselves each at the head of such forces as might enable him
to make a figure in the national convulsions which appeared
to be impending.

The situation of the inferior gentry,
or Franklins,
as they were called,
who,
by the law and spirit of the English constitution,
were entitled
to hold themselves independent of feudal tyranny,
became now unusually precarious.

If,
as was most generally the case,
they placed themselves under the protection of any of the petty kings in their vicinity,
accepted of feudal offices in his household,
or bound themselves by mutual treaties of alliance and protection,
to support him in his enterprises,
they might indeed purchase temporary repose;
but it must be
with the sacrifice of that independence which was so dear
to every English bosom,
and at the certain hazard of being involved as a party in whatever rash expedition the ambition of their protector might lead him
to undertake.

On the other hand,
such and so multiplied were the means of vexation and oppression possessed by the great Barons,
that they never wanted the pretext,
and seldom the will,
to harass and pursue,
even
to the very edge of destruction,
any of their less powerful neighbours,
who attempted
to separate themselves from their authority,
and
to trust
for their protection,
during the dangers of the times,
to their own inoffensive conduct,
and
to the laws of the land.

A circumstance which greatly tended
to enhance the tyranny of the nobility,
and the sufferings of the inferior classes,
arose from the consequences of the Conquest by Duke William of Normandy.

Four generations had not sufficed
to blend the hostile blood of the Normans and Anglo-Saxons,
or
to unite,
by common language and mutual interests,
two hostile races,
one of which still felt the elation of triumph,
while the other groaned under all the consequences of defeat.

The power bad been completely placed in the hands of the Norman nobility,
by the event of the battle of Hastings,
and it had been used,
as our histories assure us,
with no moderate hand.

The whole race of Saxon princes and nobles had been extirpated or disinherited,
with few or no exceptions;
nor were the numbers great who possessed land in the country of their fathers,
even as proprietors of the second,
or of yet inferior classes.

The royal policy had long been
to weaken,
by every means,
legal or illegal,
the strength of a part of the population which was justly considered as nourishing the most inveterate antipathy
to their victor.

All the monarchs of the Norman race had shown the most marked predilection
for their Norman subjects;
the laws of the chase,
and many others equally unknown
to the milder and more free spirit of the Saxon constitution,
had been fixed upon the necks of the subjugated inhabitants,
to add weight,
as it were,
to the feudal chains
with which they were loaded.

At court,
and in the castles of the great nobles,
where the pomp and state of a court was emulated,
Norman-French was the only language employed;
in courts of law,
the pleadings and judgments were delivered in the same tongue.

In short,
French was the language of honour,
of chivalry,
and even of justice,
while the far more manly and expressive Anglo-Saxon was abandoned
to the use of rustics and hinds,
who knew no other.

Still,
however,
the necessary intercourse between the lords of the soil,
and those oppressed inferior beings by whom that soil was cultivated,
occasioned the gradual formation of a dialect,
compounded betwixt the French and the Anglo-Saxon,
in which they could render themselves mutually intelligible
to each other;
and from this necessity arose by degrees the structure of our present English language,
in which the speech of the victors and the vanquished have been so happily blended together;
and which has since been so richly improved by importations from the classical languages,
and from those spoken by the southern nations of Europe.

This state of things I have thought it necessary
to premise
for the information of the general reader,
who might be apt
to forget,
that,
although no great historical events,
such as war or insurrection,
mark the existence of the Anglo-Saxons as a separate people subsequent
to the reign of William the Second;
yet the great national distinctions betwixt them and their conquerors,
the recollection of what they had formerly been,
and
to what they were now reduced,
continued down
to the reign of Edward the Third,
to keep open the wounds which the Conquest had inflicted,
and
to maintain a line of separation betwixt the descendants of the victor Normans and the vanquished Saxons.

-- The sun was setting upon one of the rich grassy glades of that forest,
which we have mentioned in the beginning of the chapter.

Hundreds of broad-headed,
short-stemmed,
wide-branched oaks,
which had witnessed perhaps the stately march of the Roman soldiery,
flung their gnarled arms over a thick carpet of the most delicious green sward;
in some places they were intermingled
with beeches,
hollies,
and copsewood of various descriptions,
so closely as totally
to intercept the level beams of the sinking sun;
in others they receded from each other,
forming those long sweeping vistas,
in the intricacy of which the eye delights
to lose itself,
while imagination considers them as the paths
to yet wilder scenes of silvan solitude.

Here the red rays of the sun shot a broken and discoloured light,
that partially hung upon the shattered boughs and mossy trunks of the trees,
and there they illuminated in brilliant patches the portions of turf
to which they made their way.

A considerable open space,
in the midst of this glade,
seemed formerly
to have been dedicated
to the rites of Druidical superstition;
for,
on the summit of a hillock,
so regular as
to seem artificial,
there still remained part of a circle of rough unhewn stones,
of large dimensions.

Seven stood upright;
the rest had been dislodged from their places,
probably by the zeal of some convert
to Christianity,
and lay,
some prostrate near their former site,
and others on the side of the hill.

One large stone only had found its way
to the bottom,
and in stopping the course of a small brook,
which glided smoothly round the foot of the eminence,
gave,
by its opposition,
a feeble voice of murmur
to the placid and elsewhere silent streamlet.

The human figures which completed this landscape,
were in number two,
partaking,
in their dress and appearance,
of that wild and rustic character,
which belonged
to the woodlands of the West-Riding of Yorkshire at that early period.

The eldest of these men had a stern,
savage,
and wild aspect.

His garment was of the simplest form imaginable,
being a close jacket
with sleeves,
composed of the tanned skin of some animal,
on which the hair had been originally left,
but which had been worn of in so many places,
that it would have been difficult
to distinguish from the patches that remained,
to what creature the fur had belonged.

This primeval vestment reached from the throat
to the knees,
and served at once all the usual purposes of body-clothing;
there was no wider opening at the collar,
than was necessary
to admit the passage of the head,
from which it may be inferred,
that it was put on by slipping it over the head and shoulders,
in the manner of a modern shirt,
or ancient hauberk.

Sandals,
bound
with thongs made of boars'
hide,
protected the feet,
and a roll of thin leather was twined artificially round the legs,
and,
ascending above the calf,
left the knees bare,
like those of a Scottish Highlander.

To make the jacket sit yet more close
to the body,
it was gathered at the middle by a broad leathern belt,
secured by a brass buckle;
to one side of which was attached a sort of scrip,
and
to the other a ram's horn,
accoutred
with a mouthpiece,
for the purpose of blowing.

In the same belt was stuck one of those long,
broad,
sharp-pointed,
and two-edged knives,
with a buck's-horn handle,
which were fabricated in the neighbourhood,
and bore even at this early period the name of a Sheffield whittle.

The man had no covering upon his head,
which was only defended by his own thick hair,
matted and twisted together,
and scorched by the influence of the sun into a rusty dark-red colour,
forming a contrast
with the overgrown beard upon his cheeks,
which was rather of a yellow or amber hue.

One part of his dress only remains,
but it is too remarkable
to be suppressed;
it was a brass ring,
resembling a dog's collar,
but without any opening,
and soldered fast round his neck,
so loose as
to form no impediment
to his breathing,
yet so tight as
to be incapable of being removed,
excepting by the use of the file.

On this singular gorget was engraved,
in Saxon characters,
an inscription of the following purport:---``Gurth,
the son of Beowulph,
is the born thrall of Cedric of Rotherwood.'

'
Beside the swine-herd,
for such was Gurth's occupation,
was seated,
upon one of the fallen Druidical monuments,
a person about ten years younger in appearance,
and whose dress,
though resembling his companion's in form,
was of better materials,
and of a more fantastic appearance.

His jacket had been stained of a bright purple hue,
upon which there had been some attempt
to paint grotesque ornaments in different colours.

To the jacket he added a short cloak,
which scarcely reached half way down his thigh;
it was of crimson cloth,
though a good deal soiled,
lined
with bright yellow;
and as he could transfer it from one shoulder
to the other,
or at his pleasure draw it all around him,
its width,
contrasted
with its want of longitude,
formed a fantastic piece of drapery.

He had thin silver bracelets upon his arms,
and on his neck a collar of the same metal bearing the inscription,
``Wamba,
the son of Witless,
is the thrall of Cedric of Rotherwood.'

'
This personage had the same sort of sandals
with his companion,
but instead of the roll of leather thong,
his legs were cased in a sort of gaiters,
of which one was red and the other yellow.

He was provided also
with a cap,
having around it more than one bell,
about the size of those attached
to hawks,
which jingled as he turned his head
to one side or other;
and as he seldom remained a minute in the same posture,
the sound might be considered as incessant.

Around the edge of this cap was a stiff bandeau of leather,
cut at the top into open work,
resembling a coronet,
while a prolonged bag arose from within it,
and fell down on one shoulder like an old-fashioned nightcap,
or a jelly-bag,
or the head-gear of a modern hussar.

It was
to this part of the cap that the bells were attached;
which circumstance,
as well as the shape of his head-dress,
and his own half-crazed,
half-cunning expression of countenance,
sufficiently pointed him out as belonging
to the race of domestic clowns or jesters,
maintained in the houses of the wealthy,
to help away the tedium of those lingering hours which they were obliged
to spend within doors.

He bore,
like his companion,
a scrip,
attached
to his belt,
but had neither horn nor knife,
being probably considered as belonging
to a class whom it is esteemed dangerous
to intrust
with edge-tools.

In place of these,
he was equipped
with a sword of lath,
resembling that
with which Harlequin operates his wonders upon the modern stage.

The outward appearance of these two men formed scarce a stronger contrast than their look and demeanour.

That of the serf,
or bondsman,
was sad and sullen;
his aspect was bent on the ground
with an appearance of deep dejection,
which might be almost construed into apathy,
had not the fire which occasionally sparkled in his red eye manifested that there slumbered,
under the appearance of sullen despondency,
a sense of oppression,
and a disposition
to resistance.

The looks of Wamba,
on the other hand,
indicated,
as usual
with his class,
a sort of vacant curiosity,
and fidgetty impatience of any posture of repose,
together
with the utmost self-satisfaction respecting his own situation,
and the appearance which he made.

The dialogue which they maintained between them,
was carried on in Anglo-Saxon,
which,
as we said before,
was universally spoken by the inferior classes,
excepting the Norman soldiers,
and the immediate personal dependants of the great feudal nobles.

But
to give their conversation in the original would convey but little information
to the modern reader,
for whose benefit we beg
to offer the following translation:

``The curse of St Withold upon these infernal porkers!'
'
said the swine-herd,
after blowing his horn obstreperously,
to collect together the scattered herd of swine,
which,
answering his call
with notes equally melodious,
made,
however,
no haste
to remove themselves from the luxurious banquet of beech-mast and acorns on which they had fattened,
or
to forsake the marshy banks of the rivulet,
where several of them,
half plunged in mud,
lay stretched at their ease,
altogether regardless of the voice of their keeper.

``The curse of St Withold upon them and upon me!'
'
said Gurth;
``if the two-legged wolf snap not up some of them ere nightfall,
I am no true man.

Here,
Fangs! Fangs!'
'
he ejaculated at the top of his voice
to a ragged wolfish-looking dog,
a sort of lurcher,
half mastiff,
half greyhound,
which ran limping about as if
with the purpose of seconding his master in collecting the refractory grunters;
but which,
in fact,
from misapprehension of the swine-herd's signals,
ignorance of his own duty,
or malice prepense,
only drove them hither and thither,
and increased the evil which he seemed
to design
to remedy.

``A devil draw the teeth of him,''
said Gurth,
``and the mother of mischief confound the Ranger of the forest,
that cuts the foreclaws off our dogs,
and makes them unfit
for their trade!* Wamba,
up and help me an thou * Note A.

The Ranger of the Forest,
that cuts the fore-claws * off our dogs.

beest a man;
take a turn round the back o'
the hill
to gain the wind on them;
and when thous't got the weather-gage,
thou mayst drive them before thee as gently as so many innocent lambs.'

'
``Truly,''
said Wamba,
without stirring from the spot,
``I have consulted my legs upon this matter,
and they are altogether of opinion,
that
to carry my gay garments through these sloughs,
would be an act of unfriendship
to my sovereign person and royal wardrobe;
wherefore,
Gurth,
I advise thee
to call off Fangs,
and leave the herd
to their destiny,
which,
whether they meet
with bands of travelling soldiers,
or of outlaws,
or of wandering pilgrims,
can be little else than
to be converted into Normans before morning,
to thy no small ease and comfort.'

'
``The swine turned Normans
to my comfort!'
'
quoth Gurth;
``expound that
to me,
Wamba,
for my brain is too dull,
and my mind too vexed,
to read riddles.'

'
``Why,
how call you those grunting brutes running about on their four legs?'
'
demanded Wamba.

``Swine,
fool,
swine,''
said the herd,
``every fool knows that.'

'
``And swine is good Saxon,''
said the Jester;
``but how call you the sow when she is flayed,
and drawn,
and quartered,
and hung up by the heels,
like a traitor?'
'
``Pork,''
answered the swine-herd.

``I am very glad every fool knows that too,''
said Wamba,
``and pork,
I think,
is good Norman-French;
and so when the brute lives,
and is in the charge of a Saxon slave,
she goes by her Saxon name;
but becomes a Norman,
and is called pork,
when she is carried
to the Castle-hall
to feast among the nobles what dost thou think of this,
friend Gurth,
ha?'
'
``It is but too true doctrine,
friend Wamba,
however it got into thy fool's pate.'

'
``Nay,
I can tell you more,''
said Wamba,
in the same tone;
``there is old Alderman Ox continues
to hold his Saxon epithet,
while he is under the charge of serfs and bondsmen such as thou,
but becomes Beef,
a fiery French gallant,
when he arrives before the worshipful jaws that are destined
to consume him.

Mynheer Calf,
too,
becomes Monsieur de Veau in the like manner;
he is Saxon when he requires tendance,
and takes a Norman name when he becomes matter of enjoyment.'

'
``By St Dunstan,''
answered Gurth,
``thou speakest but sad truths;
little is left
to us but the air we breathe,
and that appears
to have been reserved
with much hesitation,
solely
for the purpose of enabling us
to endure the tasks they lay upon our shoulders.

The finest and the fattest is
for their board;
the loveliest is
for their couch;
the best and bravest supply their foreign masters
with soldiers,
and whiten distant lands
with their bones,
leaving few here who have either will or the power
to protect the unfortunate Saxon.

God's blessing on our master Cedric,
he hath done the work of a man in standing in the gap;
but Reginald Front-de-Buf is coming down
to this country in person,
and we shall soon see how little Cedric's trouble will avail him.---Here,
here,''
he exclaimed again,
raising his voice,
``So ho! so ho! well done,
Fangs! thou hast them all before thee now,
and bring'st them on bravely,
lad.'

'
``Gurth,''
said the Jester,
``I know thou thinkest me a fool,
or thou wouldst not be so rash in putting thy head into my mouth.

One word
to Reginald Front-de-Buf,
or Philip de Malvoisin,
that thou hast spoken treason against the Norman,
---and thou art but a cast-away swineherd,---thou wouldst waver on one of these trees as a terror
to all evil speakers against dignities.'

'
``Dog,
thou wouldst not betray me,''
said Gurth,
``after having led me on
to speak so much at disadvantage?'
'
``Betray thee!'
'
answered the Jester;
``no,
that were the trick of a wise man;
a fool cannot half so well help himself---but soft,
whom have we here?'
'
he said,
listening
to the trampling of several horses which became then audible.

``Never mind whom,''
answered Gurth,
who had now got his herd before him,
and,
with the aid of Fangs,
was driving them down one of the long dim vistas which we have endeavoured
to describe.

``Nay,
but I must see the riders,''
answered Wamba;
``perhaps they are come from Fairy-land
with a message from King Oberon.'

'
``A murrain take thee,''
rejoined the swine-herd;
``wilt thou talk of such things,
while a terrible storm of thunder and lightning is raging within a few miles of us?

Hark,
how the thunder rumbles! and
for summer rain,
I never saw such broad downright flat drops fall out of the clouds;
the oaks,
too,
notwithstanding the calm weather,
sob and creak
with their great boughs as if announcing a tempest.

Thou canst play the rational if thou wilt;
credit me
for once,
and let us home ere the storm begins
to rage,
for the night will be fearful.'

'
Wamba seemed
to feel the force of this appeal,
and accompanied his companion,
who began his journey after catching up a long quarter-staff which lay upon the grass beside him.

This second Eumus strode hastily down the forest glade,
driving before him,
with the assistance of Fangs,
the whole herd of his inharmonious charge.

CHAPTER II A Monk there was,
a fayre
for the maistrie,
An outrider that loved venerie;
A manly man,
to be an Abbot able,
Full many a daintie horse had he in stable:

And whan he rode,
men might his bridle hear Gingeling in a whistling wind as clear,
And eke as loud,
as doth the chapell bell,
There as this lord was keeper of the cell.

Chaucer.

Notwithstanding the occasional exhortation and chiding of his companion,
the noise of the horsemen's feet continuing
to approach,
Wamba could not be prevented from lingering occasionally on the road,
upon every pretence which occurred;
now catching from the hazel a cluster of half-ripe nuts,
and now turning his head
to leer after a cottage maiden who crossed their path.

The horsemen,
therefore,
soon overtook them on the road.

Their numbers amounted
to ten men,
of whom the two who rode foremost seemed
to be persons of considerable importance,
and the others their attendants.

It was not difficult
to ascertain the condition and character of one of these personages.

He was obviously an ecclesiastic of high rank;
his dress was that of a Cistercian Monk,
but composed of materials much finer than those which the rule of that order admitted.

His mantle and hood were of the best Flanders cloth,
and fell in ample,
and not ungraceful folds,
around a handsome,
though somewhat corpulent person.

His countenance bore as little the marks of self-denial,
as his habit indicated contempt of worldly splendour.

His features might have been called good,
had there not lurked under the pent-house of his eye,
that sly epicurean twinkle which indicates the cautious voluptuary.

In other respects,
his profession and situation had taught him a ready command over his countenance,
which he could contract at pleasure into solemnity,
although its natural expression was that of good-humoured social indulgence.

In defiance of conventual rules,
and the edicts of popes and councils,
the sleeves of this dignitary were lined and turned up
with rich furs,
his mantle secured at the throat
with a golden clasp,
and the whole dress proper
to his order as much refined upon and ornamented,
as that of a quaker beauty of the present day,
who,
while she retains the garb and costume of her sect continues
to give
to its simplicity,
by the choice of materials and the mode of disposing them,
a certain air of coquettish attraction,
savouring but too much of the vanities of the world.

This worthy churchman rode upon a well-fed ambling mule,
whose furniture was highly decorated,
and whose bridle,
according
to the fashion of the day,
was ornamented
with silver bells.

In his seat he had nothing of the awkwardness of the convent,
but displayed the easy and habitual grace of a well-trained horseman.

Indeed,
it seemed that so humble a conveyance as a mule,
in however good case,
and however well broken
to a pleasant and accommodating amble,
was only used by the gallant monk
for travelling on the road.

A lay brother,
one of those who followed in the train,
had,
for his use on other occasions,
one of the most handsome Spanish jennets ever bred at Andalusia,
which merchants used at that time
to import,
with great trouble and risk,
for the use of persons of wealth and distinction.

The saddle and housings of this superb palfrey were covered by a long foot-cloth,
which reached nearly
to the ground,
and on which were richly embroidered,
mitres,
crosses,
and other ecclesiastical embleMs. Another lay brother led a sumpter mule,
loaded probably
with his superior's baggage;
and two monks of his own order,
of inferior station,
rode together in the rear,
laughing and conversing
with each other,
without taking much notice of the other members of the cavalcade.

The companion of the church dignitary was a man past forty,
thin,
strong,
tall,
and muscular;
an athletic figure,
which long fatigue and constant exercise seemed
to have left none of the softer part of the human form,
having reduced the whole
to brawn,
bones,
and sinews,
which had sustained a thousand toils,
and were ready
to dare a thousand more.

His head was covered
with a scarlet cap,
faced
with fur---of that kind which the French call _mortier_,
from its resemblance
to the shape of an inverted mortar.

His countenance was therefore fully displayed,
and its expression was calculated
to impress a degree of awe,
if not of fear,
upon strangers.

High features,
naturally strong and powerfully expressive,
had been burnt almost into Negro blackness by constant exposure
to the tropical sun,
and might,
in their ordinary state,
be said
to slumber after the storm of passion had passed away;
but the projection of the veins of the forehead,
the readiness
with which the upper lip and its thick black moustaches quivered upon the slightest emotion,
plainly intimated that the tempest might be again and easily awakened.

His keen,
piercing,
dark eyes,
told in every glance a history of difficulties subdued,
and dangers dared,
and seemed
to challenge opposition
to his wishes,
for the pleasure of sweeping it from his road by a determined exertion of courage and of will;
a deep scar on his brow gave additional sternness
to his countenance,
and a sinister expression
to one of his eyes,
which had been slightly injured on the same occasion,
and of which the vision,
though perfect,
was in a slight and partial degree distorted.

The upper dress of this personage resembled that of his companion in shape,
being a long monastic mantle;
but the colour,
being scarlet,
showed that he did not belong
to any of the four regular orders of monks.

On the right shoulder of the mantle there was cut,
in white cloth,
a cross of a peculiar form.

This upper robe concealed what at first view seemed rather inconsistent
with its form,
a shirt,
namely,
of linked mail,
with sleeves and gloves of the same,
curiously plaited and interwoven,
as flexible
to the body as those which are now wrought in the stocking-loom,
out of less obdurate materials.

The fore-part of his thighs,
where the folds of his mantle permitted them
to be seen,
were also covered
with linked mail;
the knees and feet were defended by splints,
or thin plates of steel,
ingeniously jointed upon each other;
and mail hose,
reaching from the ankle
to the knee,
effectually protected the legs,
and completed the rider's defensive armour.

In his girdle he wore a long and double-edged dagger,
which was the only offensive weapon about his person.

He rode,
not a mule,
like his companion,
but a strong hackney
for the road,
to save his gallant war-horse,
which a squire led behind,
fully accoutred
for battle,
with a chamfrom or plaited head-piece upon his bead,
having a short spike projecting from the front.

On one side of the saddle hung a short battle-axe,
richly inlaid
with Damascene carving;
on the other the rider's plumed head-piece and hood of mail,
with a long two-handed sword,
used by the chivalry of the period.

A second squire held aloft his master's lance,
from the extremity of which fluttered a small banderole,
or streamer,
bearing a cross of the same form
with that embroidered upon his cloak.

He also carried his small triangular shield,
broad enough at the top
to protect the breast,
and from thence diminishing
to a point.

It was covered
with a scarlet cloth,
which prevented the device from being seen.

These two squires were followed by two attendants,
whose dark visages,
white turbans,
and the Oriental form of their garments,
showed them
to be natives of some distant Eastern country.* * Note B.

Negro Slaves.

The whole appearance of this warrior and his retinue was wild and outlandish;
the dress of his squires was gorgeous,
and his Eastern attendants wore silver collars round their throats,
and bracelets of the same metal upon their swarthy arms and legs,
of which the former were naked from the elbow,
and the latter from mid-leg
to ankle.

Silk and embroidery distinguished their dresses,
and marked the wealth and importance of their master;
forming,
at the same time,
a striking contrast
with the martial simplicity of his own attire.

They were armed
with crooked sabres,
having the hilt and baldric inlaid
with gold,
and matched
with Turkish daggers of yet more costly workmanship.

Each of them bore at his saddle-bow a bundle of darts or javelins,
about four feet in length,
having sharp steel heads,
a weapon much in use among the Saracens,
and of which the memory is yet preserved in the martial exercise called _El Jerrid_,
still practised in the Eastern countries.

The steeds of these attendants were in appearance as foreign as their riders.

They were of Saracen origin,
and consequently of Arabian descent;
and their fine slender limbs,
small fetlocks,
thin manes,
and easy springy motion,
formed a marked contrast
with the large-jointed heavy horsastic vows.

Yet so loose were the ideas of the times respecting the conduct of the clergy,
whether secular or regular,
that the Prior Aymer maintained a fair character in the neighbourhood of his abbey.

His free and jovial temper,
and the readiness
with which he granted absolution from all ordinary delinquencies,
rendered him a favourite among the nobility and principal gentry,
to several of whom he was allied by birth,
being of a distinguished Norman family.

The ladies,
in particular,
were not disposed
to scan too nicely the morals of a man who was a professed admirer of their sex,
and who possessed many means of dispelling the ennui which was too apt
to intrude upon the halls and bowers of an ancient feudal castle.

The Prior mingled in the sports of the field
with more than due eagerness,
and was allowed
to possess the best-trained hawks,
and the fleetest greyhounds in the North Riding;
circumstances which strongly recommended him
to the youthful gentry.

With the old,
be had another part
to play,
which,
when needful,
he could sustain
with great decorum.

His knowledge of books,
however superficial,
was sufficient
to impress upon their ignorance respect
for his supposed learning;
and the gravity of his deportment and language,
with the high tone which he exerted in setting forth the authority of the church and of the priesthood,
impressed them no less
with an opinion of his sanctity.

Even the common people,
the severest critics of the conduct of their betters,
had commiseration
with the follies of Prior Aymer.

He was generous;
and charity,
as it is well known,
covereth a multitude of sins,
in another sense than that in which it is said
to do so in Scripture.

The revenues of the monastery,
of which a large part was at his disposal,
while they gave him the means of supplying his own very considerable expenses,
afforded also those largesses which he bestowed among the peasantry,
and
with which he frequently relieved the distresses of the oppressed.

If Prior Aymer rode hard in the chase,
or remained long at the banquet,---if Prior Aymer was seen,
at the early peep of dawn,
to enter the postern of the abbey,
as he glided home from some rendezvous which had occupied the hours of darkness,
men only shrugged up their shoulders,
and reconciled themselves
to his irregularities,
by recollecting that the same were practised by many of his brethren who had no redeeming qualities whatsoever
to atone
for them.

Prior Aymer,
therefore,
and his character,
were well known
to our Saxon serfs,
who made their rude obeisance,
and received his ``_benedicite,
mes filz_,"
in return.

But the singular appearance of his companion and his attendants,
arrested their attention and excited their wonder,
and they could scarcely attend
to the Prior of Jorvaulx'
question,
when he demanded if they knew of any place of harbourage in the vicinity;
so much were they surprised at the half monastic,
half military appearance of the swarthy stranger,
and at the uncouth dress and arms of his Eastern attendants.

It is probable,
too,
that the language in which the benediction was conferred,
and the information asked,
sounded ungracious,
though not probably unintelligible,
in the ears of the Saxon peasants.

``I asked you,
my children,''
said the Prior,
raising his voice,
and using the lingua Franca,
or mixed language,
in which the Norman and Saxon races conversed
with each other,
``if there be in this neighbourhood any good man,
who,
for the love of God,
and devotion
to Mother Church,
will give two of her humblest servants,
with their train,
a night's hospitality and refreshment?'
'
This he spoke
with a tone of conscious importance,
which formed a strong contrast
to the modest terms which he thought it proper
to employ.

``Two of the humblest servants of Mother Church!'
'
repeated Wamba
to himself,---but,
fool as he was,
taking care not
to make his observation audible;
``I should like
to see her seneschals,
her chief butlers,
and other principal domestics!'
'
After this internal commentary on the Prior's speech,
he raised his eyes,
and replied
to the question which had been put.

``If the reverend fathers,''
he said,
``loved good cheer and soft lodging,
few miles of riding would carry them
to the Priory of Brinxworth,
where their quality could not but secure them the most honourable reception;
or if they preferred spending a penitential evening,
they might turn down yonder wild glade,
which would bring them
to the hermitage of Copmanhurst,
where a pious anchoret would make them sharers
for the night of the shelter of his roof and the benefit of his prayers.'

'
The Prior shook his head at both proposals.

``Mine honest friend,''
said he,
``if the jangling of thy bells bad not dizzied thine understanding,
thou mightst know _Clericus clericum non decimat_;
that is
to say,
we churchmen do not exhaust each other's hospitality,
but rather require that of the laity,
giving them thus an opportunity
to serve God in honouring and relieving his appointed servants.'

'
``It is true,''
replied Wamba,
``that I,
being but an ass,
am,
nevertheless,
honoured
to hear the bells as well as your reverence's mule;
notwithstanding,
I did conceive that the charity of Mother Church and her servants might be said,
with other charity,
to begin at home.'

'
``A truce
to thine insolence,
fellow,''
said the armed rider,
breaking in on his prattle
with a high and stern voice,
``and tell us,
if thou canst,
the road to---How call'd you your Franklin,
Prior Aymer?'
'
``Cedric,''
answered the Prior;
``Cedric the Saxon.

---Tell me,
good fellow,
are we near his dwelling,
and can you show us the road?'
'
``The road will be uneasy
to find,''
answered Gurth,
who broke silence
for the first time,
``and the family of Cedric retire early
to rest.'

'
``Tush,
tell not me,
fellow,''
said the military rider;
``'tis easy
for them
to arise and supply the wants of travellers such as we are,
who will not stoop
to beg the hospitality which we have a right
to command.'

'
``I know not,''
said Gurth,
sullenly,
``if I should show the way
to my master's house,
to those who demand as a right,
the shelter which most are fain
to ask as a favour.'

'
``Do you dispute
with me,
slave!'
'
said the soldier;
and,
setting spurs
to his horse,
he caused him make a demivolte across the path,
raising at the same time the riding rod which he held in his hand,
with a purpose of chastising what he considered as the insolence of the peasant.

Gurth darted at him a savage and revengeful scowl,
and
with a fierce,
yet hesitating motion,
laid his hand on the haft of his knife;
but the interference of Prior Aymer,
who pushed his mule betwixt his companion and the swineherd,
prevented the meditated violence.

``Nay,
by St Mary,
brother Brian,
you must not think you are now in Palestine,
predominating over heathen Turks and infidel Saracens;
we islanders love not blows,
save those of holy Church,
who chasteneth whom she loveth.---Tell me,
good fellow,''
said he
to Wamba,
and seconded his speech by a small piece of silver coin,
``the way
to Cedric the Saxon's;
you cannot be ignorant of it,
and it is your duty
to direct the wanderer even when his character is less sanctified than ours.'

'
``In truth,
venerable father,''
answered the Jester,
``the Saracen head of your right reverend companion has frightened out of mine the way home---I am not sure I shall get there to-night myself.'

'
``Tush,''
said the Abbot,
``thou canst tell us if thou wilt.

This reverend brother has been all his life engaged in fighting among the Saracens
for the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre;
he is of the order of Knights Templars,
whom you may have heard of;
he is half a monk,
half a soldier.'

'
``If he is but half a monk,''
said the Jester,
``he should not be wholly unreasonable
with those whom he meets upon the road,
even if they should be in no hurry
to answer questions that no way concern them.'

'
``I forgive thy wit,''
replied the Abbot,
``on condition thou wilt show me the way
to Cedric's mansion.'

'
``Well,
then,''
answered Wamba,
``your reverences must hold on this path till you come
to a sunken cross,
of which scarce a cubit's length remains above ground;
then take the path
to the left,
for there are four which meet at Sunken Cross,
and I trust your reverences will obtain shelter before the storm comes on.'

'
The Abbot thanked his sage adviser;
and the cavalcade,
setting spurs
to their horses,
rode on as men do who wish
to reach their inn before the bursting of a night-storm.

As their horses'
hoofs died away,
Gurth said
to his companion,
``If they follow thy wise direction,
the reverend fathers will hardly reach Rotherwood this night.'

'
``No,''
said the Jester,
grinning,
``but they may reach Sheffield if they have good luck,
and that is as fit a place
for them.

I am not so bad a woodsman as
to show the dog where the deer lies,
if I have no mind he should chase him.'

'
``Thou art right,''
said Gurth;
``it were ill that Aymer saw the Lady Rowena;
and it were worse,
it may be,
for Cedric
to quarrel,
as is most likely he would,
with this military monk.

But,
like good servants let us hear and see,
and say nothing.'

'
We return
to the riders,
who had soon left the bondsmen far behind them,
and who maintained the following conversation in the Norman-French language,
usually employed by the superior classes,
with the exception of the few who were still inclined
to boast their Saxon descent.

``What mean these fellows by their capricious insolence?'
'
said the Templar
to the Benedictine,
``and why did you prevent me from chastising it?'
'
``Marry,
brother Brian,''
replied the Prior,
``touching the one of them,
it were hard
for me
to render a reason
for a fool speaking according
to his folly;
and the other churl is of that savage,
fierce,
intractable race,
some of whom,
as I have often told you,
are still
to be found among the descendants of the conquered Saxons,
and whose supreme pleasure it is
to testify,
by all means in their power,
their aversion
to their conquerors.'

'
``I would soon have beat him into courtesy,''
observed Brian;
``I am accustomed
to deal
with such spirits:

Our Turkish you shall soon be judge;
and if the purity of her complexion,
and the majestic,
yet soft expression of a mild blue eye,
do not chase from your memory the black-tressed girls of Palestine,
ay,
or the houris of old Mahound's paradise,
I am an infidel,
and no true son of the church.'

'
``Should your boasted beauty,''
said the Templar,
``be weighed in the balance and found wanting,
you know our wager?'
'
``My gold collar,''
answered the Prior,
``against ten buts of Chian wine;---they are mine as securely as if they were already in the convent vaults,
under the key of old Dennis the cellarer.'

'
``And I am myself
to be judge,''
said the Templar,
``and am only
to be convicted on my own admission,
that I have seen no maiden so beautiful since Pentecost was a twelvemonth.

Ran it not so?---Prior,
your collar is in danger;
I will wear it over my gorget in the lists of Ashby-de-la-Zouche.'

'
``Win it fairly,''
said the Prior,
``and wear it as ye will;
I will trust your giving true response,
on your word as a knight and as a churchman.

Yet,
brother,
take my advice,
and file your tongue
to a little more courtesy than your habits of predominating over infidel captives and Eastern bondsmen have accustomed you.

Cedric the Saxon,
if offended,---and he is noway slack in taking offence,
---is a man who,
without respect
to your knighthood,
my high office,
or the sanctity of either,
would clear his house of us,
and send us
to lodge
with the larks,
though the hour were midnight.

And be careful how you look on Rowena,
whom he cherishes
with the most jealous care;
an he take the least alarm in that quarter we are but lost men.

It is said he banished his only son from his family
for lifting his eyes in the way of affection towards this beauty,
who may be worshipped,
it seems,
at a distance,
but is not
to be approached
with other thoughts than such as we bring
to the shrine of the Blessed Virgin.'

'
``Well,
you have said enough,''
answered the Templar;
``I will
for a night put on the needful restraint,
and deport me as meekly as a maiden;
but as
for the fear of his expelling us by violence,
myself and squires,
with Hamet and Abdalla,
will warrant you against that disgrace.

Doubt not that we shall be strong enough
to make good our quarters.'

'
``We must not let it come so far,''
answered the Prior;
``but here is the clown's sunken cross,
and the night is so dark that we can hardly see which of the roads we are
to follow.

He bid us turn,
I think
to the left.'

'
``To the right,''
said Brian,
``to the best of my remembrance.'

'
``To the left,
certainly,
the left;
I remember his pointing
with his wooden sword.'

'
``Ay,
but he held his sword in his left hand,
and so pointed across his body
with it,''
said the Templar.

Each maintained his opinion
with sufficient obstinacy,
as is usual in all such cases;
the attendants were appealed to,
but they had not been near enough
to hear Wamba's directions.

At length Brian remarked,
what had at first escaped him in the twilight;
``Here is some one either asleep,
or lying dead at the foot of this cross---Hugo,
stir him
with the but-end of thy lance.'

'
This was no sooner done than the figure arose,
exclaiming in good French,
``Whosoever thou art,
it is discourteous in you
to disturb my thoughts.'

'
``We did but wish
to ask you,''
said the Prior,
``the road
to Rotherwood,
the abode of Cedric the Saxon.'

'
``I myself am bound thither,''
replied the stranger;
``and if I had a horse,
I would be your guide,
for the way is somewhat intricate,
though perfectly well known
to me.'

'
``Thou shalt have both thanks and reward,
my friend,''
said the Prior,
``if thou wilt bring us
to Cedric's in safety.'

'
And he caused one of his attendants
to mount his own led horse,
and give that upon which he had hitherto ridden
to the stranger,
who was
to serve
for a guide.

Their conductor pursued an opposite road from that which Wamba had recommended,
for the purpose of misleading them.

The path soon led deeper into the woodland,
and crossed more than one brook,
the approach
to which was rendered perilous by the marshes through which it flowed;
but the stranger seemed
to know,
as if by instinct,
the soundest ground and the safest points of passage;
and by dint of caution and attention,
brought the party safely into a wilder avenue than any they had yet seen;
and,
pointing
to a large low irregular building at the upper extremity,
he said
to the Prior,
``Yonder is Rotherwood,
the dwelling of Cedric the Saxon.'

'
This was a joyful intimation
to Aymer,
whose nerves were none of the strongest,
and who had suffered such agitation and alarm in the course of passing through the dangerous bogs,
that he had not yet had the curiosity
to ask his guide a single question.

Finding himself now at his ease and near shelter,
his curiosity began
to awake,
and he demanded of the guide who and what he was.

``A Palmer,
just returned from the Holy Land,''
was the answer.

``You had better have tarried there
to fight
for the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre,''
said the Templar.

``True,
Reverend Sir Knight,''
answered the Palmer,
to whom the appearance of the Templar seemed perfectly familiar;
``but when those who are under oath
to recover the holy city,
are found travelling at such a distance from the scene of their duties,
can you wonder that a peaceful peasant like me should decline the task which they have abandoned?'
'
The Templar would have made an angry reply,
but was interrupted by the Prior,
who again expressed his astonishment,
that their guide,
after such long absence,
should be so perfectly acquainted
with the passes of the forest.

``I was born a native of these parts,''
answered their guide,
and as he made the reply they stood before the mansion of Cedric;---a low irregular building,
containing several court-yards or enclosures,
extending over a considerable space of ground,
and which,
though its size argued the inhabitant
to be a person of wealth,
differed entirely from the tall,
turretted,
and castellated buildings in which the Norman nobility resided,
and which had become the universal style of architecture throughout England.

Rotherwood was not,
however,
without defences;
no habitation,
in that disturbed period,
could have been so,
without the risk of being plundered and burnt before the next morning.

A deep fosse,
or ditch,
was drawn round the whole building,
and filled
with water from a neighbouring stream.

A double stockade,
or palisade,
composed of pointed beams,
which the adjacent forest supplied,
defended the outer and inner bank of the trench.

There was an entrance from the west through the outer stockade,
which communicated by a drawbridge,
with a similar opening in the interior defences.

Some precautions had been taken
to place those entrances under the protection of projecting angles,
by which they might be flanked in case of need by archers or slingers.

Before this entrance the Templar wound his horn loudly;
for the rain,
which had long threatened,
began now
to descend
with great violence.

CHAPTER III Then
(sad relief!)
from the bleak coast that hears The German Ocean roar,
deep-blooming,
strong,
And yellow hair'd,
the blue-eyed Saxon came.

Thomson's _Liberty_.

In a hall,
the height of which was greatly disproportioned
to its extreme length and width,
a long oaken table,
formed of planks rough-hewn from the forest,
and which had scarcely received any polish,
stood ready prepared
for the evening meal of Cedric the Saxon.

The roof,
composed of beams and rafters,
had nothing
to divide the apartment from the sky excepting the planking and thatch;
there was a huge fireplace at either end of the hall,
but as the chimneys were constructed in a very clumsy manner,
at least as much of the smoke found its way into the apartment as escaped by the proper vent.

The constant vapour which this occasioned,
had polished the rafters and beams of the low-browed hall,
by encrusting them
with a black varnish of soot.

On the sides of the apartment hung implements of war and of the chase,
and there were at each corner folding doors,
which gave access
to other parts of the extensive building.

The other appointments of the mansion partook of the rude simplicity of the Saxon period,
which Cedric piqued himself upon maintaining.

The floor was composed of earth mixed
with lime,
trodden into a hard substance,
such as is often employed in flooring our modern barns.

For about one quarter of the length of the apartment,
the floor was raised by a step,
and this space,
which was called the dais,
was occupied only by the principal members of the family,
and visitors of distinction.

For this purpose,
a table richly covered
with scarlet cloth was placed transversely across the platform,
from the middle of which ran the longer and lower board,
at which the domestics and inferior persons fed,
down towards the bottom of the hall.

The whole resembled the form of the letter T,
or some of those ancient dinner-tables,
which,
arranged on the same principles,
may be still seen in the antique Colleges of Oxford or Cambridge.

Massive chairs and settles of carved oak were placed upon the dais,
and over these seats and the more elevated table was fastened a canopy of cloth,
which served in some degree
to protect the dignitaries who occupied that distinguished station from the weather,
and especially from the rain,
which in some places found its way through the ill-constructed roof.

The walls of this upper end of the hall,
as far as the dais extended,
were covered
with hangings or curtains,
and upon the floor there was a carpet,
both of which were adorned
with some attempts at tapestry,
or embroidery,
executed
with brilliant or rather gaudy colouring.

Over the lower range of table,
the roof,
as we have noticed,
had no covering;
the rough plastered walls were left bare,
and the rude earthen floor was uncarpeted;
the board was uncovered by a cloth,
and rude massive benches supplied the place of chairs.

In the centre of the upper table,
were placed two chairs more elevated than the rest,
for the master and mistress of the family,
who presided over the scene of hospitality,
and from doing so derived their Saxon title of honour,
which signifies ``the Dividers of Bread.'

'
To each of these chairs was added a footstool,
curiously carved and inlaid
with ivory,
which mark of distinction was peculiar
to them.

One of these seats was at present occupied by Cedric the Saxon,
who,
though but in rank a thane,
or,
as the Normans called him,
a Franklin,
felt,
at the delay of his evening meal,
an irritable impatience,
which might have become an alderman,
whether of ancient or of modern times.

It appeared,
indeed,
from the countenance of this proprietor,
that he was of a frank,
but hasty and choleric temper.

He was not above the middle stature,
but broad-shouldered,
long-armed,
and powerfully made,
like one accustomed
to endure the fatigue of war or of the chase;
his face was broad,
with large blue eyes,
open and frank features,
fine teeth,
and a well formed head,
altogether expressive of that sort of good-humour which often lodges
with a sudden and hasty temper.

Pride and jealousy there was in his eye,
for his life had been spent in asserting rights which were constantly liable
to invasion;
and the prompt,
fiery,
and resolute disposition of the man,
had been kept constantly upon the alert by the circumstances of his situation.

His long yellow hair was equally divided on the top of his head and upon his brow,
and combed down on each side
to the length of his shoulders;
it had but little tendency
to grey,
although Cedric was approaching
to his sixtieth year.

His dress was a tunic of forest green,
furred at the throat and cuffs
with what was called minever;
a kind of fur inferior in quality
to ermine,
and formed,
it is believed,
of the skin of the grey squirrel.

This doublet hung unbuttoned over a close dress of scarlet which sate tight
to his body;
he had breeches of the same,
but they did not reach below the lower part of the thigh,
leaving the knee exposed.

His feet had sandals of the same fashion
with the peasants,
but of finer materials,
and secured in the front
with golden clasps.

He had bracelets of gold upon his arms,
and a broad collar of the same precious metal around his neck.

About his waist he wore a richly-studded belt,
in which was stuck a short straight two-edged sword,
with a sharp point,
so disposed as
to hang almost perpendicularly by his side.

Behind his seat was hung a scarlet cloth cloak lined
with fur,
and a cap of the same materials richly embroidered,
which completed the dress of the opulent landholder when he chose
to go forth.

A short boar-spear,
with a broad and bright steel head,
also reclined against the back of his chair,
which served him,
when he walked abroad,
for the purposes of a staff or of a weapon,
as chance might require.

Several domestics,
whose dress held various proportions betwixt the richness of their master's,
and the coarse and simple attire of Gurth the swine-herd,
watched the looks and waited the commands of the Saxon dignitary.

Two or three servants of a superior order stood behind their master upon the dais;
the rest occupied the lower part of the hall.

Other attendants there were of a different description;
two or three large and shaggy greyhounds,
such as were then employed in hunting the stag and wolf;
as many slow-hounds of a large bony breed,
with thick necks,
large beads,
and long ears;
and one or two of the smaller dogs,
now called terriers,
which waited
with impatience the arrival of the supper;
but,
with the sagacious knowledge of physiognomy peculiar
to their race,
forbore
to intrude upon the moody silence of their master,
apprehensive probably of a small white truncheon which lay by Cedric's trencher,
for the purpose of
repelling the advances of his four-legged dependants.
One grisly old wolf-dog alone,
with the liberty
of an indulged favourite,
had planted himself
close by the chair of state,
and occasionally ventured
to solicit notice by putting his large hairy
head upon his master's knee,
or pushing his nose
into his hand.

Even he was repelled by the stem
command,
``Down,
Balder,
down! I am not in the
humour
for foolery.'

'

In fact,
Cedric,
as we have observed,
was in no
very placid state of mind.

The Lady Rowena,
who had been absent
to attend an evening mass at
a distant church,
had but just returned,
and was
changing her garments,
which had been wetted by
the storm.

There were as yet no tidings of Gurth
and his charge,
which should long since have been
driven home from the forest and such was the insecurity
of the period,
as
to render it probable that
the delay might be explained by some depreciation
of the outlaws,
with whom the adjacent forest
abounded,
or by the violence of some neighbouring
baron,
whose consciousness of strength made him
equally negligent of the laws of property.

The
matter was of consequence,
for great part of the domestic
wealth of the Saxon proprietors consisted in
numerous herds of swine,
especially in forest-land,
where those animals easily found their food.

Besides these subjects of anxiety,
the Saxon
thane was impatient
for the presence of his favourite
clown Wamba,
whose jests,
such as they were,
served
for a sort of seasoning
to his evening meal,
and
to the deep draughts of ale and wine
with which
he was in the habit of accompanying it.

Add
to all
this,
Cedric had fasted since noon,
and his usual
supper hour was long past,
a cause of irritation
common
to country squires,
both in ancient and
modern times.

His displeasure was expressed in
broken sentences,
partly muttered
to himself,
partly
addressed
to the domestics who stood around;
and
particularly
to his cupbearer,
who offered him from
time
to time,
as a sedative,
a silver goblet filled with
wine---``Why tarries the Lady Rowena?'
'

``She is but changing her head-gear,''
replied a
female attendant,
with as much confidence as the
favourite lady's-maid usually answers the master of
a modern family;
``you would not wish her
to sit
down
to the banquet in her hood and kirtle?

and
no lady within the shire can be quicker in arraying
herself than my mistress.'

'

This undeniable argument produced a sort of acquiescent
umph! on the part of the Saxon,
with
the addition,
``I wish her devotion may choose fair
weather
for the next visit
to St John's Kirk;---
but what,
in the name of ten devils,''
continued he,
turning
to the cupbearer,
and raising his voice as
if happy
to have found a channel into which he
might divert his indignation without fear or control---
``what,
in the name of ten devils,
keeps
Gurth so long afield?

I suppose we shall have an
evil account of the herd;
he was wont
to be a faithful
and cautious drudge,
and I had destined him
for something better;
perchance I might even have
made him one of my warders.'

'*

* The original has _Cnichts_,
by which the Saxons seem to
* have designated a class of military attendants,
sometimes free,
* sometimes bondsmen,
but always ranking above an ordinary
* domestic,
whether in the royal household or in those of the
* aldermen and thanes.

But the term cnicht,
now spelt knight,
* having been received into the English language as equivalent
*
to the Norman word chevalier,
I have avoided using it in its
* more ancient sense,
to prevent confusion.

L.

T.

Oswald the cupbearer modestly suggested,
``that
it was scarce an hour since the tolling of the curfew;''
an ill-chosen apology,
since it turned upon
a topic so harsh
to Saxon ears.

``The foul fiend,''
exclaimed Cedric,
``take the
curfew-bell,
and the tyrannical bastard by whom it
was devised,
and the heartless slave who names it
with a Saxon tongue
to a Saxon ear! The curfew!'
'
he added,
pausing,
``ay,
the curfew;
which compels
true men
to extinguish their lights,
that thieves
and robbers may work their deeds in darkness!---
Ay,
the curfew;---Reginald Front-de-Buf and
Philip de Malvoisin know the use of the curfew as
well as William the Bastard himself,
or e'er a Norman
adventurer that fought at Hastings.

I shall
hear,
I guess,
that my property has been swept off
to save from starving the hungry banditti,
whom
they cannot support but by theft and robbery.

My
faithful slave is murdered,
and my goods are taken
for a prey---and Wamba---where is Wamba?

Said
not some one he had gone forth
with Gurth?'
'

Oswald replied in the affirmative.

`` Ay?

why this is better and better! he is carried
off too,
the Saxon fool,
to serve the Norman
lord.

Fools are we all indeed that serve them,
and
fitter subjects
for their scorn and laughter,
than if
we were born
with but half our wits.

But I will
be avenged,''
he added,
starting from his char in
impatience at the supposed injury,
and catching
hold of his boar-spear;
``I will go
with my complaint
to the great council;
I have friends,
I have
followers---man
to man will I appeal the Norman
to the lists;
let him come in his plate and his mail,
and all that can render cowardice bold;
I have sent
such a javelin as this through a stronger fence than
three of their war shields!---Haply they think me
old;
but they shall find,
alone and childless as I
am,
the blood of Hereward is in the veins of Cedric.
---Ah,
Wilfred,
Wilfred!'
'
he exclaimed in a lower
tone,
``couldst thou have ruled thine unreasonable
passion,
thy father had not been left in his age like
the solitary oak that throws out its shattered and
unprotected branches against the full sweep of the
tempest!'
'
The reflection seemed
to conjure into
sadness his irritated feelings.

Replacing his javelin,
he resumed his seat,
bent his looks downward,
and appeared
to be absorbed in melancholy reflection.

From his musing,
Cedric was suddenly awakened
by the blast of a born,
which was replied
to by
the clamorous yells and barking of all the dogs in
the hall,
and some twenty or thirty which were
quartered in other parts of the building.

It cost
some exercise of the white truncheon,
well seconded
by the exertions of the domestics,
to silence this
canine clamour.
``To the gate,
knaves!'
'
said the Saxon,
hastily,
as soon as the tumult was so much appeased that
the dependants could hear his voice.

``See what
tidings that horn tells us of---to announce,
I ween,
some hership* and robbery which has been done

* Pillage.

upon my lands.'

'

Returning in less than three minutes,
a warder
announced ``that the Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx,
and the good knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert,
commander
of the valiant and venerable order of Knights
Templars,
with a small retinue,
requested hospitality
and lodging
for the night,
being on their way
to a tournament which was
to be held not far from
Ashby-de-la-Zouche,
on the second day from the
present.'

'

``Aymer,
the Prior Aymer?

Brian de Bois-Guilbert?'
'
---muttered Cedric;
``Normans both;---
but Norman or Saxon,
the hospitality of Rotherwood
must not be impeached;
they are welcome,
since they have chosen
to halt---more welcome
would they have been
to have ridden further on
their way---But it were unworthy
to murmur for
a night's lodging and a night's food;
in the quality
of guests,
at least,
even Normans must suppress
their insolence.---Go,
Hundebert,''
he added,
to a
sort of major-domo who stood behind him
with a
white wand;
``take six of the attendants,
and introduce
the strangers
to the guests'
lodging.

Look
after their horses and mules,
and see their train lack
nothing.

Let them have change of vestments if
they require it,
and fire,
and water
to wash,
and
wine and ale;
and bid the cooks add what they
hastily can
to our evening meal;
and let it be put
on the board when those strangers are ready to
share it.

Say
to them,
Hundebert,
that Cedric
would himself bid them welcome,
but he is under a
vow never
to step more than three steps from the
dais of his own hall
to meet any who shares not the
blood of Saxon royalty.

Begone! see them carefully
tended;
let them not say in their pride,
the
Saxon churl has shown at once his poverty and his
avarice.'

'

The major-domo departed
with several attendants,
to execute his master's commands.

``The
Prior Aymer!'
'
repeated Cedric,
looking
to Oswald,
``the brother,
if I mistake not,
of Giles de
Mauleverer,
now lord of Middleham?'
'

Oswald made a respectful sign of assent.

``His
brother sits in the seat,
and usurps the patrimony,
of a better race,
the race of Ulfgar of Middleham;
but what Norman lord doth not the same?

This
Prior is,
they say,
a free and jovial priest,
who
loves the wine-cup and the bugle-horn better than
bell and book:

Good;
let him come,
he shall be
welcome.

How named ye the Templar?'
'

``Brian de Bois-Guilbert.'

'

``Bois-Guilbert,''
said Cedric,
still in the musing,
half-arguing tone,
which the habit of living among
dependants had accustomed him
to employ,
and
which resembled a man who talks
to himself rather
than
to those around him---``Bois-Guilbert?

that
name has been spread wide both
for good and evil.


They say he is valiant as the bravest of his order;
but stained
with their usual vices,
pride,
arrogance,
cruelty,
and voluptuousness;
a hard-hearted
man,
who knows neither fear of earth,
nor awe
of heaven.

So say the few warriors who have returned
from Palestine.---Well;
it is but
for one
night;
he shall be welcome too.---Oswald,
broach
the oldest wine-cask;
place the best mead,
the
mightiest ale,
the richest morat,
the most sparkling
cider,
the most odoriferous pigments,
upon the
board;
fill the largest horns*---Templars and Abbots

* These were drinks used by the Saxons,
as we are informed
* by Mr Turner:

Morat was made of honey flavoured
with the
* juice of mulberries;
Pigment was a sweet and rich liquor,
composed
* of wine highly spiced,
and sweetened also
with honey;
* the other liquors need no explanation.

L.

T.

love good wines and good measure.---Elgitha,
let thy Lady Rowena,
know we shall not this night
expect her in the hall,
unless such be her especial
pleasure.'

'

``But it will be her especial pleasure,''
answered
Elgitha,
with great readiness,
``for she is ever desirous
to hear the latest news from Palestine.'

'

Cedric darted at the forward damsel a glance of
hasty resentment;
but Rowena,
and whatever belonged
to her,
were privileged and secure from his
anger.

He only replied,
``Silence,
maiden;
thy
tongue outruns thy discretion.

Say my message
to thy mistress,
and let her do her pleasure.

Here,
at least,
the descendant of Alfred still reigns a
princess.'

'
Elgitha left the apartment.

``Palestine!'
'
repeated the Saxon;
``Palestine!
how many ears are turned
to the tales which dissolute
crusaders,
or hypocritical pilgrims,
bring from
that fatal land! I too might ask---I too might enquire---
I too might listen
with a beating heart to
fables which the wily strollers devise
to cheat us
into hospitality---but no---The son who has disobeyed
me is no longer mine;
nor will I concern
myself more
for his fate than
for that of the most
worthless among the millions that ever shaped the
cross on their shoulder,
rushed into excess and
blood-guiltiness,
and called it an accomplishment
of the will of God.'

'

He knit his brows,
and fixed his eyes
for an instant
on the ground;
as he raised them,
the folding
doors at the bottom of the hall were cast wide,
and,
preceded by the major-domo
with his wand,
and four domestics bearing blazing torches,
the
guests of the evening entered the apartment.




CHAPTER IV


With sheep and shaggy goats the porkers bled,
And the proud steer was on the marble spread;
With fire prepared,
they deal the morsels round,
Wine rosy bright the brimming goblets crown'd.
- - - - - - -
Disposed apart,
Ulysses shares the treat;
A trivet table and ignobler seat,
The Prince assigns---
_Odyssey,
Book_ 21.


The Prior Aymer had taken the opportunity
afforded him,
of changing his riding robe
for one
of yet more costly materials,
over which he wore a
cope curiously embroidered.

Besides the massive
golden signet ring,
which marked his ecclesiastical
dignity,
his fingers,
though contrary
to the canon,
were loaded
with precious gems;
his sandals were
of the finest leather which was imported from
Spain;
his beard trimmed
to as small dimensions
as his order would possibly permit,
and his shaven
crown concealed by a scarlet cap richly embroidered.

The appearance of the Knight Templar was also
changed;
and,
though less studiously bedecked with
ornament,
his dress was as rich,
and his appearance
far more commanding,
than that of his companion.


He had exchanged his shirt of mail
for an under
tunic of dark purple silk,
garnished
with furs,
over
which flowed his long robe of spotless white,
in
ample folds.

The eight-pointed cross of his order
was cut on the shoulder of his mantle in black velvet.
The high cap no longer invested his brows,
which were only shaded by short and thick curled
hair of a raven blackness,
corresponding
to his unusually
swart complexion.

Nothing could be more
gracefully majestic than his step and manner,
had
they not been marked by a predominant air of
haughtiness,
easily acquired by the exercise of unresisted
authority.

These two dignified persons were followed by
their respective attendants,
and at a more humble
distance by their guide,
whose figure had nothing
more remarkable than it derived from the usual
weeds of a pilgrim.

A cloak or mantle of coarse
black serge,
enveloped his whole body.

It was in
shape something like the cloak of a modern hussar,
having similar flaps
for covering the arms,
and was
called a _Sclaveyn_,
or _Sclavonian_.

Coarse sandals,
bound
with thongs,
on his bare feet;
a broad and
shadowy hat,
with cockle-shells stitched on its brim,
and a long staff shod
with iron,
to the upper end
of which was attached a branch of palm,
completed
the palmer's attire.

He followed modestly the last
of the train which entered the hall,
and,
observing
that the lower table scarce afforded room sufficient
for the domestics of Cedric and the retinue of his
guests,
he withdrew
to a settle placed beside and
almost under one of the large chimneys,
and seemed
to employ himself in drying his garments,
until
the retreat of some one should make room at the
board,
or the hospitality of the steward should
supply him
with refreshments in the place he had
chosen apart.

Cedric rose
to receive his guests
with an air of
dignified hospitality,
and,
descending from the dais,
or elevated part of his hall,
made three steps towards
them,
and then awaited their approach.

``I grieve,''
he said,
``reverend Prior,
that my
vow binds me
to advance no farther upon this floor
of my fathers,
even
to receive such guests as you,
and this valiant Knight of the Holy Temple.

But
my steward has expounded
to you the cause of my
seeming discourtesy.

Let me also pray,
that you
will excuse my speaking
to you in my native language,
and that you will reply in the same if your
knowledge of it permits;
if not,
I sufficiently understand
Norman
to follow your meaning.'

'

``Vows,''
said the Abbot,
``must be unloosed,
worthy Franklin,
or permit me rather
to say,
worthy
Thane,
though the title is antiquated.

Vows
are the knots which tie us
to Heaven---they are the
cords which bind the sacrifice
to the horns of the
altar,---and are therefore,---as I said before,---to be
unloosened and discharged,
unless our holy Mother
Church shall pronounce the contrary.

And respecting
language,
I willingly hold communication in
that spoken by my respected grandmother,
Hilda
of Middleham,
who died in odour of sanctity,
little
short,
if we may presume
to say so,
of her glorious
namesake,
the blessed Saint Hilda of Whitby,
God
be gracious
to her soul!'
'

When the Prior had ceased what he meant as a
conciliatory harangue,
his companion said briefly
and emphatically,
``I speak ever French,
the language
of King Richard and his nobles;
but I understand
English sufficiently
to communicate with
the natives of the country.'

'

Cedric darted at the speaker one of those hasty
and impatient glances,
which comparisons between
the two rival nations seldom failed
to call forth;
but,
recollecting the duties of hospitality,
he suppressed
further show of resentment,
and,
motioning
with his hand,
caused his guests
to assume two
seats a little lower than his own,
but placed close
beside him,
and gave a signal that the evening meal
should be placed upon the board.

While the attendants hastened
to obey Cedric's
commands,
his eye distinguished Gurth the swineherd,
who,
with his companion Wamba,
had just
entered the hall.

``Send these loitering knaves up
hither,''
said the Saxon,
impatiently.

And when
the culprits came before the dais,---``How comes
it,
villains! that you have loitered abroad so late
as this?

Hast thou brought home thy charge,
sirrah
Gurth,
or hast thou left them
to robbers and
marauders?'
'

``The herd is safe,
so please ye,''
said Gurth.

``But it does not please me,
thou knave,''
said
Cedric,
``that I should be made
to suppose otherwise
for two hours,
and sit here devising vengeance
against my neighbours
for wrongs they have not
done me.

I tell thee,
shackles and the prison-house
shall punish the next offence of this kind.'

'

Gurth,
knowing his master's irritable temper,
attempted
no exculpation;
but the Jester,
who could
presume upon Cedric's tolerance,
by virtue of his
privileges as a fool,
replied
for them both;
``In
troth,
uncle Cedric,
you are neither wise nor reasonable
to-night.'

'

``How,
sir?'
'
said his master;
``you shall
to the
porter's lodge,
and taste of the discipline there,
if
you give your foolery such license.'

'

``First let your wisdom tell me,''
said Wamba,
``is it just and reasonable
to punish one person for
the fault of another?'
'

``Certainly not,
fool,''
answered Cedric.

``Then why should you shackle poor Gurth,
uncle,
for the fault of his dog Fangs?

for I dare be
sworn we lost not a minute by the way,
when we
had got our herd together,
which Fangs did not
manage until we heard the vesper-bell.'

'

``Then hang up Fangs,''
said Cedric,
turning
hastily towards the swineherd,
``if the fault is his,
and get thee another dog.'

'

``Under favour,
uncle,''
said the Jester,
``that
were still somewhat on the bow-hand of fair justice;
for it was no fault of Fangs that he was lame
and could not gather the herd,
but the fault of
those that struck off two of his fore-claws,
an operation
for which,
if the poor fellow had been consulted,
he would scarce have given his voice.'

'

``And who dared
to lame an animal which belonged
to my bondsman?'
'
said the Saxon,
kindling
in wrath.

``Marry,
that did old Hubert,''
said Wamba,
``Sir Philip de Malvoisin's keeper of the chase.


He caught Fangs strolling in the forest,
and said he
chased the deer contrary
to his master's right,
as
warden of the walk.'

'

``The foul fiend take Malvoisin,''
answered the
Saxon,
``and his keeper both! I will teach them
that the wood was disforested in terms of the great
Forest Charter.

But enough of this.

Go to,
knave,
go
to thy place---and thou,
Gurth,
get thee another
dog,
and should the keeper dare
to touch it,
I will
mar his archery;
the curse of a coward on my head,
if I strike not off the forefinger of his right hand!
---he shall draw bowstring no more.---I crave your
pardon,
my worthy guests.

I am beset here with
neighbours that match your infidels,
Sir Knight,
in
Holy Land.

But your homely fare is before you;
feed,
and let welcome make amends
for hard fare.'

'

The feast,
however,
which was spread upon the
board,
needed no apologies from the lord of the
mansion.

Swine's flesh,
dressed in several modes,
appeared on the lower part of the board,
as also
that of fowls,
deer,
goats,
and hares,
and various
kinds of fish,
together
with huge loaves and cakes
of bread,
and sundry confections made of fruits and
honey.

The smaller sorts of wild-fowl,
of which
there was abundance,
were not served up in platters,
but brought in upon small wooden spits or
broaches,
and offered by the pages and domestics
who bore them,
to each guest in succession,
who cut
from them such a portion as he pleased.

Beside
each person of rank was placed a goblet of silver;
the lower board was accommodated
with large
drinking horns.

When the repast was about
to commence,
the
major-domo,
or steward,
suddenly raising his wand,
said aloud,---``Forbear!---Place
for the Lady
Rowena.'

'
A side-door at the upper end of the hall
now opened behind the banquet table,
and Rowena,
followed by four female attendants,
entered the
apartment.

Cedric,
though surprised,
and perhaps
not altogether agreeably so,
at his ward appearing
in public on this occasion,
hastened
to meet her,
and
to conduct her,
with respectful ceremony,
to
the elevated seat at his own right hand,
appropriated
to the lady of the mansion.

All stood up to
receive her;
and,
replying
to their courtesy by a
mute gesture of salutation,
she moved gracefully
forward
to assume her place at the board.

Ere she
had time
to do so,
the Templar whispered
to the
Prior,
``I shall wear no collar of gold of yours at
the tournament.

The Chian wine is your own.'

'

``Said I not so?'
'
answered the Prior;
``but
check your raptures,
the Franklin observes you.'

'

Unheeding this remonstrance,
and accustomed
only
to act upon the immediate impulse of his own
wishes,
Brian de Bois-Guilbert kept his eyes riveted
on the Saxon beauty,
more striking perhaps to
his imagination,
because differing widely from those
of the Eastern sultanas.

Formed in the best proportions of her sex,
Rowena was tall in stature,
yet not so much so as
to attract observation on account of superior height.


Her complexion was exquisitely fair,
but the noble
cast of her head and features prevented the insipidity
which sometimes attaches
to fair beauties.

Her
clear blue eye,
which sate enshrined beneath a graceful
eyebrow of brown sufficiently marked
to give
expression
to the forehead,
seemed capable
to kindle
as well as melt,
to command as well as
to beseech.
If mildness were the more natural expression
of such a combination of features,
it was plain,
that in the present instance,
the exercise of habitual
superiority,
and the reception of general homage,
had given
to the Saxon lady a loftier character,
which mingled
with and qualified that bestowed
by nature.

Her profuse hair,
of a colour betwixt
brown and flaxen,
was arranged in a fanciful and
graceful manner in numerous ringlets,
to form which
art had probably aided nature.

These locks were
braided
with gems,
and,
being worn at full length,
intimated the noble birth and free-born condition
of the maiden.

A golden chain,
to which was attached
a small reliquary of the same metal,
hung
round her neck.

She wore bracelets on her arms,
which were bare.

Her dress was an under-gown
and kirtle of pale sea-green silk,
over which hung
a long loose robe,
which reached
to the ground,
having very wide sleeves,
which came down,
however,
very little below the elbow.

This robe was
crimson,
and manufactured out of the very finest
wool.

A veil of silk,
interwoven
with gold,
was
attached
to the upper part of it,
which could be,
at
the wearer's pleasure,
either drawn over the face
and bosom after the Spanish fashion,
or disposed
as a sort of drapery round the shoulders.

When Rowena perceived the Knight Templar's
eyes bent on her
with an ardour,
that,
compared
with the dark caverns under which they moved,
gave them the effect of lighted charcoal,
she drew
with dignity the veil around her face,
as an intimation
that the determined freedom of his glance
was disagreeable.

Cedric saw the motion and its
cause.

``Sir Templar,''
said he,
``the cheeks of
our Saxon maidens have seen too little of the sun
to enable them
to bear the fixed glance of a crusader.'

'

``If I have offended,''
replied Sir Brian,
``I crave
your pardon,---that is,
I crave the Lady Rowena's
pardon,---for my humility will carry me no lower.'

'

``The Lady Rowena,''
said the Prior,
``has
punished us all,
in chastising the boldness of my
friend.

Let me hope she will be less cruel
to the
splendid train which are
to meet at the tournament.'

'

``Our going thither,''
said Cedric,
``is uncertain.


I love not these vanities,
which were unknown to
my fathers when England was free.'

'

``Let us hope,
nevertheless,''
said the Prior,
``our
company may determine you
to travel thitherward;
when the roads are so unsafe,
the escort of Sir
Brian de Bois-Guilbert is not
to be despised.'

'

``Sir Prior,''
answered the Saxon,
``wheresoever
I have travelled in this land,
I have hitherto found
myself,
with the assistance of my good sword and
faithful followers,
in no respect needful of other
aid.

At present,
if we indeed journey
to Ashby-de-la-Zouche,
we do so
with my noble neighbour
and countryman Athelstane of Coningsburgh,
and
with such a train as would set outlaws and feudal
enemies at defiance.---I drink
to you,
Sir Prior,
in this cup of wine,
which I trust your taste will
approve,
and I thank you
for your courtesy.

Should
you be so rigid in adhering
to monastic rule,''
he
added,
``as
to prefer your acid preparation of milk,
I hope you will not strain courtesy
to do me reason.'

'

``Nay,''
said the Priest,
laughing,
``it is only in
our abbey that we confine ourselves
to the _lac dulce_
or the _lac acidum_ either.

Conversing with,
the
world,
we use the world's fashions,
and therefore
I answer your pledge in this honest wine,
and leave
the weaker liquor
to my lay-brother.'

'

``And I,''
said the Templar,
filling his goblet,
``drink wassail
to the fair Rowena;
for since her
namesake introduced the word into England,
has
never been one more worthy of such a tribute.

By
my faith,
I could pardon the unhappy Vortigern,
had he half the cause that we now witness,
for
making shipwreck of his honour and his kingdom.'

'

``I will spare your courtesy,
Sir Knight,''
said
Rowena
with dignity,
and without unveiling herself;
``or rather I will tax it so far as
to require
of you the latest news from Palestine,
a theme
more agreeable
to our English ears than the compliments
which your French breeding teaches.'

'

``I have little of importance
to say,
lady,''
answered
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert,
``excepting the
confirmed tidings of a truce
with Saladin.'

'

He was interrupted by Wamba,
who had taken
his appropriated seat upon a chair,
the back of
which was decorated
with two ass's ears,
and which
was placed about two steps behind that of his master,
who,
from time
to time,
supplied him
with victuals
from his own trencher;
a favour,
however,
which the Jester shared
with the favourite dogs,
of whom,
as we have already noticed,
there were
several in attendance.

Here sat Wamba,
with a
small table before him,
his heels tucked up against
the bar of the chair,
his cheeks sucked up so as to
make his jaws resemble a pair of nut-crackers,
and
his eyes half-shut,
yet watching
with alertness every
opportunity
to exercise his licensed foolery.

``These truces
with the infidels,''
he exclaimed,
without caring how suddenly he interrupted the
stately Templar,
``make an old man of me!'
'

``Go to,
knave,
how so?'
'
said Cedric,
his features
prepared
to receive favourably the expected
jest.

``Because,''
answered Wamba,
``I remember
three of them in my day,
each of which was
to endure
for the course of fifty years;
so that,
by computation,
I must be at least a hundred and fifty
years old.'

'

``I will warrant you against dying of old age,
however,''
said the Templar,
who now recognised
his friend of the forest;
``I will assure you from
all deaths but a violent one,
if you give such directions
to wayfarers,
as you did this night
to the
Prior and me.'

'

``How,
sirrah!'
'
said Cedric,
``misdirect travellers?
We must have you whipt;
you are at least
as much rogue as fool.'

'

``I pray thee,
uncle,''
answered the Jester,
``let
my folly,
for once,
protect my roguery.

I did but
make a mistake between my right hand and my
left;
and he might have pardoned a greater,
who
took a fool
for his counsellor and guide.'

'

Conversation was here interrupted by the entrance
of the porter's page,
who announced that
there was a stranger at the gate,
imploring admittance
and hospitality,

``Admit him,''
said Cedric,
``be he who or what
he may;---a night like that which roars without,
compels even wild animals
to herd
with tame,
and
to seek the protection of man,
their mortal foe,
rather than perish by the elements.

Let his wants
be ministered
to
with all care---look
to it,
Oswald.'

'

And the steward left the banqueting hall
to see
the commands of his patron obeyed.




CHAPTER V


Hath not a Jew eyes?

Hath not a Jew hands,
organs,
dimensions,
senses,
affections,
passions?

Fed with
the same food,
hurt
with the same weapons,
subject
to the same diseases,
healed by the same means,
warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer,
as a Christian is?
_Merchant of Venice_.

Oswald,
returning,
whispered into the ear of
his master,
``It is a Jew,
who calls himself Isaac
of York;
is it fit I should marshall him into the
hall?'
'
``Let Gurth do thine office,
Oswald,''
said Wamba
with his usual effrontery;
``the swineherd will
be a fit usher
to the Jew.'

'

``St Mary,''
said the Abbot,
crossing himself,
``an unbelieving Jew,
and admitted into this presence!'
'

``A dog Jew,''
echoed the Templar,
``to approach
a defender of the Holy Sepulchre?'
'

``By my faith,''
said Wamba,
``it would seem
the Templars love the Jews'
inheritance better than
they do their company.'

'

``Peace,
my worthy guests,''
said Cedric;
``my
hospitality must not be bounded by your dislikes.


If Heaven bore
with the whole nation of stiff-necked
unbelievers
for more years than a layman can number,
we may endure the presence of one Jew
for a
few hours.

But I constrain no man
to converse or
to feed
with him.---Let him have a board and a
morsel apart,---unless,''
he said smiling,
``these
turban'd strangers will admit his society.'

'

``Sir Franklin,''
answered the Templar,
``my
Saracen slaves are true Moslems,
and scorn as much
as any Christian
to hold intercourse
with a Jew.'

'

``Now,
in faith,''
said Wamba,
``I cannot see
that the worshippers of Mahound and Termagaunt
have so greatly the advantage over the people once
chosen of Heaven.'

'

``He shall sit
with thee,
Wamba,''
said Cedric;
``the fool and the knave will be well met.'

'

``The fool,''
answered Wamba,
raising the relics
of a gammon of bacon,
``will take care
to erect a
bulwark against the knave.'

'

``Hush,''
said Cedric,
``for here he comes.'

'

Introduced
with little ceremony,
and advancing
with fear and hesitation,
and many a bow of deep
humility,
a tall thin old man,
who,
however,
had
lost by the habit of stooping much of his actual
height,
approached the lower end of the board.

His
features,
keen and regular,
with an aquiline nose,
and piercing black eyes;
his high and wrinkled
forehead,
and long grey hair and beard,
would have
been considered as handsome,
had they not been the
marks of a physiognomy peculiar
to a race,
which,
during those dark ages,
was alike detested by the
credulous and prejudiced vulgar,
and persecuted by
the greedy and rapacious nobility,
and who,
perhaps,
owing
to that very hatred and persecution,
had adopted a national character,
in which there
was much,
to say the least,
mean and unamiable.

The Jew's dress,
which appeared
to have suffered
considerably from the storm,
was a plain russet
cloak of many folds,
covering a dark purple tunic.


He had large boots lined
with fur,
and a belt around
his waist,
which sustained a small knife,
together
with a case
for writing materials,
but no weapon.


He wore a high square yellow cap of a peculiar
fashion,
assigned
to his nation
to distinguish them
from Christians,
and which he doffed
with great
humility at the door of the hall.

The reception of this person in the ball of Cedric
the Saxon,
was such as might have satisfied
the most prejudiced enemy of the tribes of Israel.


Cedric himself coldly nodded in answer
to the Jew's
repeated salutations,
and signed
to him
to take
place at the lower end of the table,
where,
however,
no one offered
to make room
for him.

On the contrary,
as he passed along the file,
casting a timid
supplicating glance,
and turning towards each of
those who occupied the lower end of the board,
the
Saxon domestics squared their shoulders,
and continued
to devour their supper
with great perseverance,
paying not the least attention
to the wants
of the new guest.

The attendants of the Abbot
crossed themselves,
with looks of pious horror,
and
the very heathen Saracens,
as Isaac drew near them,
curled up their whiskers
with indignation,
and laid
their hands on their poniards,
as if ready
to rid
themselves by the most desperate means from the
apprehended contamination of his nearer approach.

Probably the same motives which induced Cedric
to open his hall
to this son of a rejected people,
would have made him insist on his attendants
receiving Isaac
with more courtesy.

But the Abbot
had,
at this moment,
engaged him in a most
interesting discussion on the breed and character
of his favourite hounds,
which he would not have
interrupted
for matters of much greater importance
than that of a Jew going
to bed supperless.

While
Isaac thus stood an outcast in the present society,
like his people among the nations,
looking in vain
for welcome or resting place,
the pilgrim who sat
by the chimney took compassion upon him,
and resigned
his seat,
saying briefly,
``Old man,
my garments
are dried,
my hunger is appeased,
thou art
both wet and fasting.'

'
So saying,
he gathered together,
and brought
to a flame,
the decaying brands
which lay scattered on the ample hearth;
took from
the larger board a mess of pottage and seethed kid,
placed it upon the small table at which he had himself
supped,
and,
without waiting the Jew's thanks,
went
to the other side of the hall;---whether from
unwillingness
to hold more close communication
with the object of his benevolence,
or from a wish
to draw near
to the upper end of the table,
seemed
uncertain.

Had there been painters in those days capable
to execute such a subject,
the Jew,
as he bent his
withered form,
and expanded his chilled and trembling
hands over the fire,
would have formed no
bad emblematical personification of the Winter season.
Having dispelled the cold,
he turned eagerly
to the smoking mess which was placed before him,
and ate
with a haste and an apparent relish,
that
seemed
to betoken long abstinence from food.

Meanwhile the Abbot and Cedric continued their
discourse upon hunting;
the Lady Rowena seemed
engaged in conversation
with one of her attendant
females;
and the haughty Templar,
whose eye
wandered from the Jew
to the Saxon beauty,
revolved
in his mind thoughts which appeared deeply
to interest him.

``I marvel,
worthy Cedric,''
said the Abbot,
as
their discourse proceeded,
``that,
great as your predilection
is
for your own manly language,
you do
not receive the Norman-French into your favour,
so far at least as the mystery of wood-craft and
hunting is concerned.

Surely no tongue is so rich
in the various phrases which the field-sports demand,
or furnishes means
to the experienced woodman
so well
to express his jovial art.'

'

`Good Father Aymer,''
said the Saxon,
``be it
known
to you,
I care not
for those over-sea refinements,
without which I can well enough take my
pleasure in the woods.

I can wind my horn,
though
I call not the blast either a _recheate_ or a _morte_---I
can cheer my dogs on the prey,
and I can flay and
quarter the animal when it is brought down,
without
using the newfangled jargon of _curee,
arbor,
nombles_,
and all the babble of the fabulous Sir Tristrem.'

'*

* There was no language which the Normans more formally
* separated from that of common life than the terms of the chase.


* The objects of their pursuit,
whether bird or animal,
changed
* their name each year,
and there were a hundred conventional
* terms,
to be ignorant of which was
to be without one of the distinguishing
* marks of a gentleman.

The reader may consult Dame
* Juliana Berners'
book on the subject.

The origin of this science
* was imputed
to the celebrated Sir Tristrem,
famous
for his tragic
* intrigue
with the beautiful Ysolte.

As the Normans reserved
* the amusement of hunting strictly
to themselves,
the terms
* of this formal jargon were all taken from the French language.
``The French,''
said the Templar,
raising his
voice
with the presumptuous and authoritative tone
which he used upon all occasions,
``is not only the
natural language of the chase,
but that of love and
of war,
in which ladies should be won and enemies
defied.'

'

``Pledge me in a cup of wine,
Sir Templar,''
said Cedric,
``and fill another
to the Abbot,
while
I look back some thirty years
to tell you another
tale.

As Cedric the Saxon then was,
his plain English
tale needed no garnish from French troubadours,
when it was told in the ear of beauty;
and
the field of Northallerton,
upon the day of the Holy
Standard,
could tell whether the Saxon war-cry was
not heard as far within the ranks of the Scottish host
as the _cri de guerre_ of the boldest Norman baron.


To the memory of the brave who fought there!---
Pledge me,
my guests.'

'
He drank deep,
and went
on
with increasing warmth.

``Ay,
that was a day
of cleaving of shields,
when a hundred banners were
bent forwards over the heads of the valiant,
and
blood flowed round like water,
and death was held
better than flight.

A Saxon bard had called it a
feast of the swords---a gathering of the eagles to
the prey---the clashing of bills upon shield and helmet,
the shouting of battle more joyful than the
clamour of a bridal.

But our bards are no more,''
he said;
``our deeds are lost in those of another
race---our language---our very name---is hastening
to decay,
and none mourns
for it save one solitary
old man---Cupbearer! knave,
fill the goblets---To
the strong in arms,
Sir Templar,
be their race or
language what it will,
who now bear them best in
Palestine among the champions of the Cross!'
'

``It becomes not one wearing this badge
to answer,''
said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert;
``yet to
whom,
besides the sworn Champions of the Holy
Sepulchre,
can the palm be assigned among the
champions of the Cross?'
'

``To the Knights Hospitallers,''
said the Abbot;
``I have a brother of their order.'

'

``I impeach not their fame,''
said the Templar;
``nevertheless------''

``I think,
friend Cedric,''
said Wamba,
interfering,

``that had Richard of the Lion's Heart
been wise enough
to have taken a fool's advice,
he
might have staid at home
with his merry Englishmen,
and left the recovery of Jerusalem
to those
same Knights who had most
to do
with the loss of
it.'

'
``Were there,
then,
none in the English army,''
said the Lady Rowena,
``whose names are worthy
to be mentioned
with the Knights of the Temple,
and of St John?'
'

`` Forgive me,
lady,''
replied De Bois-Guilbert;
``the English monarch did,
indeed,
bring
to Palestine
a host of gallant warriors,
second only
to those
whose breasts have been the unceasing bulwark of
that blessed land.'

'

``Second
to =none=,''
said the Pilgrim,
who had
stood near enough
to hear,
and had listened
to this
conversation
with marked impatience.

All turned
toward the spot from whence this unexpected asseveration
was heard.

``I say,''
repeated the Pilgrim
in a firm and strong voice,
``that the English
chivalry were second
to =none= who ever drew sword
in defence of the Holy Land.

I say besides,
for I
saw it,
that King Richard himself,
and five of his
knights,
held a tournament after the taking of St
John-de-Acre,
as challengers against all comers.

I
say that,
on that day,
each knight ran three courses,
and cast
to the ground three antagonists.

I add,
that seven of these assailants were Knights of the
Temple---and Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert well
knows the truth of what I tell you.'

'

It is impossible
for language
to describe the
bitter scowl of rage which rendered yet darker the
swarthy countenance of the Templar.

In the extremity
of his resentment and confusion,
his quivering
fingers griped towards the handle of his
sword,
and perhaps only withdrew,
from the consciousness
that no act of violence could be safely
executed in that place and presence.

Cedric,
whose
feelings were all of a right onward and simple kind,
and were seldom occupied by more than one object
at once,
omitted,
in the joyous glee
with which be
heard of the glory of his countrymen,
to remark the
angry confusion of his guest;
``I would give thee
this golden bracelet,
Pilgrim,''
he said,
``couldst thou
tell me the names of those knights who upheld so
gallantly the renown of merry England.'

'

``That will I do blithely,''
replied the Pilgrim,
``and without guerdon;
my oath,
for a time,
prohibits
me from touching gold.'

'

``I will wear the bracelet
for you,
if you will,
friend Palmer,''
said Wamba.

``The first in honour as in arms,
in renown as
in place,''
said the Pilgrim,
``was the brave Richard,
King of England.'

'
``I forgive him,''
said Cedric;
``I forgive him
his descent from the tyrant Duke William.'

'

``The Earl of Leicester was the second,''
continued
the Pilgrim;
``Sir Thomas Multon of Gilsland
was the third.'

'

``Of Saxon descent,
he at least,''
said Cedric,
with exultation.

``Sir Foulk Doilly the fourth,''
proceeded the
Pilgrim.

``Saxon also,
at least by the mother's side,''
continued
Cedric,
who listened
with the utmost eagerness,
and forgot,
in part at least,
his hatred
to the
Normans,
in the common triumph of the King of
England and his islanders.

``And who was the
fifth?'
'
he demanded.

``The fifth was Sir Edwin Turneham.'

'

``Genuine Saxon,
by the soul of Hengist!'
'
shouted Cedric---``And the sixth?'
'
he continued
with eagerness---``how name you the sixth?'
'

``The sixth,''
said the Palmer,
after a pause,
in
which he seemed
to recollect himself,
``was a young
knight of lesser renown and lower rank,
assumed
into that honourable company,
less
to aid their enterprise
than
to make up their number---his name
dwells not in my memory.'

'

``Sir Palmer,''
said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert
scornfully,
``this assumed forgetfulness,
after so
much has been remembered,
comes too late
to serve
your purpose.

I will myself tell the name of the
knight before whose lance fortune and my horse's
fault occasioned my falling---it was the Knight of
Ivanhoe;
nor was there one of the six that,
for his
years,
had more renown in arMs. ---Yet this will I
say,
and loudly---that were he in England,
and
durst repeat,
in this week's tournament,
the challenge
of St John-de-Acre,
I,
mounted and armed as
I now am,
would give him every advantage of weapons,
and abide the result.'

'

``Your challenge would soon be answered,''
replied
the Palmer,
``were your antagonist near you.


As the matter is,
disturb not the peaceful hall with
vaunts of the issue of the conflict,
which you well
know cannot take place.

If Ivanhoe ever returns
from Palestine,
I will be his surety that he meets
you.'

'

``A goodly security!'
'
said the Knight Templar;
``and what do you proffer as a pledge?'
'

``This reliquary,''
said the Palmer,
taking a small
ivory box from his bosom,
and crossing himself,
``containing a portion of the true cross,
brought
from the Monaste