_me_ that favour."
So saying, he whispered something in his ear in Saxon. Gurth
started as if electrified, and hastened at once to procure their
mules for the travellers, and to open the postern gate to let them
out.
As the pilgrim mounted, he reached his hand to Gurth, who kissed
it with the utmost possible veneration. The two travellers were
soon lost under the boughs of the forest path.
They continued their journey at great speed; and the Jew noticed
with amazement that the palmer appeared to be familiar with every
path and outlet of the wood. When they had travelled some distance
from Rotherwood, and were approaching the town of Sheffield, the
Jew expressed a wish to recompense the palmer for the interest he
had taken in his affairs.
"I desire no recompense," answered his fellow traveller.
"Yet I can tell thee something thou lackest," said Isaac, "and, it
may be, supply it too. Thy wish even now is for a horse and
armour."
The palmer started.
"What fiend prompted that guess?" said he hastily.
"Under that palmer's gown," replied the Jew, "is hidden a knight's
chain and spurs of gold. I saw them as you stooped over my bed
this morning."
Without waiting to hear his companion's reply, he wrote some words
in Hebrew on a piece of paper, and handed it to the pilgrim,
saying:
"In the town of Leicester all men know the rich Jew, Kirjath
Jairam of Lombardy; give him this scroll, and he will give thee
everything that can furnish thee forth for the tournament; when it
is over thou wilt return them safely. But hark thee, good youth,
thrust thyself not too forward in this vain hurly-burly. I speak
not for endangering the steed and coat of armour, but for the sake
of thine own life and limbs."
"Gramercy for thy caution," said the palmer, smiling; "I will use
thy courtesy frankly--and it will go hard with me but I will
requite it."
They then parted, and took different roads for the town of
Sheffield.
When the morning of the tournament arrived the field of contest at
Ashby-de-la-Zouche presented a brilliant and romantic scene. On
the verge of a wood was an extensive meadow, of the finest and
most beautiful green turf, surrounded on one side by the forest,
and fringed on the other by straggling oak-trees. The ground, as
if fashioned on purpose for the martial display which was
intended, sloped gradually down on all sides to a level bottom,
which was enclosed for the lists with strong palisades. At each
end of the enclosure two heralds were stationed, and a strong body
of men-at-arms, for maintaining order and ascertaining the quality
of the knights who proposed to engage in the contest.
On a platform beyond the southern entrance were pitched five
magnificent pavilions, adorned with pennons of russet and black--
the chosen colours of the five knights challengers. That in the
centre, as the place of honour, had been assigned to Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, whose renown in all games of chivalry had
occasioned him to be adopted as the chief and leader of the
challengers.
Outside the lists were galleries, spread with tapestry and
carpets, for the convenience of the ladies and nobles who were
expected to attend the tournament. Another gallery raised higher
than the rest, and opposite to the spot where the shock of combat
was to take place, was decorated with much magnificence, and
graced by a sort of throne and canopy, on which the royal arms
were emblazoned. Squires, pages, and yeomen, in rich liveries,
waited around the place of honour, which was designed for Prince
John, the brother of the absent king, and his attendants. Opposite
to this royal gallery was another, even more gaily decorated,
reserved as the seat of honour for the Queen of Beauty and of
Love. But who was to fill the place on the present occasion no one
was prepared to guess.
Gradually the galleries became filled with knights, nobles and
ladies, while the lower space was crowded with yeomen and
burghers.
Amongst the latter was Isaac the Jew, richly and magnificently
dressed, and accompanied by his daughter, the beautiful Rebecca,
whose exquisite form, shown to advantage by a becoming Eastern
dress, did not escape the quick eye of the prince himself, as he
rode by at the head of his numerous and gaily-dressed train.
As the prince assumed his throne, he gave signal to the heralds to
proclaim the laws of the tournament, which were briefly as
follows:
First: The five challengers were to undertake all comers.
Secondly: Any knight might select any antagonist for combat by
touching his shield. If he did so with the reverse of his lance,
the trial of skill was made with what were called the arms of
courtesy, that is, with lances at whose extremity a piece of round
flat board was fixed, so that no danger was encountered, save from
the shock of the horses and riders. But if the shield was touched
with the sharp end of the lance, the knights were to fight as in
actual battle.
Thirdly: The knight whom the prince should declare to be the
victor was to receive as prize a war-horse of exquisite beauty and
matchless strength, and in addition to this reward, he should have
the peculiar honour of naming the Queen of Love and Beauty.
When the proclamation was made the heralds retired, and through
the open barriers five knights advanced slowly into the arena.
Approaching the challengers, each touched slightly, and with the
reverse of his lance, the shield of the antagonist to whom he
wished to oppose himself, and then retreated to the extremity of
the lists, where all remained drawn up in a line.
At the flourish of clarions and trumpets they started out against
each other at full gallop; and such was the superior skill or good
fortune of the challengers, that those opposed to Bois-Guilbert,
Malvoisin, and Front-de-Boeuf rolled on the ground. The antagonist
of Grantmesnil broke his spear; while the fifth knight alone
maintained the honour of his party.
A second and third party of knights took the field, and although
they had various success, yet, upon the whole, the advantage
decidedly remained with the challengers, not one of whom lost his
seat. A fourth combat followed; and here, too, the challengers
came off victorious.
Prince John now began to talk of awarding the prize to Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, who had proved himself to be the best of the Norman
knights; but his attention, and that of the other spectators, was
arrested by the sound of a solitary trumpet, which breathed a note
of defiance from the northern end of the enclosure.
All eyes were turned to see the new champion, and no sooner were
the barriers opened than he paced into the lists. His suit of
armour was formed of steel, richly inlaid with gold, and the
device on his shield was a young oak-tree pulled up by the roots,
with the word "Disinherited" inscribed upon it. Riding straight up
to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, he struck with the sharp end of his
spear the shield of the victorious Norman until it rang again. All
stood astonished at his presumption, but none more than the
redoubted knight whom he had thus defied to mortal combat.
When the two champions stood opposed to each other at the two
extremities of the lists the public expectation was strained to
highest pitch.
The trumpets had no sooner given the signal than the combatants
vanished from their posts with the speed of lightning, and closed
in the centre of the lists with the shock of a thunderbolt. The
lances burst into shivers, both the knights being almost unhorsed.
Retiring to the extremity of the lists, each received a fresh
lance from the attendants; and again, amidst a breathless silence,
they sprung from their stations, and closed in the centre of the
open space, with the same speed, the same dexterity, the same
violence, but not the same equal fortune, as before.
The Norman's spear, striking the centre of his antagonist's
shield, went to shivers, and the Disinherited Knight reeled in his
saddle. On the other hand, the unknown champion had aimed his
spear's point at the helmet of his opponent. Fair and true he hit
the Norman on the visor, and saddle, horse, and man rolled on the
ground under a cloud of dust.
"We shall meet again, I trust," said the defeated champion, as he
extricated himself from the stirrups and fallen steed.
"If we do not," said the Disinherited Knight, "the fault will not
be mine. On foot or horseback, with spear, with axe, or with
sword, I am alike ready to encounter thee."
Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror called for a bowl
of wine, and, opening the beaver of his helmet, announced that he
quaffed it "To all true English hearts, and to the confusion of
foreign tyrants."
He then desired a herald to proclaim that he was willing to
encounter the rest of the challengers in the order in which they
pleased to advance against him.
The gigantic Front-de-Boeuf, armed in sable armour, was the first
who took the field. But he was soon defeated.
Sir Philip Malvoisin next advanced; and against him the stranger
was equally successful. De Grantmesnil soon after avowed himself
vanquished; and Ralph de Vipont summed up the list of the
stranger's triumphs, being hurled to the ground with such force
that he was borne senseless from the lists.
The acclamations of thousands applauded the award of the prince,
announcing that day's honours to the Disinherited Knight.
The marshal of the field now approached the victor, praying him to
suffer his helmet to be unlaced, ere they conducted him to receive
the prize of the day's tourney from the hands of Prince John. But
the Disinherited Knight, with all courtesy, declined their
request. The prince himself made many inquiries of those in his
company about the unknown stranger; but none could guess who he
might be. Someone suggested that it might, perhaps, be King
Richard himself; and John turned deadly pale as he heard the
words, for he had been plotting to seize the throne during his
brother's absence.
The victorious knight received his prize, speaking not a word in
reply to the complimentary expressions of the prince, which he
only acknowledged with a low bow. Leaping into the saddle of the
richly-accoutred steed which had been presented to him, he rode up
to where the Lady Rowena was seated, and, heedless of the many
Norman beauties who graced the contest with their presence,
gracefully sinking the point of his lance he deposited the coronet
which it supported at the feet of the fair Saxon. The trumpets
instantly sounded, while the heralds proclaimed the Lady Rowena
the Queen of Beauty and of Love for the ensuing day.
Soon after the vast multitude had retired from the deserted field
and lights began to glimmer through the twilight, announcing the
toil of the armourers, which was to continue through the whole
night in order to repair or alter the suits of armour to be used
again on the morrow.
The next day dawned in unclouded splendour, and at ten o'clock the
whole plain was crowded with horsemen, horsewomen, and foot-
passengers, hastening to the tournament; and shortly after a grand
flourish of trumpets announced the arrival of Prince John and his
gorgeous retinue.
About the same time arrived Cedric the Saxon with the Lady Rowena.
He had been accompanied on the previous day by another noble
Saxon, Athelstane, Lord of Coningsburgh, a suitor for the hand of
Rowena, and one who considered his union with that lady as a
matter already fixed beyond doubt, by the assent of Cedric and her
other friends. Rowena herself, however, had never given her
consent to such an alliance; and entertained but a poor opinion of
her would-be lover, whose pretensions for her hand she had
received with marked disdain. Her Saxon lover was not one of her
party at the tourney on the second day. He had observed with
displeasure that Rowena was selected by the victor on the
preceding day as the object of that honour which it became his
privilege to confer, and Athelstane, confident of his own strength
and skill, had himself donned his armour with a determination to
make his rival feel the weight of his battle-axe.
The combat on the second day of the tournament was on a much more
extended scale than that of the previous one; and when the signal
for battle was given some fifty knights, at the same moment,
charged wildly at each other in the lists. The champions
encountered each other with the utmost fury, and with alternate
success; the tide of battle seeming to flow now toward the
southern, now toward the northern extremity of the lists as the
one or the other party prevailed. The clang of the blows, and the
shouts of the combatants, mixed fearfully with the sound of the
trumpets, and drowned the groans of those who fell, and lay
rolling beneath the feet of the horses. The splendid armour of the
knights was now defaced with dust and blood, and gave way at every
stroke of the sword and battle-axe; while the gay plumage, shorn
from the crests, drifted upon the breeze like snowflakes.
In the thick of the press and turmoil of the fight Bois-Guilbert
and the Disinherited Knight repeatedly endeavoured to single out
each other, spurred by mutual animosity. Such, however, was the
crowd and confusion that, during the earlier part of the conflict,
their efforts to meet were unavailing. But when the field became
thin, by the numbers on either side who had yielded themselves
vanquished or had been rendered incapable of continuing the
strife, the Templar and the unknown knight at length encountered,
hand to hand, with all the fury that mortal animosity, joined to
rivalry of honour, could inspire. Such was the skill of each in
parrying and striking that the spectators broke forth into a
unanimous and involuntary shout of delight and admiration.
But at this moment the party of the Disinherited Knight had the
worst. Front-de-Boeuf and Athelstane, having defeated those
immediately opposed to them, were now free to come to the aid of
their friend the Templar; and, turning their horses at the same
moment, the two spurred against the Disinherited Knight.
This champion, exposed as he was to the furious assaults of three
opponents each of whom was almost a match for him single-handed,
must now have soon been overpowered when an unexpected incident
changed the fortunes of the day.
Amongst the ranks of the Disinherited Knight was a champion in
black armour, mounted on a black horse, whose shield bore no
device of any kind. He had engaged with some few combatants, and
had easily defeated them during the earlier stages of the contest,
but seemed to take no further interest in the event of the fight,
acting the part rather of a spectator than of a party in the
tournament.
The moment, however, he saw his leader so hard bestead he seemed
to throw aside his apathy, and setting spurs to his horse he came
to his assistance like a thunderbolt, exclaiming, in a voice like
a trumpet call, "Disinherited to the rescue!"
Under the fury of his first stroke, Front-de-Boeuf, horse and all,
rolled stunned to the ground. He then turned his steed upon
Athelstane, and, wrenching from the hand of the bulky Saxon the
battle-axe which he wielded, bestowed him such a blow upon the
crest, that the Lord of Coningsburgh also lay senseless on the
field. Having achieved this double feat, he returned calmly to the
extremity of the lists, leaving his leader to cope as best he
could with Brian de Bois-Guilbert. This was no longer matter of so
much difficulty as formerly. The Templar's horse had bled much,
and gave way under the shock of the Disinherited Knight's charge.
As Bois-Guilbert rolled on the field, his antagonist sprung from
horseback, and was in the act of commanding his adversary to yield
or die, when Prince John gave the signal that the conflict was at
an end.
It being now the duty of the prince to name the knight who had
done best, he determined, although contrary to the advice of those
about him, that the honour of the day remained with the Black
Knight.
To the surprise of all present, however, the knight thus preferred
was nowhere to be found. He had left the lists immediately when
the conflict ceased, and had been observed by some spectators to
move slowly down one of the forest glades. After he had been
summoned twice by sound of trumpet, it became necessary to name
another; and the Disinherited Knight was for the second time named
champion of the day.
As the victor was led towards the throne of the Lady Rowena, it
was observed that he tottered. Rowena was about to place the
chaplet which she held in her hand upon the helmet of the champion
who kneeled before her, when the marshals exclaimed, "It must not
be thus, his head must be bare;" and at once removed his helmet.
The features which were exposed were those of a young man of
twenty-five; but his countenance was as pale as death, and marked
in one or two places with streaks of blood.
Rowena had no sooner beheld him than she uttered a faint shriek;
but at once summoning up all her energies, she placed upon the
drooping head of the victor the splendid chaplet which was the
destined reward of the day.
The knight bent low, and kissed the hand of the lovely Sovereign
by whom his valour had been rewarded; and then, sinking yet
farther forward, lay prostrate at her feet.
There was a general consternation. Cedric, who had been struck
mute by the sudden appearance of his banished son, now rushed
forward, as if to separate him from Rowena. But this had been
already accomplished by the marshals of the field, who, guessing
the cause of Ivanhoe's swoon, had hastened to undo his armour, and
found that the head of a lance had penetrated his breast-plate and
inflicted a wound in his side.
The name of Ivanhoe was no sooner pronounced than it flew from
mouth to mouth throughout the vast assembly. It was not long ere
it reached the circle of the prince, whose brow darkened as he
heard the news. He knew that Ivanhoe had been a close attendant on
his brother King Richard in the Holy Land; and as such he looked
upon him as his own enemy. He was about to give the signal for
retiring from the lists, when a small billet was put into his
hand. He broke the seal with apparent agitation, and read the
words, "Take heed to yourself, for the devil is unchained."
He turned as pale as death; and taking two of his courtiers aside,
he put the billet into their hands. "It means," he said in a
faltering voice, "that my brother Richard has obtained his
freedom."
"It is time, then," said Fitzurse, his confidential attendant, "to
draw our party to a head, and prepare our forces to meet him."
In sullen ill-humour the prince left the place of tournament to
hold high festival at the Castle of Ashby; but it was more than
his courtiers could do to rouse him from the overpowering gloom
which seemed to agitate his mind throughout the evening. On the
next day it was settled that the prince and all those who were
ready to support him should attend a meeting at York for the
purpose of making general arrangements for placing the crown upon
the head of the usurper, and ousting King Richard from his
sovereign rights.
Meanwhile, Cedric the Saxon, when he saw his son drop down
senseless in the lists at Ashby, had given orders, half in pity,
half in anger, to his attendants to convey Ivanhoe to a place
where his wound might be dressed as soon as the crowd had
dispersed. The attendants were, however, anticipated in this good
office. The crowd dispersed, indeed, but the knight was nowhere to
be seen. The only information which could be collected from the
bystanders was, that he had been raised with care by certain well-
attired grooms, and placed in a litter belonging to a lady among
the spectators, in which he had immediately been transported out
of the press.
Cedric and his friends, having seen the last of the tournament and
the festivities which followed it, now set out on their return to
Rotherwood. Their way lay through a thickly-wooded country, which
was at the time held to be dangerous to travellers from the number
of outlaws whom oppression and poverty had driven to despair, and
who occupied the forests in large bands. From these rovers,
however, Cedric and Athelstane accounted themselves secure, as
they had in attendance ten servants. They knew, besides, that the
outlaws were chiefly peasants and yeomen of Saxon descent, and
were generally supposed to respect the persons and property of
their countrymen.
As the travellers journeyed on their way, they were alarmed by
repeated cries for assistance; and when they rode up to the place
from whence they came, they were surprised to find a horse-litter
placed upon the ground, beside which sat a young woman, richly
dressed in the Jewish fashion, while an old man, whose yellow cap
proclaimed him to belong to the same nation, walked up and down,
wringing his hands, as if affected by some strange disaster.
It was some time before Isaac of York, for it was he, could
explain the nature of his trouble. When at length he began to come
to himself out of his agony of terror, he said that he had hired a
body-guard of six men at Ashby, together with mules for carrying
the litter of a sick friend; but that they all had fled away from
him, having heard that there was a strong band of outlaws lying
in wait in the woods before them. When he implored permission to
continue his journey under the protection of Cedric and his party,
Athelstane was strongly opposed to allowing the "dog of a Jew," as
he called him, to travel in their company. The Lady Rowena,
however, had at the same time been approached by the old man's
daughter, who, kissing the hem of her garment, implored her to
have compassion on them. "It is not for myself that I pray this
favour," said Rebecca; "nor is it even for that poor old man; but
it is in the name of one dear to many, and dear even to you, that
I beseech you to let this sick person be transported with care and
tenderness under your protection."
So noble and solemn was the air with which Rebecca made this
appeal, that on the intercession of Rowena Cedric readily
consented to allow the Jew and his daughter, together with their
sick friend, to attach themselves to his party.
Twilight was already coming on as the company proceeded on their
journey. The path upon which the party travelled was now so narrow
as not to admit above two riders abreast. They accordingly
quickened their pace, in order to get as rapidly as possible out
of the dangerous neighborhood which they were traversing. They had
just crossed a' brook, whose banks were broken, swampy, and
overgrown with dwarf willows, when they were assailed in front,
flank and rear by a large body of men in the dress of outlaws, and
with an impetuosity to which, in their confused and ill-prepared
condition, it was impossible to offer effectual resistance. Both
the Saxon chiefs were made prisoners at the same moment, while the
attendants, embarrassed with baggage, surprised and terrified at
the fate of their masters, fell an easy prey to the assailants;
and the Lady Rowena, the Jew and his daughter experienced the same
misfortune. Wamba, the jester, alone escaped, showing upon the
occasion much more courage than those who pretended to greater
sense. As he wandered through the forest, a dog, which he
recognised, jumped up and fawned upon him, and Gurth, the
swineherd, shortly after made his appearance. He was horrified to
hear from his fellow-servant of the misfortune which had befallen
their master and his party; and the two were about to hasten away
for the purpose of procuring aid, when a third person suddenly
appeared, and commanded them both to halt. Notwithstanding the
twilight, and although his dress and arms showed him to be an
outlaw, Wamba recognised him to be Locksley, the yeoman, a man who
had carried off the prize for archery at the tournament a day or
two before.
"What is the meaning of all this," he said; "or who is it that
rifle and ransom and make prisoners in these forests?"
The yeoman then left, bidding Gurth and Wamba, on the peril of
their lives, not to stir until he returned.
He was not long away, and on returning said that he had found out
who the attacking party were and whither they were bound.