affection. We are thrown off our guard by the general agitation of our
feelings, and betray the intensity of those which, at more tranquil
periods, our prudence at least conceals, if it cannot altogether
suppress them. In finding herself once more by the side of Ivanhoe,
Rebecca was astonished at the keen sensation of pleasure which she
experienced, even at a time when all around them both was danger, if
not despair. As she felt his pulse, and inquired after his health,
there was a softness in her touch and in her accents, implying a kinder
interest than she would herself have been pleased to have voluntarily
expressed. Her voice faltered and her hand trembled, and it was only
the cold question of Ivanhoe, "Is it you, gentle maiden?" which
recalled her to herself, and reminded her the sensations which she felt
were not and could not be mutual. A sigh escaped, but it was scarce
audible; and the questions which she asked the knight concerning his
state of health were put in the tone of calm friendship. Ivanhoe
answered her hastily that he was, in point of health, as well, and
better, than he could have expected. "Thanks," he said, "dear Rebecca,
to thy helpful skill."
"He calls me _dear Rebecca_," said the maiden to herself, "but it is in
the cold and careless tone which ill suits the word. His war-horse, his
hunting hound, are dearer to him than the despised Jewess!"
"My mind, gentle maiden," continued Ivanhoe, "is more disturbed by
anxiety than my body with pain. From the speeches of these men who were
my warders just now, I learn that I am a prisoner, and, if I judge
aright of the loud hoarse voice which even now despatched them hence on
some military duty, I am in the castle of Front-de-Boeuf. If so, how
will this end, or how can I protect Rowena and my father?"
"He names not the Jew or Jewess," said Rebecca, internally; "yet what
is our portion in him, and how justly am I punished by Heaven for
letting my thoughts dwell upon him!" She hastened after this brief
self-accusation to give Ivanhoe what information she could; but it
amounted only to this, that the Templar Bois-Guilbert and the Baron
Front-de-Boeuf were commanders within the castle; that it was
beleaguered from without, but by whom she knew not.
The noise within the castle, occasioned by the defensive preparations,
which had been considerable for some time, now increased into tenfold
bustle and clamor. The heavy yet hasty step of the men-at-arms
traversed the battlements, or resounded on the narrow and winding
passages and stairs which led to the various bartizans [Footnote: A
bartizan is a sort of small overhanging balcony, built for defense or
for lookout.] and points of defense. The voices of the knights were
heard, animating their followers, or directing means of defense, while
their commands were often drowned in the clashing of armor, or the
clamorous shouts of those whom they addressed. Tremendous as these
sounds were, and yet more terrible from the awful event which they
presaged, there was a sublimity mixed with them which Rebecca's high-
toned mind could feel even in that moment of terror. Her eye kindled,
although the blood fled from her cheeks; and there was a strong mixture
of fear, and of a thrilling sense of the sublime, as she repeated,
half-whispering to herself, half-speaking to her companion, the sacred
text--"The quiver rattleth--the glittering spear and the shield--the
noise of the captains and the shouting!"
[Illustration: IVANHOE WAS IMPATIENT AT HIS INACTIVITY.]
But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime passage, glowing
with impatience at his inactivity, and with his ardent desire to mingle
in the affray of which these sounds were the introduction. "If I could
but drag myself," he said, "to yonder window, that I might see how this
brave game is like to go! If I had but bow to shoot a shaft, or battle-
axe to strike were it but a single blow for our deliverance! It is
vain--it is vain--I am alike nerveless and weaponless."
"Fret not thyself, noble knight," answered Rebecca, "the sounds have
ceased of a sudden; it may be they join not battle."
"Thou knowest naught of it," said Ivanhoe, impatiently; "this dead
pause only shows that the men are at their posts on the walls and
expecting an instant attack; what we have heard is but the distant
muttering of the storm; it will burst anon in all its fury. Could I but
reach yonder window!"
"Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt, noble knight," replied
his attendant. Observing his solicitude, she added, "I myself will
stand at the lattice, and describe as I can what passes without."
"You must not--you shall not!" exclaimed Ivanhoe. "Each lattice, each
aperture, will soon be a mark for the archers; some random shaft--"
"It shall be welcome!" murmured Rebecca, as with firm pace she ascended
two or three steps, which led to the window of which they spoke.
"Rebecca--dear Rebecca!" exclaimed Ivanhoe, "this is no maiden's
pastime; do not expose thyself to wounds and death, and render me
forever miserable for having given the occasion; at least, cover
thyself with yonder ancient buckler, and show as little of your person
at the lattice as may be."
Following with wonderful promptitude the directions of Ivanhoe, and
availing herself of the protection of the large ancient shield, which
she placed against the lower part of the window, Rebecca, with
tolerable security to herself, could witness part of what was passing
without the castle, and report to Ivanhoe the preparations which the
assailants were making for the storm. Indeed, the situation which she
thus obtained was peculiarly favorable for this purpose, because being
placed on an angle of the main building, Rebecca could not only see
what passed beyond the precincts of the castle, but also commanded a
view of the outwork likely to be the first object of the meditated
assault. It was an exterior fortification of no great height or
strength, intended to protect the postern-gate, through which Cedric
had been recently dismissed by Front-de-Boeuf. The castle moat divided
this species of barbican [Footnote: A barbican is a tower or outwork
built to defend the entry to a castle or fortification.] from the rest
of the fortress, so that, in case of its being taken, it was easy to
cut off the communication with the main building, by withdrawing the
temporary bridge. In the outwork was a sallyport [Footnote: A sallyport
is an underground passage from the outer to the inner fortifications.]
corresponding to the postern of the castle, and the whole was
surrounded by a strong palisade. Rebecca could observe, from the number
of men placed for the defence of this post, that the besieged
entertained apprehensions for its safety; and from the mustering of the
assailants in a direction nearly opposite to the outwork, it seemed no
less plain that it had been selected as a vulnerable point of attack.
These appearances she hastily communicated to Ivanhoe, and added, "The
skirts of the wood seem lined with archers, although only a few are
advanced from its dark shadow."
"Under what banner?" asked Ivanhoe.
"Under no ensign of war which I can observe," answered Rebecca.
"A singular novelty," muttered the knight, "to advance to storm such a
castle without pennon or banner displayed! Seest thou who they be that
act as leaders?"
"A knight, clad in sable armor, is the most conspicuous," said the
Jewess; "he alone is armed from head to heel, and seems to assume the
direction of all around him."
"What device does he bear on his shield?" replied Ivanhoe.
"Something resembling a bar of iron, and a padlock painted blue on the
black shield."
"A fetterlock and shackle-bolt [Footnote: These are terms in heraldry.
Ivanhoe means that, since he is a prisoner, fetters and shackles would
be good device for his shield.] azure," said Ivanhoe; "I know not who
may bear the device, but well I ween it might now be mine own. Canst
thou not see the motto?"
"Scarce the device itself at this distance," replied Rebecca; "but when
the sun glances fair upon his shield it shows as I tell you."
"Seem there no other leaders?" exclaimed the anxious inquirer.
"None of mark and distinction that I can behold from this station,"
said Rebecca; "but doubtless the other side of the castle is also
assailed. They appear even now preparing to advance--God of Zion
protect us! What a dreadful sight! Those who advance first bear huge
shields and defences made of plank; the others follow, bending their
bows as they come on. They raise their bows! God of Moses, forgive the
creatures Thou hast made!"
Her description was here suddenly interrupted by the signal for
assault, which was given by the blast of a shrill bugle, and at once
answered by a flourish of the Norman trumpets from the battlements,
which, mingled with the deep and hollow clang of the nakers (a species
of kettledrum), retorted in notes of defiance the challenge of the
enemy. The shouts of both parties augmented the fearful din, the
assailants crying, "Saint George for merry England!" [Footnote: Saint
George is the patron saint of England.] and the Normans answering them
with loud cries of _"En avant De Bracy! Beau-seant! 'Beau-seant!
Front-de-Boeuf a la rescousse!"_ [Footnote: _En avant De Bracy_ means
_Forward, De Bracy_. _Beau-seant_ is the name given to the black and
white standard of the Knights Templars. The word was used as a battle
cry. _A la rescousse_ means _To the rescue_.] according to the war-cries
of their different commanders.
It was not, however, by clamor that the contest was to be decided, and
the desperate efforts of the assailants were met by an equally vigorous
defence on the part of the besieged. The archers, trained by their
woodland pastimes to the most effective use of the long-bow, shot, to
use the appropriate phrase of the time, so "wholly together," that no
point at which a defender could show the least part of his person
escaped their cloth-yard shafts. [Footnote: _Cloth-yard_ was the name
given to an old measure used for cloth, which differed somewhat from the
modern yard. A _cloth-yard_ shaft was an arrow a yard long.] By this
heavy discharge, which continued as thick and sharp as hail, while,
notwithstanding, every arrow had its individual aim, and flew by scores
together against each embrasure and opening in the parapets, as well as
at every window where a defender either occasionally had post, or might
be suspected to be stationed--by this sustained discharge, two or three
of the garrison were slain and several others wounded. But confident in
their armor of proof, and in the cover which their situation afforded,
the followers of Front-de-Boeuf and his allies showed an obstinacy in
defence proportioned to the fury of the attack, and replied with the
discharge of their large cross-bows, as well as with their long-bows,
slings, and other missile weapons, to the close and continued shower of
arrows; and, as the assailants were necessarily but indifferently
protected, did considerably more damage than they received at their
hand. The whizzing of shafts and of missiles on both sides was only
interrupted by the shouts which arose when either side inflicted or
sustained some notable loss.
"And I must lie here like a bed-ridden monk," exclaimed Ivanhoe, "while
the game that gives me freedom or death is played out by the hand of
others! Look from the window once again, kind maiden, but beware that
you are not marked by the archers beneath. Look out once more, and tell
me if they yet advance to the storm."
With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which she had
employed in mental devotion, Rebecca again took post at the lattice,
sheltering herself, however, so as not to be visible from beneath.
"What dost thou see, Rebecca?" again demanded the wounded knight.
"Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle mine
eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot them."
"That cannot endure," said Ivanhoe; "if they press not right on to
carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but
little against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the Knight of the
Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how he bears himself; for as the
leader is, so will his followers be."
"I see him not," said Rebecca.
"Foul craven!" exclaimed Ivanhoe; "does he blench from the helm when
the wind blows highest?"
"He blenches not!--he blenches not!" said Rebecca, "I see him now, he
leads a body of men close under the outer barrier of the barbican. They
pull down the piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers with
axes. His high black plume floats abroad over the throng, like a raven
over the field of the slain. They have made a breach in the barriers--
they rush in--they are thrust back! Front-de-Boeuf heads the defenders;
I see his gigantic form above the press. They throng again to the
breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand, and man to man. God of
Jacob! it is the meeting of two fierce tides--the conflict of two
oceans moved by adverse winds!"
She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer to endure a
sight so terrible.
"Look forth again, Rebecca," said Ivanhoe, mistaking the cause of her
retiring; "the archery must in some degree have ceased, since they are
now fighting hand to hand. Look again, there is now less danger."
Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately exclaimed, "Holy
prophets of the law! Front-de-Boeuf and the Black Knight fight hand to
hand on the breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch the
progress of the strife, Heaven strike with the cause of the oppressed
and of the captive!" She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed, "He
is down!--he is down!"
[Illustration: THE BLACK KNIGHT AT THE GATE OF THE CASTLE]
"Who is down?" cried Ivanhoe; "for our dear Lady's sake, tell me which
has fallen?"
"The Black Knight," answered Rebecca, faintly; then instantly again
shouted with joyful eagerness--"But no--but no! the name of the Lord of
Hosts be blessed! he is on foot again, and fights as if there were
twenty men's strength in his single arm. His sword is broken--he
snatches an axe from a yeoman--he presses Front-de-Boeuf with blow on
blow. The giant stoops and totters like an oak under the steel of the
woodman--he falls--he falls!"
"Front-de-Boeuf?" exclaimed Ivanhoe.
"Front-de-Boeuf," answered the Jewess. "His men rush to the rescue,
headed by the haughty Templar; their united force compels the champion
to pause. They drag Front-de-Boeuf within the walls."
"The assailants have won the barriers, have they not?" said Ivanhoe.
"They have--they have!" exclaimed Rebecca; and they press the besieged
hard upon the outer wall; some plant ladders, some swarm like bees, and
endeavor to ascend upon the shoulders of each other; down go stones,
beams, and trunks of trees upon their heads, and as fast as they bear
the wounded to the rear, fresh men supply their places in the assault.
Great God! hast Thou given men Thine own image that it should be thus
cruelly defaced by the hands of their brethren!"
"Think not of that," said Ivanhoe; "this is no time for such thoughts.
Who yield? Who push their way?"
"The ladders are thrown down," replied Rebecca, shuddering; "the
soldiers lie grovelling under them like crushed reptiles. The besieged
have the better."
"Saint George strike for us!" exclaimed the knight; "do the false
yeomen give way?"
"No!" exclaimed Rebecca, "they bear themselves right yeomanly. The
Black Knight approaches the postern with his huge axe; the thundering
blows which he deals, you may hear them above all the din and shouts of
the battle. Stones and beams are hailed down on the bold champion: he
regards them no more than if they were thistle-down or feathers!"
"By Saint John of Acre," [Footnote: _Saint John of Acre_ was the
full name of the Syrian town usually known as _Acre_. During the
Crusade which the Christians of Europe undertook to recover the Holy
Land from the Saracens, Acre was one of the chief points of contest. It
was held first by one party, then by the other. Owing to this
importance, it was natural that its name should come to be used as an
exclamation.] said Ivanhoe, raising himself joyfully on his couch,
"methought there was but one man in England that might do such a deed!"
"The postern gate shakes," continued Rebecca--"it crashes--it is
splintered by his blows--they rush in--the outwork is won. Oh God! they
hurl the defenders from the battlements--they throw them into the moat.
O men, if ye be indeed men, spare them that can resist no longer!"
"That ridge--the ridge which communicates with the castle--have they
won that pass?" exclaimed Ivanhoe.
"No," replied Rebecca; "the Templar has destroyed the plank on which
they crossed; few of the defenders escaped with him into the castle--
the shrieks and cries which you hear tell the fate of the others. Alas!
I see it is still more difficult to look upon victory than upon
battle."
"What do they now, maiden?" said Ivanhoe; look forth yet again--this is
no time to faint at bloodshed."
"It is over for the time," answered Rebecca; "our friends strengthen
themselves within the outwork which they have mastered, and it affords
them so good a shelter from the foemen's shot that the garrison only
bestow a few bolts on it from interval to interval, as if rather to
disquiet than effectually to injure them."
"Our friends," said Ivanhoe, "will surely not abandon an enterprise so
gloriously begun and so happily attained. O no! I will put my faith in
the good knight whose axe hath rent heart-of-oak and bars of iron.
Singular," he again muttered to himself, "if there be two who can do a
deed of such derring-do![Footnote: _Derring-do_ is an old word for
daring, or _warlike deed_] A fetterlock, and a shackle-bolt on a
field sable--what may that mean? Seest thou nought else, Rebecca, by
which the Black Knight may be distinguished?"
"Nothing," said the Jewess; "all about him is black as the wing of the
night raven. Nothing can I spy that can mark him further; but having
once seen him put forth his strength in battle, methinks I could know
him again among a thousand warriors. He rushes to the fray as if he
were summoned to a banquet. There is more than mere strength--there
seems as if the whole soul and spirit of the champion were given to
every blow which he deals upon his enemies. God assoilzie [Footnote:
_Assoilzie_ is an old word for _absolve_] him of the sin of bloodshed!
It is fearful, yet magnificent, to behold how the arm and heart of one
man can triumph over hundreds."
"Rebecca," said Ivanhoe, "thou hast painted a hero; surely they rest
but to refresh their force, or to provide the means of crossing the
moat. Under such a leader as thou hast spoken this knight to be, there
are no craven fears, no cold-blooded delays, no yielding up a gallant
emprize, since the difficulties which render it arduous render it also
glorious. I swear by the honor of my house--I vow by the name of my
bright lady-love, I would endure ten years' captivity to fight one day
by that good knight's side in such a quarrel as this!"
"Alas!" said Rebecca, leaving her station at the window, and
approaching the couch of the wounded knight, "this impatient yearning
after action--this struggling with and repining at your present
weakness, will not fail to injure your returning health. How couldst
thou hope to inflict wounds on others, ere that be healed which thou
thyself hast received?"
"Rebecca," he replied, "thou knowest not how impossible it is for one
trained to actions of chivalry to remain passive as a priest, or a
woman, when they are acting deeds of honor around him. The love of
battle is the food upon which we live--the dust of the _mêlée_
[Footnote: _Mêlée_ is a French word meaning a _hand-to-hand
conflict_.] is the breath of our nostrils! We live not--we wish not
to live--longer than while we are victorious and renowned. Such,
maiden, are the laws of chivalry to which we are sworn, and to which we
offer all that we hold dear."
"Alas!" said the fair Jewess, "and what is it, valiant knight, save an
offering of sacrifice to a demon of vain glory, and a passing through
the fire to Moloch? [Footnote: _Moloch_ was the fire-god of the ancient
Ammonites, to whom human sacrifices were offered.] What remains to you
as the prize of all the blood you have spilled, of all the travail and
pain you have endured, of all the tears which your deeds have caused,
when death hath broken the strong man's spear, and overtaken the speed
of his war-horse?"
"What remains?" cried Ivanhoe. "Glory, maiden--glory! which gilds our
sepulchre and embalms our name."
"Glory!" continued Rebecca; "alas! is the rusted nail which hangs as a
hatchment over the champion's dim and mouldering tomb, is the defaced
sculpture of the inscription which the ignorant monk can hardly read to
the inquiring pilgrim--are these sufficient rewards for the sacrifice
of every kindly affection, for a life spent miserably that ye may make
others miserable? Or is there such virtue in the rude rhymes of a
wandering bard, that domestic love, kindly affection, peace and
happiness, are so wildly bartered, to become the hero of those ballads
which vagabond minstrels sing to drunken churls over their evening
ale?"
"By the soul of Hereward!" replied the knight, impatiently, "thou
speakest, maiden, of thou knowest not what. Thou wouldst quench the
pure light of chivalry, which alone distinguishes the noble from the
base, the gentle knight from the churl and the savage; which rates our
life far, far beneath the pitch of our honor, raises us victorious over
pain, toil, and suffering, and teaches us to fear no evil but disgrace.
Thou art no Christian, Rebecca; and to thee are unknown those high
feelings which swell the bosom of a noble maiden when her lover hath
done some deed of emprize which sanctions his flame. Chivalry! Why,
maiden, she is the nurse of pure and high affection, the stay of the
oppressed, the redresser of grievances, the curb of the power of the
tyrant. Nobility were but an empty name without her, and liberty finds
the best protection in her lance and her sword."
"I am, indeed," said Rebecca, "sprung from a race whose courage was
distinguished in the defence of their own land, but who warred not,
even while yet a nation, save at the command of the Deity, or in
defending their country from oppression. The sound of the trumpet wakes
Judah no longer, and her despised children are now but the unresisting
victims of hostile and military oppression. Well hast thou spoken, Sir
Knight: until the God of Jacob shall raise up for His chosen people a
second Gideon, or a new Maccabeus, it ill beseemeth the Jewish damsel
to speak of battle or of war."
The high-minded maiden concluded the argument in a tone of sorrow,
which deeply expressed her sense of the degradation of her people,
imbittered perhaps by the idea that Ivanhoe considered her as one not
entitled to interfere in a case of honor, and incapable of entertaining
or expressing sentiments of honor and generosity.
"How little he knows this bosom," she said, "to imagine that cowardice
or meanness of soul must needs be its guests, because I have censured
the fantastic chivalry. Would to Heaven that the shedding of mine own
blood, drop by drop, could redeem the captivity of Judah! Nay, would to
God it could avail to set free my father, and this his benefactor, from
the chains of the oppressor. The proud Christian should then see
whether the daughter of God's chosen people dared not to die as bravely
as the finest Nazarene maiden, that boasts her descent from some petty
chieftain of the rude and frozen north!"
She then looked toward the couch of the wounded knight.
"He sleeps," she said; "nature exhausted by suffrance, and the waste of
spirits, his wearied frame embraces the first moment of temporary
relaxation to sink into slumber."
She wrapped herself closely in her veil, and sat down at a distance
from the couch of the wounded knight, with her back turned toward it,
fortifying, or endeavoring to fortify, her mind against the impending
evils.