Chapter 29

The Grand Master himself, in a short speech, announced the charge against the Jewess; and, on its conclusion, several witnesses were called to prove the risks to which Bois-Guilbert exposed himself in endeavouring to save Rebecca from the blazing castle; while other witnesses testified to the apparent madness of the Templar in bringing the Jewess to the preceptory. A poor Saxon peasant was next dragged forward to the bar, who had been cured of a palsy by the accused. Most unwilling was his testimony, and given with many tears; but he admitted that two years since he had been unable to stir from his bed until the remedies applied by Rebecca's directions had in some degree restored the use of his limbs. With a trembling hand he produced from his bosom a small box of ointment, bearing some Hebrew characters upon the lid, which was, with most of the audience, a sure proof that the devil had stood apothecary.

Witnesses skilled in medicine were then brought forward to prove that they knew nothing of the materials of which the unguent was compounded, and who suggested that it must have been manufactured by means both unlawful and magical. Other witnesses came forward to prove that Rebecca's cures were accomplished by means of mutterings in an unknown tongue, and songs of a sweet, strange sound, which made the ears of the hearer tingle and his heart throb, adding that her garments were of a strange and mystic form, and that she had rings impressed with cabalistic devices, all which were, in those ignorant and superstitious times, easily credited as proofs of guilt.

On the conclusion of this weighty evidence the Grand Master in a solemn tone demanded of Rebecca what she had to say against the sentence of condemnation which he was about to pronounce.

"To invoke your pity," said the lovely Jewess, with a voice somewhat tremulous with emotion, "would, I am aware, be as useless as I should hold it mean. To state that to relieve the sick and wounded of another religion cannot be displeasing to God were also unavailing; to plead that many things which these men (whom may Heaven pardon!) have spoken against me are impossible would avail me but little, since you believe in their possibility, and still less would it advantage me to explain that the peculiarities of my dress, language, and manners are those of my people. I am friendless, defenceless, and the prisoner of my accuser there. He is of your own faith; his lightest word would weigh down the most solemn protestations of the distressed Jewess, and yet to himself, yes, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, to thyself I appeal, whether these accusations are not false?"

There was a pause; all eyes turned to the Templar. He was silent.

"Speak," she said, "if thou art a man; if thou art a Christian, speak! I conjure thee, by the habit which thou dost wear, by the name thou dost inherit, by the honour of thy mother, I conjure thee to say, are these things true?"

"Answer her, brother," said the Grand Master.

"The scroll, the scroll!" was all that Bois-Guilbert uttered in reply, looking to Rebecca.

The Jewess instantly remembered the slip of paper which she continued to hold in her hand, and, looking at it without being observed, she read the words, _"Demand a champion!"_

"Rebecca," said the Grand Master, who believed the words of Bois- Guilbert had reference to some other writing, "hast thou aught else to say?"

"There is yet one chance of life left to me," said the Jewess, "even by your own fierce laws. I deny this charge; I maintain my innocence. I challenge the privilege of trial by combat, and will appear by my champion. There lies my gage."

She took her embroidered glove from her hand and flung it down before the Grand Master, with an air of mingled simplicity and dignity which excited universal surprise and admiration.

A short consultation then took place between Beaumanoir and the preceptors, in which it was decided that Brian de Bois-Guilbert was the fittest knight to do battle for the Holy Order. To him, accordingly, the glove of Rebecca was handed; and the Jewess was commanded to find a champion by the third day following. It was further intimated to her that should she fail to do so, or if her champion should be discomfited, she should die the death of a sorceress, according to doom.

Being granted permission to communicate with her father, she hastily wrote a few lines in Hebrew to him, imploring him to seek out Wilfred, the son of Cedric, and let him know that she was in sore need of a champion. As it fortuned, the messenger who did her errand had not far to go before he met Isaac of York.

The poor old man, on learning his daughter's terrible condition, was quite overcome; but, cheered in some measure by the kindly words of a rabbi who was with him, he determined, weak and feverish though he was, to make a last effort for the child he loved so dearly. And having said farewell the two Jews parted, Isaac to seek out Ivanhoe, and the rabbi to go to York to look for other assistance.

In the twilight of the day of her trial, if it could be called such, a low knock was heard at the door of Rebecca's prison- chamber; and shortly after Brian de Bois-Guilbert entered the apartment.

She drew back in terror at the sight of the man who had been the cause of all her misfortunes; but he bade her not to be afraid. He had come, he said, to tell her that he was prepared to refuse to do battle for the Templars against her and sacrifice his name and honour as a member of the Holy Order, and that he would leave the preceptory, appear in three days in disguise, and himself be her champion against any knight who should confront him, on one condition: that she should accept him as a lover.

Rebecca listened to his words, and then with scorn refused his offer.

"So be it then, proud damsel," said Bois-Guilbert; "thou hast thyself decided thine own fate. I shall appear in the lists against thy champion, and know that there lives not the knight who may cope with me alone save Richard Coeur-de-Lion and his minion Ivanhoe. Ivanhoe, as thou well knowest, is unable to bear his corslet, and Richard is in a foreign prison. Farewell." And so saying the Templar left the apartment.

Pending this time, so full of terror and anxiety for poor Rebecca, the Black Knight, having left the company of the generous outlaw, held his way to a neighbouring religious house to which the wounded Ivanhoe had been removed when the castle was taken. Here he remained for the night; and the following day he set out for Coningsburgh to attend the obsequies of the deceased Athelstane, Wamba alone being his companion.

They had ridden together for some distance when the quick eye of the jester caught sight of some men in armour concealed in a brake not far from where they were.

Almost immediately after three arrows were discharged from the suspected spot, one of which glanced off the visor of the Black Knight.

"Let us close with them," said the knight, and he rode straight to the thicket. He was met by six or seven men-at-arms, who ran against him with their lances at full career. Three of the weapons struck against him, and splintered with as little effect as if they had been driven against a tower of steel.

The attacking party then drew their swords and assailed him on every side. But many as they were to one they had met their match; and a man reeled and fell at every blow delivered by the Black Knight. His opponents, desperate as they were, now bore back from his deadly blows, and it seemed as if the terror of his single strength was about to gain the battle against such odds when a knight in blue armour, who had kept himself behind the other assailants, spurred forward with his lance, and taking aim, not at the rider but at the steed, wounded the noble animal mortally.

"That was a felon stroke!" exclaimed the Black Knight, as the horse fell to the earth bearing his rider along with him.

At this moment Wamba winded the outlaw's bugle, which he had been given to carry. The sudden sound made the murderers bear back once more, and Wamba did not hesitate to rush in and assist his knight to rise.

"Shame on ye, false cowards!" exclaimed he in the blue harness; "do ye fly from the empty blast of a horn blown by a jester?"

Animated by his words, they attacked the Black Knight anew, whose best refuge was now to place his back against an oak, and defend himself with his sword. The felon knight, who had taken another spear, watching the moment when his formidable antagonist was most closely pressed, galloped against him in hopes to nail him with his lance against the tree; but Wamba, springing forward in good time, checked the fatal career of the Blue Knight, by hamstringing his horse with a stroke of his sword; and horse and man went heavily to the ground. Almost immediately after, a band of yeomen, headed by Locksley, broke forth from the glade, who, joining manfully in the fray, soon disposed of the ruffians, all of whom lay on the spot dead, or mortally wounded.

The visor of the Blue Knight, who still lay entangled under his wounded steed, was now opened, and the features of Waldemar Fitzurse were disclosed.

"Stand back, my masters," said the Black Knight to those about him; "I would speak with this man alone. And now, Waldemar Fitzurse, say me the truth: confess who set thee on this traitorous deed."

"Richard," answered the fallen knight, "it was thy father's son."

Richard's eyes sparkled with indignation, but his better nature overcame it. "Take thy life unasked," he said; "but, on this condition, that in three days thou shalt leave England, and that thou wilt never mention the name of John of Anjou as connected with thy felony." Then, turning to where the yeomen stood apart, he said, "Let this knight have a steed, Locksley, and let him depart unharmed. Thou bearest an English heart, and must needs obey me. I am Richard of England!"

At these words the yeomen kneeled down before him, tendering their allegiance, while they implored pardon for their offences.

"Rise, my friends," said Richard. "Your misdemeanours have been atoned by the loyal services you rendered my distressed subjects before the walls of Torquilstone, and the rescue you have this day afforded your sovereign. Arise, my liegemen, and be good subjects in future. And thou, brave Locksley--"

"Call me no longer Locksley, my liege," said the outlaw; "I am Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest."

Before many more minutes had gone a sylvan repast was hastily prepared beneath a huge oak-tree for the King of England. Amongst those who partook of the forest hospitality of the outlaws were Ivanhoe and Gurth, who just then came on the scene, the former now all but cured of his wound, thanks to the healing balsam with which he had been provided by Rebecca the Jewess.

When the feast was concluded, the king, attended by Ivanhoe, Wamba, and Gurth, proceeded on his way to Coningsburgh. As the travellers approached the ancient Saxon fortress, they could see the huge black banner floating from the top of the tower, which announced that the obsequies of the late owner were still in the act of being solemnized. All around the castle was a scene of busy commotion, the whole countryside being gathered from far and near to partake of the funeral banquet. Cooks and mendicants, strolling soldiers from Palestine, pedlars, mechanics, wandering palmers, hedge-priests, Saxon minstrels and Welsh bards, together with jesters and jugglers, formed a motley and hungry gathering, such as could only be seen on the occasion which now brought them together; and through this riotous crowd Richard and his followers with difficulty made their way.

As they entered the apartment where Cedric sat, Ivanhoe muffled his face in his mantle. Upon the entrance of Richard, the Saxon arose gravely to bid him welcome. Having greeted him and his friends with the mournful ceremony suited to the occasion, Cedric led his knightly guest to another apartment, where he was about to leave him, when the Black Knight took his hand.

"I crave to remind you, noble thane," he said, "that when we last parted you promised to grant me a boon."

"It is granted ere named, noble knight," said Cedric, still unaware that he was speaking to the king.

"Know me, then, from henceforth," said the Black Knight, "as Richard Plantagenet; the boon I crave is that thou wilt forgive and receive to thy paternal affection this good knight here, Wilfred of Ivanhoe."

"And this is Wilfred!" said Cedric, pointing to his son.

"My father! my father!" said Ivanhoe, prostrating himself at Cedric's feet, "grant me thy forgiveness!"

"Thou hast it, my son," said Cedric, raising him up. But he had scarce uttered the words when the door flew open, and Athelstane, arrayed in the garments of the grave, stood before them, pale, haggard, and like something arisen from the dead.

The effect of this apparition on the persons present was utterly appalling. Cedric started back in amazement. Ivanhoe crossed himself, repeating prayers in Saxon, Latin, and Norman-French, while Richard alternately said "_Benedicite_" and swore, "_Mort de ma vie!_"

"In the name of God," said Cedric, starting back, "if thou art mortal, speak! Living or dead, noble Athelstane, speak to Cedric!"

"I will," said the spectre, "when I have collected breath. Alive, saidst thou? I am as much alive as he can be who has fed on bread and water for three days. I went down under the Templar's sword, stunned, indeed, but unwounded, for the blade struck me flatlings, being averted by the good mace with which I warded the blow. Others, of both sides, were beaten down and slaughtered above me, so that I never recovered my senses until I found myself in a coffin--an open one, by good luck--placed before the altar in church."

Having concluded his story, still breathless with excitement, he looked about him. He had caught a glimpse of Ivanhoe as he first came into the apartment, but had lost sight of him owing to the crowd of eager listeners by which the room was now thronged. Filled with a spirit of generosity to his rival, he took the hand of Rowena, who stood beside him, and was about to place it in that of Ivanhoe, when it was found that Wilfred had vanished from the room.

It was at length discovered that a Jew had been to seek the knight, and that, after a very brief conference, he had called for Gurth and his armour, and had left the castle. King Richard was also gone, and no one knew whither.

Meanwhile, the tiltyard of the Preceptory of Templestowe was prepared for the combat which should decide the life or death of Rebecca. As the hour approached which was to determine the fate of the unfortunate Jewess, a vast multitude had gathered to witness a spectacle even in that age but seldom seen.

At one end of the lists arose the throne of the Grand Master, surrounded with seats for the preceptors and the knights of the Order, over which floated the sacred standard of the Templars.

At the opposite end was a pile of faggots, so arranged around a stake, deeply fixed in the ground, as to leave a space for the victim whom they were destined to consume. Close by stood four black slaves, whose colour and African features, then so little known in England, appalled the multitude, who gazed on them as demons.

Soon the slow and sullen sounds of the great church bell chilled with awe the hearts of the assembled crowd; and before long the Grand Master, preceded by a stately retinue, approached his throne. Behind him came Brian de Bois-Guilbert, armed cap-a-pie in bright armour, but looking ghastly pale. A long procession followed, and next a guard of warders on foot, in sable livery, amidst whom might be seen the pale form of the accused maiden. All her ornaments had been removed, and a coarse white dress, of the simplest form, had been substituted for her Oriental garments; yet there was such an exquisite mixture of courage and resignation in her look that even in this garb, and with no other ornament than her long black tresses, each eye wept that looked upon her.

The unfortunate Jewess was conducted to a black chair placed near the pile; and soon after a loud and long flourish of trumpets announced that the court were seated for judgment.

There was a dead pause of many minutes.

"No champion appears for the appellant," said the Grand Master.

Another pause succeeded; and then the knights whispered to each other that it was time to declare the pledge of Rebecca forfeited. At this instant a knight, urging his horse to speed, appeared on the plain advancing towards the lists. A hundred voices exclaimed, "A champion! A champion!" and amidst a ringing cheer the knight rode into the tilt-yard, although his horse appeared to reel from fatigue.

To the summons of the herald, who demanded his rank, his name, and purpose, the stranger answered, raising his helmet as he spoke, "I am Wilfred of Ivanhoe."

"I will not fight with thee at present," said Bois-Guilbert. "Get thy wounds healed."

"Ha! proud Templar," said Ivanhoe, "hast thou forgotten that twice didst thou fall before this lance? I will proclaim thee a coward in every court in Europe unless thou do battle without farther delay."

"Dog of a Saxon!" said the Templar, "take thy lance, and prepare for the death thou hast drawn upon thee!"

At once each champion took his place, the trumpets sounded, and the knights charged each other in full career. The wearied horse of Ivanhoe, and its no less exhausted rider, went down, as all had expected, before the well-aimed lance and vigorous steed of the Templar. But although the spear of Ivanhoe did but touch the shield of Bois-Guilbert, that champion, to the astonishment of all who beheld it, reeled in his saddle, lost his stirrups, and fell in the lists.

Ivanhoe was soon on foot, hastening to mend his fortune with his sword; but his antagonist arose not. Wilfred, placing his foot on his breast, and the sword's point to his throat, commanded him to yield him, or die on the spot. Bois-Guilbert returned no answer.

"Slay him not, sir knight," cried the Grand Master. "We allow him vanquished."

He descended into the lists, and commanded them to unhelm the conquered champion. His eyes were closed; the dark red flush was still on his brow. As they looked on him in astonishment the eyes opened, but they were fixed and glazed. The flush passed from his brow, and gave way to the pallid hue of death.

Unscathed by the lance of his enemy, he had died a victim to the violence of his own contending passions.

"This is indeed the judgment of God," said the Grand Master, looking upwards; "Thy will be done!"

Turning then to Wilfred of Ivanhoe, he said, "I pronounce the maiden free and guiltless. The arms and the body of the deceased knight are at the will of the victor."

His further speech was interrupted by a clattering of horses' feet, and the Black Knight, followed by a numerous band of men- at-arms, galloped into the lists.

At a glance he saw how matters stood. "Bohun," he said, addressing one of his attendant knights, "do thine office."

The officer stepped forward, and, laying his hand on the shoulder of Albert de Malvoisin, said, "I arrest thee of high treason."

"Who dares to arrest a Knight of the Temple in my presence?" said the Grand Master; "and by whose authority is this bold outrage offered?"

"By my authority," said the king, raising his visor, "and by the order of Richard Plantagenet who stands before you."

While he spoke the royal standard of England was seen to float over the towers of the preceptory instead of the Temple banner; and before long the followers of the king were in complete possession of the entire castle.

Meanwhile Rebecca, giddy and almost senseless at the rapid change of circumstances, was locked in the arms of her aged father; and shortly after the two retreated hurriedly from the lists.

Not many days passed before the nuptials of Wilfred and the fair Rowena were celebrated in the noble minster of York, attended by the king in person.

On the second morning after this happy bridal Rebecca was shown into the apartment of the Lady of Ivanhoe. She had come, she said, to pay the debt of gratitude which she owed to Wilfred, and to ask his wife to transmit to him her grateful farewell. She prayed that God might bless their union, and, as she rose to leave, she handed Rowena a casket filled with most precious jewels. "Accept them, lady," she said; "to me they are valueless; I will never wear jewels more. My father and I, we are going to a far country where at least we shall dwell in liberty. He to whom I dedicate my future life will be my Comforter if I do His will. Say this to thy lord should he chance to inquire after the fate of her whose life he saved." She then hastened to bid Rowena adieu, and glided from the apartment.

Wilfred lived long and happily with his bride, for they were attached to each other by the bonds of early affection, and they loved each other the more from the recollection of the obstacles which had so long impeded their union.

GUY MANNERING

Retold by Sir Edward Sullivan

The Castle of Ellangowan was an old and massive structure, situated by the seashore in the southwestern part of Scotland. It had been for many years the dwelling-place of a family named Bertram, each of whom had in succession borne the title of the Laird of Ellangowan. They had once been people of wealth and importance in the neighbourhood; but through lack of prudence and other misfortunes, they had, one after another, lost much of the greatness and prosperity which had belonged to them in better days. One of their number became at last so poor that he could no longer maintain the old family residence; so he contented himself with occupying a much smaller house which he had himself built, from the windows of which he could still look out on the ancient abode of his forefathers, as it dwindled year by year to the condition of a neglected ruin.

At the time that our story commences, one Godfrey Bertram was the Laird of Ellangowan, and the owner of the now diminished estates. He was a good-tempered, easy-going kind of man, and became, in consequence, very popular with all the poorer people of the district, and especially with the gipsies, a large number of whom were at all times to be found in the neighbourhood.

His wife had brought him a little money when he married; and he and she continued to lead a quiet and not unhappy life in their new home. Amongst Mr. Bertram's most intimate companions in his retirement was one Abel Sampson, a tall and awkward-looking man, with a harsh voice and huge feet, who was known to the people around as "the dominie." He was a man who spoke but little, and generally used very long words when he did; but he had a kindly and good-natured heart. He was for a time the parish schoolmaster at the village of Kippletringan, which was close to Ellangowan, and was employed now and then as a kind of clerk by the laird.

The village of Kippletringan was situated a little distance from the sea; and although the neighbourhood was dignified by the possession of a customhouse, the place was still the favourite haunt of a large body of desperate and determined smugglers, who, it was supposed, were assisted by many of the small shopkeepers of the locality in disposing of the contraband goods which were surreptitiously brought from foreign parts.