CHAPTER XXXI
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, Or, close the wall up with our English dead. --------------- And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture---let us swear That you are worth your breeding.
_King Henry V._
Cedric, although not greatly confident in Ulrica's
message, omitted not to communicate her
promise to the Black Knight and Locksley. They
were well pleased to find they had a friend within
the place, who might, in the moment of need, be
able to facilitate their entrance, and readily agreed
with the Saxon that a storm, under whatever disadvantages,
ought to be attempted, as the only means
of liberating the prisoners now in the hands of the
cruel Front-de-B
``The royal blood of Alfred is endangered,'' said
Cedric.
``The honour of a noble lady is in peril,'' said
the Black Knight.
``And, by the Saint Christopher at my baldric,''
said the good yeoman, ``were there no other cause
than the safety of that poor faithful knave, Wamba,
I would jeopard a joint ere a hair of his head were
hurt.''
``And so would I,'' said the Friar; ``what, sirs!
I trust well that a fool---I mean, d'ye see me, sirs,
a fool that is free of his guild and master of his
craft, and can give as much relish and flavour to a
cup of wine as ever a flitch of bacon can---I say,
brethren, such a fool shall never want a wise clerk
to pray for or fight for him at a strait, while I can
say a mass or flourish a partisan.''
And with that he made his heavy halberd to play
around his head as a shepherd boy flourishes his
light crook.
``True, Holy Clerk,'' said the Black Knight,
``true as if Saint Dunstan himself had said it.---
And now, good Locksley, were it not well that
noble Cedric should assume the direction of this
assault?''
``Not a jot I,'' returned Cedric; ``I have never
been wont to study either how to take or how to
hold out those abodes of tyrannic power, which the
Normans have erected in this groaning land. I will
fight among the foremost; but my honest neighbours
well know I am not a trained soldier in the
discipline of wars, or the attack of strongholds.''
``Since it stands thus with noble Cedric,'' said
Locksley, ``I am most willing to take on me the
direction of the archery; and ye shall hang me up
on my own Trysting-tree, an the defenders be permitted
to show themselves over the walls without
being stuck with as many shafts as there are cloves
in a gammon of bacon at Christmas.''
``Well said, stout yeoman,'' answered the Black
Knight; ``and if I be thought worthy to have a
charge in these matters, and can find among these
brave men as many as are willing to follow a true
English knight, for so I may surely call myself, I
am ready, with such skill as my experience has
taught me, to lead them to the attack of these walls.''
The parts being thus distributed to the leaders,
they commenced the first assault, of which the
reader has already heard the issue.
When the barbican was carried, the Sable Knight
sent notice of the happy event to Locksley, requesting
him at the same time, to keep such a strict
observation on the castle as might prevent the defenders
from combining their force for a sudden
sally, and recovering the outwork which they had
lost. This the knight was chiefly desirous of avoiding,
conscious that the men whom he led, being
hasty and untrained volunteers, imperfectly armed
and unaccustomed to discipline, must, upon any sudden
attack, fight at great disadvantage with the
veteran soldiers of the Norman knights, who were
well provided with arms both defensive and offensive;
and who, to match the zeal and high spirit
of the besiegers, had all the confidence which arises
from perfect discipline and the habitual use of weapons.
The knight employed the interval in causing to
be constructed a sort of floating bridge, or long raft,
by means of which he hoped to cross the moat in
despite of the resistance of the enemy. This was
a work of some time, which the leaders the less regretted,
as it gave Ulrica leisure to execute her plan
of diversion in their favour, whatever that might be.
When the raft was completed, the Black Knight
addressed the besiegers:---``It avails not waiting
here longer, my friends; the sun is descending to
the west---and I have that upon my hands which
will not permit me to tarry with you another day.
Besides, it will be a marvel if the horsemen come
not upon us from York, unless we speedily accomplish
our purpose. Wherefore, one of ye go to
Locksley, and bid him commence a discharge of
arrows on the opposite side of the castle, and move
forward as if about to assault it; and you, true
English hearts, stand by me, and be ready to thrust
the raft endlong over the moat whenever the postern
on our side is thrown open. Follow me boldly
across, and aid me to burst yon sallyport in the
main wall of the castle. As many of you as like
not this service, or are but ill armed to meet it, do
you man the top of the outwork, draw your bow-strings
to your ears, and mind you quell with your
shot whatever shall appear to man the rampart---
Noble Cedric, wilt thou take the direction of those
which remain?''
``Not so, by the soul of Hereward!'' said the
Saxon; ``lead I cannot; but may posterity curse
me in my grave, if I follow not with the foremost
wherever thou shalt point the way---The quarrel is
mine, and well it becomes me to be in the van of
the battle.''
``Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon,'' said the
knight, ``thou hast neither hauberk, nor corslet, nor
aught but that light helmet, target, and sword.''
``The better!'' answered Cedric; ``I shall be
the lighter to climb these walls. And,---forgive the
boast, Sir Knight,---thou shalt this day see the
naked breast of a Saxon as boldly presented to the
battle as ever ye beheld the steel corslet of a Norman.''
``In the name of God, then,'' said the knight,
``fling open the door, and launch the floating bridge.''
The portal, which led from the inner-wall of the
barbican to the moat, and which corresponded with
a sallyport in the main wall of the castle, was now
suddenly opened; the temporary bridge was then
thrust forward, and soon flashed in the waters, extending
its length between the castle and outwork,
and forming a slippery and precarious passage for
two men abreast to cross the moat. Well aware of
the importance of taking the foe by surprise, the
Black Knight, closely followed by Cedric, threw
himself upon the bridge, and reached the opposite
side. Here he began to thunder with his axe upon
the gate of the castle, protected in part from the
shot and stones cast by the defenders by the ruins
of the former drawbridge, which the Templar had
demolished in his retreat from the barbican, leaving
the counterpoise still attached to the upper part
of the portal. The followers of the knight had no
such shelter; two were instantly shot with cross-bow
bolts, and two more fell into the moat; the
others retreated back into the barbican.
The situation of Cedric and of the Black Knight
was now truly dangerous, and would have been still
more so, but for the constancy of the archers in the
barbican, who ceased not to shower their arrows
upon the battlements, distracting the attention of
those by whom they were manned, and thus affording
a respite to their two chiefs from the storm of
missiles which must otherwise have overwhelmed
them. But their situation was eminently perilous,
and was becoming more so with every moment.
``Shame on ye all!'' cried De Bracy to the soldiers
around him; ``do ye call yourselves cross-bowmen,
and let these two dogs keep their station
under the walls of the castle?---Heave over the
coping stones from the battlements, an better may
not be---Get pick-axe and levers, and down with
that huge pinnacle!'' pointing to a heavy piece of
stone carved-work that projected from the parapet.
At this moment the besiegers caught sight of the
red flag upon the angle of the tower which Ulrica
had described to Cedric. The stout yeoman Locksley
was the first who was aware of it, as he was
hasting to the outwork, impatient to see the progress
of the assault.
``Saint George!'' he cried, ``Merry Saint George
for England!---To the charge, bold yeomen!---why
leave ye the good knight and noble Cedric to storm
the pass alone?---make in, mad priest, show thou
canst fight for thy rosary,---make in, brave yeomen!
---the castle is ours, we have friends within---See
yonder flag, it is the appointed signal---Torquilstone
is ours!---Think of honour, think of spoil---One
effort, and the place is ours!''
With that he bent his good bow, and sent a shaft
right through the breast of one of the men-at-arms,
who, under De Bracy's direction, was loosening a
fragment from one of the battlements to precipitate
on the heads of Cedric and the Black Knight. A
second soldier caught from the hands of the dying
man the iron crow, with which he heaved at and
had loosened the stone pinnacle, when, receiving an
arrow through his head-piece, he dropped from the
battlements into the moat a dead man. The men-at-arms
were daunted, for no armour seemed proof
against the shot of this tremendous archer.
``Do you give ground, base knaves!'' said De
Bracy; ``_Mount joye Saint Dennis!_---Give me the
lever!''
And, snatching it up, he again assailed the
loosened pinnacle, which was of weight enough, if
thrown down, not only to have destroyed the remnant
of the drawbridge, which sheltered the two
foremost assailants, but also to have sunk the rude
float of planks over which they had crossed. All
saw the danger, and the boldest, even the stout
Friar himself, avoided setting foot on the raft.
Thrice did Locksley bend his shaft against De
Bracy, and thrice did his arrow bound back from
the knight's armour of proof.
``Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat!'' said Locksley,
``had English smith forged it, these arrows
had gone through, an as if it had been silk or sendal.''
He then began to call out, ``Comrades!
friends! noble Cedric! bear back, and let the ruin
fall.''
His warning voice was unheard, for the din
which the knight himself occasioned by his strokes
upon the postern would have drowned twenty war-trumpets.
The faithful Gurth indeed sprung forward
on the planked bridge, to warn Cedric of his
impending fate, or to share it with him. But his
warning would have come too late; the massive
pinnacle already tottered, and De Bracy, who still
heaved at his task, would have accomplished it, had
not the voice of the Templar sounded close in his
ears:---
``All is lost, De Bracy, the castle burns.''
``Thou art mad to say so!'' replied the knight.
``It is all in a light flame on the western side.
I have striven in vain to extinguish it.''
With the stern coolness which formed the basis
of his character, Brian de Bois-Guilbert communicated
this hideous intelligence, which was not so
calmly received by his astonished comrade.
``Saints of Paradise!'' said De Bracy; ``what is
to be done? I vow to Saint Nicholas of Limoges
a candlestick of pure gold---''
``Spare thy vow,'' said the Templar, ``and mark
me. Lead thy men down, as if to a sally; throw
the postern-gate open---There are but two men who
occupy the float, fling them into the moat, and push
across for the barbican. I will charge from the main
gate, and attack the barbican on the outside; and
if we can regain that post, be assured we shall defend
ourselves until we are relieved, or at least till
they grant us fair quarter.''
``It is well thought upon,'' said De Bracy; ``I
will play my part---Templar, thou wilt not fail
me?''
``Hand and glove, I will not!'' said Bois-Guilbert.
``But haste thee, in the name of God!''
De Bracy hastily drew his men together, and
rushed down to the postern-gate, which he caused
instantly to be thrown open. But scarce was this
done ere the portentous strength of the Black
Knight forced his way inward in despite of De
Bracy and his followers. Two of the foremost instantly
fell, and the rest gave way notwithstanding
all their leader's efforts to stop them.
``Dogs!'' said De Bracy, ``will ye let _two_ men
win our only pass for safety?''
``He is the devil!'' said a veteran man-at-arms,
bearing back from the blows of their sable antagonist.
``And if he be the devil,'' replied De Bracy,
``would you fly from him into the mouth of hell?
---the castle burns behind us, villains!---let despair
give you courage, or let me forward! I will cope
with this champion myself''
And well and chivalrous did De Bracy that day
maintain the fame he had acquired in the civil wars
of that dreadful period. The vaulted passage to
which the postern gave entrance, and in which these
two redoubted champions were now fighting hand
to hand, rung with the furious blows which they
dealt each other, De Bracy with his sword, the
Black Knight with his ponderous axe. At length
the Norman received a blow, which, though its
force was partly parried by his shield, for otherwise
never more would De Bracy have again moved
limb, descended yet with such violence on his crest,
that he measured his length on the paved floor.
``Yield thee, De Bracy,'' said the Black Champion,
stooping over him, and holding against the
bars of his helmet the fatal poniard with which the
knights dispatched their enemies, (and which was
called the dagger of mercy,)---``yield thee, Maurice
de Bracy, rescue or no rescue, or thou art but a
dead man.''
``I will not yield,'' replied De Bracy faintly, ``to
an unknown conqueror. Tell me thy name, or
work thy pleasure on me---it shall never be said
that Maurice de Bracy was prisoner to a nameless
churl.''
The Black Knight whispered something into the
ear of the vanquished.
``I yield me to be true prisoner, rescue or no
rescue,'' answered the Norman, exchanging his tone
of stern and determined obstinacy for one of deep
though sullen submission.
``Go to the barbican,'' said the victor, in a tone
of authority, ``and there wait my further orders.''
``Yet first, let me say,'' said De Bracy, ``what
it imports thee to know. Wilfred of Ivanhoe is
wounded and a prisoner, and will perish in the
burning castle without present help.''
``Wilfred of Ivanhoe!'' exclaimed the Black
Knight---``prisoner, and perish!---The life of every
man in the castle shall answer it if a hair of his
head be singed---Show me his chamber!''
``Ascend yonder winding stair,'' said De Bracy;
``it leads to his apartment---Wilt thou not accept
my guidance?'' he added, in a submissive voice.
``No. To the barbican, and there wait my orders.
I trust thee not, De Bracy.''
During this combat and the brief conversation
which ensued, Cedric, at the head of a body of men,
among whom the Friar was conspicuous, had pushed
across the bridge as soon as they saw the postern
open, and drove back the dispirited and despairing
followers of De Bracy, of whom some asked
quarter, some offered vain resistance, and the
greater part fled towards the court-yard. De Bracy
himself arose from the ground, and cast a sorrowful
glance after his conqueror. ``He trusts me
not!'' he repeated; ``but have I deserved his trust?''
He then lifted his sword from the floor, took off his
helmet in token of submission, and, going to the
barbican, gave up his sword to Locksley, whom he
met by the way.
As the fire augmented, symptoms of it became
soon apparent in the chamber, where Ivanhoe was
watched and tended by the Jewess Rebecca. He
had been awakened from his brief slumber by the
noise of the battle; and his attendant, who had,
at his anxious desire, again placed herself at the
window to watch and report to him the fate of the
attack, was for some time prevented from observing
either, by the increase of the smouldering and
stifling vapour. At length the volumes of smoke
which rolled into the apartment---the cries for water,
which were heard even above the din of the
battle made them sensible of the progress of this
new danger.
``The castle burns,'' said Rebecca; ``it burns!
---What can we do to save ourselves?''
``Fly, Rebecca, and save thine own life,'' said
Ivanhoe, ``for no human aid can avail me.''
``I will not fly,'' answered Rebecca; ``we will
be saved or perish together---And yet, great God!
---my father, my father---what will be his fate!''
At this moment the door of the apartment flew
open, and the Templar presented himself,---a ghastly
figure, for his gilded armour was broken and
bloody, and the plume was partly shorn away,
partly burnt from his casque. ``I have found
thee,'' said he to Rebecca; ``thou shalt prove I
will keep my word to share weal and woe with
thee---There is but one path to safety, I have cut
my way through fifty dangers to point it to thee
---up, and instantly follow me!''*
* The author has some idea that this passage is imitated from
* the appearance of Philidaspes, before the divine Mandane, when
* the city of Babylon is on fire, and he proposes to carry her from
* the flames. But the theft, if there be one, would be rather too
* severely punished by the penance of searching for the original
* passage through the interminable volumes of the Grand Cyrus.
``Alone,'' answered Rebecca, ``I will not follow
thee. If thou wert born of woman---if thou hast
but a touch of human charity in thee---if thy heart
be not hard as thy breastplate---save my aged father
---save this wounded knight!''
``A knight,'' answered the Templar, with his
characteristic calmness, ``a knight, Rebecca, must
encounter his fate, whether it meet him in the shape
of sword or flame---and who recks how or where
a Jew meets with his?''
``Savage warrior,'' said Rebecca, ``rather will I
perish in the flames than accept safety from thee!''
``Thou shalt not choose, Rebecca---once didst
thou foil me, but never mortal did so twice.''
So saying, he seized on the terrified maiden,
who filled the air with her shrieks, and bore her
out of the room in his arms in spite of her cries,
and without regarding the menaces and defiance
which Ivanhoe thundered against him. ``Hound
of the Temple---stain to thine Order---set free the
damsel! Traitor of Bois-Guilbert, it is Ivanhoe
commands thee!---Villain, I will have thy heart's
blood!''
``I had not found thee, Wilfred,'' said the Black
Knight, who at that instant entered the apartment,
``but for thy shouts.''
``If thou best true knight,'' said Wilfred, ``think
not of me---pursue yon ravisher---save the Lady
Rowena---look to the noble Cedric!''
``In their turn,'' answered he of the Fetterlock,
``but thine is first.''
And seizing upon Ivanhoe, he bore him off with
as much ease as the Templar had carried off Rebecca,
rushed with him to the postern, and having
there delivered his burden to the care of two yeomen,
he again entered the castle to assist in the
rescue of the other prisoners.
One turret was now in bright flames, which
flashed out furiously from window and shot-hole.
But in other parts, the great thickness of the walls
and the vaulted roofs of the apartments, resisted
the progress of the flames, and there the rage of
man still triumphed, as the scarce more dreadful
element held mastery elsewhere; for the besiegers
pursued the defenders of the castle from chamber
to chamber, and satiated in their blood the vengeance
which had long animated them against the
soldiers of the tyrant Front-de-B
Through this scene of confusion, Cedric rushed
in quest of Rowena, while the faithful Gurth, following
him closely through the _me
When the noise of the conflict announced that
it was at the hottest, the Jester began to shout,
with the utmost power of his lungs, ``Saint George
and the dragon!---Bonny Saint George for merry
England!---The castle is won!'' And these sounds
he rendered yet more fearful, by banging against
each other two or three pieces of rusty armour
which lay scattered around the hall.
A guard, which had been stationed in the outer,
or anteroom, and whose spirits were already in a
state of alarm, took fright at Wamba's clamour,
and, leaving the door open behind them, ran to tell
the Templar that foemen had entered the old hall.
Meantime the prisoners found no difficulty in making
their escape into the anteroom, and from
thence into the court of the castle, which was now
the last scene of contest. Here sat the fierce Templar,
mounted on horseback, surrounded by several
of the garrison both on horse and foot, who had
united their strength to that of this renowned leader,
in order to secure the last chance of safety and
retreat which remained to them. The drawbridge
had been lowered by his orders, but the passage
was beset; for the archers, who had hitherto only
annoyed the castle on that side by their missiles,
no sooner saw the flames breaking out, and the
bridge lowered, than they thronged to the entrance,
as well to prevent the escape of the garrison, as to
secure their own share of booty ere the castle should
be burnt down. On the other hand, a party of the
besiegers who had entered by the postern were now
issuing out into the court-yard, and attacking with
fury the remnant of the defenders who were thus
assaulted on both sides at once.
Animated, however, by despair, and supported
by the example of their indomitable leader, the remaining
soldiers of the castle fought with the utmost
valour; and, being well-armed, succeeded more
than once in driving back the assailants, though
much inferior in numbers. Rebecca, placed on
horseback before one of the Templar's Saracen
slaves, was in the midst of the little party; and
Bois-Guilbert, notwithstanding the confusion of
the bloody fray, showed every attention to her
safety. Repeatedly he was by her side, and, neglecting
his own defence, held before her the fence
of his triangular steel-plated shield; and anon starting
from his position by her, he cried his war-cry,
dashed forward, struck to earth the most forward
of the assailants, and was on the same instant once
more at her bridle rein.
Athelstane, who, as the reader knows, was slothful,
but not cowardly, beheld the female form whom
the Templar protected thus sedulously, and doubted
not that it was Rowena whom the knight was
carrying off, in despite of all resistance which could
be offered.
``By the soul of Saint Edward,'' he said, ``I will
rescue her from yonder over-proud knight, and he
shall die by my hand!''
``Think what you do!'' cried Wamba; ``hasty
hand catches frog for fish---by my bauble, yonder
is none of my Lady Rowena---see but her long
dark locks!---Nay, an ye will not know black from
white, ye may be leader, but I will be no follower
---no bones of mine shall be broken unless I know
for whom.---And you without armour too!---Bethink
you, silk bonnet never kept out steel blade.
---Nay, then, if wilful will to water, wilful must
drench.---_Deus vobiscum_, most doughty Athelstane!''
---he concluded, loosening the hold which he had
hitherto kept upon the Saxon's tunic.
To snatch a mace from the pavement, on which
it lay beside one whose dying grasp had just relinquished
it---to rush on the Templar's band, and
to strike in quick succession to the right and left,
levelling a warrior at each blow, was, for Athelstane's
great strength, now animated with unusual
fury, but the work of a single moment; he was
soon within two yards of Bois-Guilbert, whom he
defied in his loudest tone.
``Turn, false-hearted Templar! let go her
whom thou art unworthy to touch---turn, limb of
a hand of murdering and hypocritical robbers!''
``Dog!'' said the Templar, grinding his teeth,
``I will teach thee to blaspheme the holy Order of
the Temple of Zion;'' and with these words, half-wheeling
his steed, he made a demi-courbette towards
the Saxon, and rising in the stirrups, so as to
take full advantage of the descent of the horse, he
discharged a fearful blow upon the head of Athelstane.
Well said Wamba, that silken bonnet keeps out
no steel blade. So trenchant was the Templar's
weapon, that it shore asunder, as it had been a willow
twig, the tough and plaited handle of the mace,
which the ill-fated Saxon reared to parry the blow,
and, descending on his head, levelled him with the
earth.
``_Ha! Beau-seant!_'' exclaimed Bois-Guilbert,
``thus be it to the maligners of the Temple-knights!''
Taking advantage of the dismay which
was spread by the fall of Athelstane, and calling
aloud, ``Those who would save themselves, follow
me!'' he pushed across the drawbridge, dispersing
the archers who would have intercepted them. He
was followed by his Saracens, and some five or six
men-at-arms, who had mounted their horses. The
Templar's retreat was rendered perilous by the
numbers of arrows shot off at him and his party;
but this did not prevent him from galloping round
to the barbican, of which, according to his previous
plan, he supposed it possible De Bracy might have
been in possession.
``De Bracy! De Bracy!'' he shouted, ``art thou
there?''
``I am here,'' replied De Bracy, ``but I am a
prisoner.''
``Can I rescue thee?'' cried Bois-Guilbert.
``No,'' replied De Bracy; ``I have rendered me,
rescue or no rescue. I will be true prisoner. Save
thyself---there are hawks abroad---put the seas betwixt
you and England---I dare not say more.''
``Well,'' answered the Templar, ``an thou wilt
tarry there, remember I have redeemed word and
glove. Be the hawks where they will, methinks
the walls of the Preceptory of Templestowe will be
cover sufficient, and thither will I, like heron to
her haunt.''
Having thus spoken, he galloped off with his followers.
Those of the castle who had not gotten to horse,
still continued to fight desperately with the besiegers,
after the departure of the Templar, but
rather in despair of quarter than that they entertained
any hope of escape. The fire was spreading
rapidly through all parts of the castle, when Ulrica,
who had first kindled it, appeared on a turret, in
the guise of one of the ancient furies, yelling forth
a war-song, such as was of yore raised on the field
of battle by the scalds of the yet heathen Saxons.
Her long dishevelled grey hair flew back from her
uncovered head; the inebriating delight of gratified
vengeance contended in her eyes with the fire
of insanity; and she brandished the distaff which
she held in her hand, as if she had been one of the
Fatal Sisters, who spin and abridge the thread of
human life. Tradition has preserved some wild
strophes of the barbarous hymn which she chanted
wildly amid that scene of fire and of slaughter:---
1.
Whet the bright steel,
Sons of the White Dragon!
Kindle the torch,
Daughter of Hengist!
The steel glimmers not for the carving of the banquet,
It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed;
The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber,
It steams and glitters blue with sulphur.
Whet the steel, the raven croaks!
Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling!
Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon!
Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist!
2.
The black cloud is low over the thane's castle
The eagle screams--he rides on its bosom.
Scream not, grey rider of the sable cloud,
Thy banquet is prepared!
The maidens of Valhalla look forth,
The race of Hengist will send them guests.
Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla!
And strike your loud timbrels for joy!
Many a haughty step bends to your halls,
Many a helmed head.
3.
Dark sits the evening upon the thanes castle,
The black clouds gather round;
Soon shall they be red as the blood of the valiant!
The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest against them.
He, the bright consumer of palaces,
Broad waves he his blazing banner,
Red, wide and dusky,
Over the strife of the valiant:
His joy is in the clashing swords and broken bucklers;
He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts warm from the wound!
4.
All must perish!
The sword cleaveth the helmet;
The strong armour is pierced by the lance;
Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes,
Engines break down the fences of the battle.
All must perish!
The race of Hengist is gone---
The name of Horsa is no more!
Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword!
Let your blades drink blood like wine;
Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter,
By the light of the blazing halls!
Strong be your swords while your blood is warm,
And spare neither for pity nor fear,
For vengeance hath but an hour;
Strong hate itself shall expire
I also must perish! *
* Note F. Ulrica's Death Song
The towering flames had now surmounted every
obstruction, and rose to the evening skies one huge
and burning beacon, seen far and wide through the
adjacent country. Tower after tower crashed down,
with blazing roof and rafter; and the combatants
were driven from the court-yard. The vanquished,
of whom very few remained, scattered and escaped
into the neighbouring wood. The victors, assembling
in large bands, gazed with wonder, not unmixed
with fear, upon the flames, in which their own
ranks and arms glanced dusky red. The maniac
figure of the Saxon Ulrica was for a long time visible
on the lofty stand she had chosen, tossing her
arms abroad with wild exultation, as if she reined
empress of the conflagration which she had raised.
At length, with a terrific crash, the whole turret
gave way, and she perished in the flames which had
consumed her tyrant. An awful pause of horror
silenced each murmur of the armed spectators, who,
for the space of several minutes, stirred not a finger,
save to sign the cross. The voice of Locksley
was then heard, ``Shout, yeomen!---the den of
tyrants is no more! Let each bring his spoil to our
chosen place of rendezvous at the Trysting-tree in
the Harthill-walk; for there at break of day will
we make just partition among our own bands, together
with our worthy allies in this great deed of
vengeance.''
Òà·²¹«ÒæͼÊé¹Ý(shuku.net)