CHAPTER VI
To buy his favour I extend this friendship: If he will take it, so; if not, adieu; And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not.
_Merchant of Venice_.
As the Palmer, lighted by a domestic with a torch, past through the intricate combination of apartments of this large and irregular mansion, the cupbearer coming behind him whispered in his ear, that if he had no objection to a cup of good mead in his apartment, there were many domestics in that family who would gladly hear the news he had brought from the Holy Land, and particularly that which concerned the Knight of Ivanhoe. Wamba presently appeared to urge the same request, observing that a cup after midnight was worth three after curfew. Without disputing a maxim urged by such grave authority, the Palmer thanked them for their courtesy, but observed that he had included in his religious vow, an obligation never to speak in the kitchen on matters which were prohibited in the hall. ``That vow,'' said Wamba to the cupbearer, ``would scarce suit a serving-man.''
The cupbearer shrugged up his shoulders in displeasure. ``I thought to have lodged him in the solere chamber,'' said he; ``but since he is so unsocial to Christians, e'en let him take the next stall to Isaac the Jew's.---Anwold,'' said he to the torchbearer, ``carry the Pilgrim to the southern cell.--- I give you good-night,'' he added, ``Sir Palmer, with small thanks for short courtesy.''
``Good-night, and Our Lady's benison,'' said the Palmer, with composure; and his guide moved forward.
In a small antechamber, into which several doors opened, and which was lighted by a small iron lamp, they met a second interruption from the waiting-maid of Rowena, who, saying in a tone of authority, that her mistress desired to speak with the Palmer, took the torch from the hand of Anwold, and, bidding him await her return, made a sign to the Palmer to follow. Apparently he did not think it proper to decline this invitation as he had done the former; for, though his gesture indicated some surprise at the summons, he obeyed it without answer or remonstrance.
A short passage, and an ascent of seven steps, each of which was composed of a solid beam of oak, led him to the apartment of the Lady Rowena, the rude magnificence of which corresponded to the respect which was paid to her by the lord of the mansion. The walls were covered with embroidered hangings, on which different-coloured silks, interwoven with gold and silver threads, had been employed with all the art of which the age was capable, to represent the sports of hunting and hawking. The bed was adorned with the same rich tapestry, and surrounded with curtains dyed with purple. The seats had also their stained coverings, and one, which was higher than the rest, was accommodated with a footstool of ivory, curiously carved.
No fewer than four silver candelabras, holding great waxen torches, served to illuminate this apartment. Yet let not modern beauty envy the magnificence of a Saxon princess. The walls of the apartment were so ill finished and so full of crevices, that the rich hangings shook in the night blast, and, in despite of a sort of screen intended to protect them from the wind, the flame of the torches streamed sideways into the air, like the unfurled pennon of a chieftain. Magnificence there was, with some rude attempt at taste; but of comfort there was little, and, being unknown, it was unmissed.
The Lady Rowena, with three of her attendants standing at her back, and arranging her hair ere she lay down to rest, was seated in the sort of throne already mentioned, and looked as if born to exact general homage. The Pilgrim acknowledged her claim to it by a low genuflection.
``Rise, Palmer,'' said she graciously. ``The defender of the absent has a right to favourable reception from all who value truth, and honour manhood.'' She then said to her train, ``Retire, excepting only Elgitha; I would speak with this holy Pilgrim.''
The maidens, without leaving the apartment, retired to its further extremity, and sat down on a small bench against the wall, where they remained mute as statues, though at such a distance that their whispers could not have interrupted the conversation of their mistress.
``Pilgrim,'' said the lady, after a moment's pause, during which she seemed uncertain how to address him, ``you this night mentioned a name---I mean,'' she said, with a degree of effort, ``the name of Ivanhoe, in the halls where by nature and kindred it should have sounded most acceptably; and yet, such is the perverse course of fate, that of many whose hearts must have throbbed at the sound, I, only, dare ask you where, and in what condition, you left him of whom you spoke?---We heard, that, having remained in Palestine, on account of his impaired health, after the departure of the English army, he had experienced the persecution of the French faction, to whom the Templars are known to be attached.''
``I know little of the Knight of Ivanhoe,'' answered the Palmer, with a troubled voice. ``I would I knew him better, since you, lady, are interested in his fate. He hath, I believe, surmounted the persecution of his enemies in Palestine, and is on the eve of returning to England, where you, lady, must know better than I, what is his chance of happiness.''
The Lady Rowena sighed deeply, and asked more particularly when the Knight of Ivanhoe might be expected in his native country, and whether he would not be exposed to great dangers by the road. On the first point, the Palmer professed ignorance; on the second, he said that the voyage might be safely made by the way of Venice and Genoa, and from thence through France to England. ``Ivanhoe,'' he said, ``was so well acquainted with the language and manners of the French, that there was no fear of his incurring any hazard during that part of his travels.''
``Would to God,'' said the Lady Rowena, ``he were here safely arrived, and able to bear arms in the approaching tourney, in which the chivalry of this land are expected to display their address and valour. Should Athelstane of Coningsburgh obtain the prize, Ivanhoe is like to hear evil tidings when he reaches England.---How looked he, stranger, when you last saw him? Had disease laid her hand heavy upon his strength and comeliness?''
``He was darker,'' said the Palmer, ``and thinner,
than when he came from Cyprus in the train
of C
``He will,'' said the lady, ``I fear, find little in
his native land to clear those clouds from his countenance.
Thanks, good Pilgrim, for your information
concerning the companion of my childhood.
---Maidens,'' she said, ``draw near---offer the sleeping
cup to this holy man, whom I will no longer
detain from repose.''
One of the maidens presented a silver cup, containing
a rich mixture of wine and spice, which
Rowena barely put to her lips. It was then offered
to the Palmer, who, after a low obeisance, tasted
a few drops.
``Accept this alms, friend,'' continued the lady,
offering a piece of gold, ``in acknowledgment of
thy painful travail, and of the shrines thou hast
visited.''
The Palmer received the boon with another low
reverence, and followed Edwina out of the apartment.
In the anteroom he found his attendant Anwold,
who, taking the torch from the hand of the waiting-maid,
conducted him with more haste than ceremony
to an exterior and ignoble part of the building,
where a number of small apartments, or rather
cells, served for sleeping places to the lower order
of domestics, and to strangers of mean degree.
``In which of these sleeps the Jew?'' said the
Pilgrim.
``The unbelieving dog,'' answered Anwold,
kennels in the cell next your holiness.---St Dunstan,
how it must be scraped and cleansed ere it be
again fit for a Christian!''
``And where sleeps Gurth the swineherd?'' said
the stranger.
``Gurth,'' replied the bondsman, ``sleeps in the
cell on your right, as the Jew on that to your left;
you serve to keep the child of circumcision separate
from the abomination of his tribe. You might have
occupied a more honourable place had you accepted
of Oswald's invitation.''
``It is as well as it is,'' said the Palmer; ``the
company, even of a Jew, can hardly spread contamination
through an oaken partition.''
So saying, he entered the cabin allotted to him,
and taking the torch from the domestic's hand,
thanked him, and wished him good-night. Having
shut the door of his cell, he placed the torch in a
candlestick made of wood, and looked around his
sleeping apartment, the furniture of which was of
the most simple kind. It consisted of a rude wooden
stool, and still ruder hutch or bed-frame, stuffed
with clean straw, and accommodated with two or
three sheepskins by way of bed-clothes.
The Palmer, having extinguished his torch, threw
himself, without taking off any part of his clothes,
on this rude couch, and slept, or at least retained
his recumbent posture, till the earliest sunbeams
found their way through the little grated window,
which served at once to admit both air and light
to his uncomfortable cell. He then started up, and
after repeating his matins, and adjusting his dress,
he left it, and entered that of Isaac the Jew, lifting
the latch as gently as he could.
The inmate was lying in troubled slumber upon
a couch similar to that on which the Palmer himself
had passed the night. Such parts of his dress
as the Jew had laid aside on the preceding evening,
were disposed carefully around his person, as
if to prevent the hazard of their being carried off
during his slumbers. There was a trouble on his
brow amounting almost to agony. His hands and
arms moved convulsively, as if struggling with the
nightmare; and besides several ejaculations in Hebrew,
the following were distinctly heard in the
Norman-English, or mixed language of the country:
``For the sake of the God of Abraham, spare
an unhappy old man! I am poor, I am penniless
---should your irons wrench my limbs asunder, I
could not gratify you!''
The Palmer awaited not the end of the Jew's
vision, but stirred him with his pilgrim's staff. The
touch probably associated, as is usual, with some
of the apprehensions excited by his dream; for the
old man started up, his grey hair standing almost
erect upon his head, and huddling some part of his
garments about him, while he held the detached
pieces with the tenacious grasp of a falcon, he fixed
upon the Palmer his keen black eyes, expressive
of wild surprise and of bodily apprehension.
``Fear nothing from me, Isaac,'' said the Palmer,
``I come as your friend.''
``The God of Israel requite you,'' said the Jew,
greatly relieved; ``I dreamed---But Father Abraham
be praised, it was but a dream.'' Then, collecting
himself, he added in his usual tone, ``And
what may it be your pleasure to want at so early
an hour with the poor Jew?''
``It is to tell you,'' said the Palmer, ``that if
you leave not this mansion instantly, and travel
not with some haste, your journey may prove a
dangerous one.''
``Holy father!'' said the Jew, ``whom could it
interest to endanger so poor a wretch as I am?''
``The purpose you can best guess,'' said the Pilgrim;
``but rely on this, that when the Templar
crossed the hall yesternight, he spoke to his Mussulman
slaves in the Saracen language, which I well
understand, and charged them this morning to watch
the journey of the Jew, to seize upon him when at
a convenient distance from the mansion, and to conduct
him to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin, or to
that of Reginald Front-de-B
It is impossible to describe the extremity of terror
which seized upon the Jew at this information,
and seemed at once to overpower his whole faculties.
His arms fell down to his sides, and his head
drooped on his breast, his knees bent under his
weight, every nerve and muscle of his frame seemed
to collapse and lose its energy, and he sunk at
the foot of the Palmer, not in the fashion of one
who intentionally stoops, kneels, or prostrates himself
to excite compassion, but like a man borne
down on all sides by the pressure of some invisible
force, which crushes him to the earth without the
power of resistance.
``Holy God of Abraham!'' was his first exclamation,
folding and elevating his wrinkled hands,
but without raising his grey head from the pavement;
``Oh, holy Moses! O, blessed Aaron! the
dream is not dreamed for nought, and the vision
cometh not in vain! I feel their irons already tear
my sinews! I feel the rack pass over my body like
the saws, and harrows, and axes of iron over the
men of Rabbah, and of the cities of the children of
Ammon!''
``Stand up, Isaac, and hearken to me,'' said the
Palmer, who viewed the extremity of his distress
with a compassion in which contempt was largely
mingled; ``you have cause for your terror, considering
how your brethren have been used, in order
to extort from them their hoards, both by princes
and nobles; but stand up, I say, and I will point
out to you the means of escape. Leave this mansion
instantly, while its inmates sleep sound after
the last night's revel. I will guide you by the secret
paths of the forest, known as well to me as to
any forester that ranges it, and I will not leave you
till you are under safe conduct of some chief or
baron going to the tournament, whose good-will
you have probably the means of securing.''
As the ears of Isaac received the hopes of escape
which this speech intimated, he began gradually,
and inch by inch, as it were, to raise himself up
from the ground, until he fairly rested upon his
knees, throwing back his long grey hair and beard,
and fixing his keen black eyes upon the Palmer's
face, with a look expressive at once of hope and
fear, not unmingled with suspicion. But when he
heard the concluding part of the sentence, his original
terror appeared to revive in full force, and he
dropt once more on his face, exclaiming, ``_I_ possess
the means of securing good-will! alas! there
is but one road to the favour of a Christian, and
how can the poor Jew find it, whom extortions
have already reduced to the misery of Lazarus?''
Then, as if suspicion had overpowered his other
feelings, he suddenly exclaimed, ``For the love of
God, young man, betray me not---for the sake of
the Great Father who made us all, Jew as well as
Gentile, Israelite and Ishmaelite---do me no treason!
I have not means to secure the good-will of a
Christian beggar, were he rating it at a single penny.''
As he spoke these last words, he raised himself,
and grasped the Palmer's mantle with a look
of the most earnest entreaty. The pilgrim extricated
himself, as if there were contamination in the
touch.
``Wert thou loaded with all the wealth of thy
tribe,'' he said, ``what interest have I to injure
thee?---In this dress I am vowed to poverty, nor
do I change it for aught save a horse and a coat of
mail. Yet think not that I care for thy company,
or propose myself advantage by it; remain here if
thou wilt---Cedric the Saxon may protect thee.''
``Alas!'' said the Jew, ``he will not let me travel
in his train---Saxon or Norman will be equally
ashamed of the poor Israelite; and to travel by
myself through the domains of Philip de Malvoisin
and Reginald Front-de-B
``I tarry not,'' said the Pilgrim, giving way to
the urgency of his companion; ``but I must secure
the means of leaving this place---follow me.''
He led the way to the adjoining cell, which, as
the reader is apprised, was occupied by Gurth the
swineherd.---``Arise, Gurth,'' said the Pilgrim,
``arise quickly. Undo the postern gate, and let
out the Jew and me.''
Gurth, whose occupation, though now held so
mean, gave him as much consequence in Saxon
England as that of Eumaeus in Ithaca, was offended
at the familiar and commanding tone assumed
by the Palmer. ``The Jew leaving Rotherwood,''
said he, raising himself on his elbow, and looking
superciliously at him without quitting his pallet,
``and travelling in company with the Palmer to
boot---''
``I should as soon have dreamt,'' said Wamba,
who entered the apartment at the instant, ``of his
stealing away with a gammon of bacon.''
``Nevertheless,'' said Gurth, again laying down
his head on the wooden log which served him for
a pillow, ``both Jew and Gentile must be content
to abide the opening of the great gate---we suffer
no visitors to depart by stealth at these unseasonable
hours.''
``Nevertheless,'' said the Pilgrim, in a commanding
tone, ``you will not, I think, refuse me that
favour.''
So saying, he stooped over the bed of the recumbent
swineherd, and whispered something in his
ear in Saxon. Gurth started up as if electrified.
The Pilgrim, raising his finger in an attitude as if
to express caution, added, ``Gurth, beware---thou
are wont to be prudent. I say, undo the postern---
thou shalt know more anon.''
With hasty alacrity Gurth obeyed him, while
and the Jew followed, both wondering at
the sudden change in the swineherd's demeanour.
``My mule, my mule!'' said the Jew, as soon as
they stood without the postern.
``Fetch him his mule,'' said the Pilgrim; ``and,
hearest thou,---let me have another, that I may
bear him company till he is beyond these parts---I
will return it safely to some of Cedric's train at
Ashby. And do thou''---he whispered the rest in
Gurth's ear.
``Willingly, most willingly shall it be done,''
said Gurth, and instantly departed to execute the
commission.
``I wish I knew,'' said Wamba, when his comrade's
back was turned, ``what you Palmers learn
in the Holy Land.''
``To say our orisons, fool,'' answered the Pilgrim,
``to repent our sins, and to mortify ourselves with
fastings, vigils, and long prayers.''
``Something more potent than that,'' answered
the Jester; ``for when would repentance or prayer
make Gurth do a courtesy, or fasting or vigil persuade
him to lend you a mule?---l trow you might
as well have told his favourite black boar of thy
vigils and penance, and wouldst have gotten as civil
an answer.''
``Go to,'' said the Pilgrim, ``thou art but a
Saxon fool.''
``Thou sayst well.'' said the Jester; ``had I
been born a Norman, as I think thou art, I would
have had luck on my side, and been next door to a
wise man.''
At this moment Gurth appeared on the opposite
side of the moat with the mules. The travellers
crossed the ditch upon a drawbridge of only two
planks breadth, the narrowness of which was matched
with the straitness of the postern, and with a
little wicket in the exterior palisade, which gave
access to the forest. No sooner had they reached
the mules, than the Jew, with hasty and trembling
hands, secured behind the saddle a small bag of
blue buckram, which he took from under his cloak,
containing, as be muttered, ``a change of raiment
---only a change of raiment.'' Then getting upon
the animal with more alacrity and haste than could
have been anticipated from his years, he lost no
time in so disposing of the skirts of his gabardine
as to conceal completely from observation the burden
which he had thus deposited _en croupe_.
The Pilgrim mounted with more deliberation,
reaching, as he departed, his hand to Gurth, who
kissed it with the utmost possible veneration. The
swineherd stood gazing after the travellers until
they were lost under the boughs of the forest path,
when he was disturbed from his reverie by the voice
of Wamba.
``Knowest thou,'' said the Jester, ``my good
friend Gurth, that thou art strangely courteous and
most unwontedly pious on this summer morning?
I would I were a black Prior or a barefoot Palmer,
to avail myself of thy unwonted zeal and courtesy
---certes, I would make more out of it than a kiss
of the hand.''
``Thou art no fool thus far, Wamba,'' answered
Gurth, ``though thou arguest from appearances,
and the wisest of us can do no more---But it is time
to look after my charge.''
So saying, he turned back to the mansion, attended
by the Jester.
Meanwhile the travellers continued to press on
their journey with a dispatch which argued the extremity
of the Jew's fears, since persons at his age
are seldom fond of rapid motion, The Palmer, to
whom every path and outlet in the wood appeared
to be familiar, led the way through the most devious
paths, and more than once excited anew the
suspicion of the Israelite, that he intended to betray
him into some ambuscade of his enemies.
His doubts might have been indeed pardoned;
for, except perhaps the flying fish, there was no
race existing on the earth, in the air, or the waters,
who were the object of such an unintermitting, general,
and relentless persecution as the Jews of this
period. Upon the slightest and most unreasonable
pretences, as well as upon accusations the most absurd
and groundless, their persons and property
were exposed to every turn of popular fury; for
Norman, Saxon, Dane, and Briton, however adverse
these races were to each other, contended
which should look with greatest detestation upon a
people, whom it was accounted a point of religion
to hate, to revile, to despise, to plunder, and to persecute.
The kings of the Norman race, and the
independent nobles, who followed their example in
all acts of tyranny, maintained against this devoted
people a persecution of a more regular, calculated,
and self-interested kind. It is a well-known story
of King John, that he confined a wealthy Jew in
one of the royal castles, and daily caused one of his
teeth to be torn out, until, when the jaw of the
unhappy Israelite was half disfurnished, he consented
to pay a large sum, which it was the tyrant's
object to extort from him. The little ready money
which was in the country was chiefly in possession
of this persecuted people, and the nobility hesitated
not to follow the example of their sovereign, in
wringing it from them by every species of oppression,
and even personal torture. Yet the passive
courage inspired by the love of gain, induced the
Jews to dare the various evils to which they were
subjected, in consideration of the immense profits
which they were enabled to realize in a country
naturally so wealthy as England. In spite of every
kind of discouragement, and even of the special
court of taxations already mentioned, called the
Jews' Exchequer, erected for the very purpose of
despoiling and distressing them, the Jews increased,
multiplied, and accumulated huge sums, which they
transferred from one hand to another by means of
bills of exchange---an invention for which commerce
is said to be indebted to them, and which enabled
them to transfer their wealth from land to land,
that when threatened with oppression in one country,
their treasure might be secured in another.
The obstinacy and avarice of the Jews being thus
in a measure placed in opposition to the fanaticism
that tyranny of those under whom they lived, seemed
to increase in proportion to the persecution with
which they were visited; and the immense wealth
they usually acquired in commerce, while it frequently
placed them in danger, was at other times
used to extend their influence, and to secure to
them a certain degree of protection. On these
terms they lived; and their character, influenced
accordingly, was watchful, suspicious, and timid---
yet obstinate, uncomplying, and skilful in evading
the dangers to which they were exposed.
When the travellers had pushed on at a rapid rate
through many devious paths, the Palmer at length
broke silence.
``That large decayed oak,'' he said, ``marks the
boundaries over which Front-de-B
``May the wheels of their chariots be taken off,''
said the Jew, ``like those of the host of Pharaoh,
that they may drive heavily!---But leave me not,
good Pilgrim---Think but of that fierce and savage
Templar, with his Saracen slaves---they will regard
neither territory, nor manor, nor lordship.''
``Our road,'' said the Palmer, ``should here separate;
for it beseems not men of my character and
thine to travel together longer than needs must be.
Besides, what succour couldst thou have from me,
a peaceful Pilgrim, against two armed heathens?''
``O good youth,'' answered the Jew, ``thou
canst defend me, and I know thou wouldst. Poor
as I am, I will requite it---not with money, for
money, so help me my Father Abraham, I have
none---but------''
``Money and recompense,'' said the Palmer, interrupting
him, ``I have already said I require not
of thee. Guide thee I can; and, it may be, even
in some sort defend thee; since to protect a Jew
against a Saracen, can scarce be accounted unworthy
of a Christian. Therefore, Jew, I will see thee
safe under some fitting escort. We are now not
far from the town of Sheffield, where thou mayest
easily find many of thy tribe with whom to take
refuge.''
``The blessing of Jacob be upon thee, good
youth!'' said the Jew; ``in Sheffield I can harbour
with my kinsman Zareth, and find some means of
travelling forth with safety.''
``Be it so,'' said the Palmer; ``at Sheffield then
we part, and half-an-hour's riding will bring us in
sight of that town.''
The half hour was spent in perfect silence on
both parts; the Pilgrim perhaps disdaining to address
the Jew, except in case of absolute necessity,
and the Jew not presuming to force a conversation
with a person whose journey to the Holy Sepulchre
gave a sort of sanctity to his character. They
paused on the top of a gently rising bank, and the
Pilgrim, pointing to the town of Sheffield, which
lay beneath them, repeated the words, ``Here, then,
we part.''
``Not till you have had the poor Jew's thanks,''
said Isaac; ``for I presume not to ask you to go
with me to my kinsman Zareth's, who might aid
me with some means of repaying your good offices.''
``I have already said,'' answered the Pilgrim,
``that I desire no recompense. If among the huge
list of thy debtors, thou wilt, for my sake, spare
the gyves and the dungeon to some unhappy Christian
who stands in thy danger, I shall hold this
morning's service to thee well bestowed.''
``Stay, stay,'' said the Jew, laying hold of his
garment; ``something would I do more than this,
something for thyself.---God knows the Jew is poor
---yes, Isaac is the beggar of his tribe---but forgive
me should I guess what thou most lackest at this
moment.''
``If thou wert to guess truly,'' said the Palmer,
``it is what thou canst not supply, wert thou as
wealthy as thou sayst thou art poor.'
``As I say?'' echoed the Jew; ``O! believe it,
I say but the truth; I am a plundered, indebted,
distressed man. Hard hands have wrung from me
my goods, my money, my ships, and all that I possessed---
Yet I can tell thee what thou lackest, and,
it may be, supply it too. Thy wish even now is
for a horse and armour.''
The Palmer started, and turned suddenly towards
the Jew:---``What fiend prompted that
guess?'' said he, hastily.
``No matter,'' said the Jew, smiling, ``so that
it be a true one---and, as I can guess thy want, so
I can supply it.''
``But consider,'' said the Palmer, ``my character,
my dress, my vow.''
``I know you Christians,'' replied the Jew, ``and
that the noblest of you will take the staff and sandal
in superstitious penance, and walk afoot to visit
the graves of dead men.''
``Blaspheme not, Jew,'' said the Pilgrim, sternly.
``Forgive me,'' said the Jew; ``I spoke rashly.
But there dropt words from you last night and this
morning, that, like sparks from flint, showed the
metal within; and in the bosom of that Palmer's
gown, is hidden a knight's chain and spurs of gold.
They glanced as you stooped over my bed in the
morning.''
The Pilgrim could not forbear smiling. ``Were
thy garments searched by as curious an eye, Isaac,''
said he, ``what discoveries might not be made?''
``No more of that,'' said the Jew, changing colour;
and drawing forth his writing materials in
haste, as if to stop the conversation, he began to
write upon a piece of paper which he supported on
the top of his yellow cap, without dismounting from
his mule. When he had finished, he delivered the
scroll, which was in the Hebrew character, to the
Pilgrim, saying, ``In the town of Leicester all men
know the rich Jew, Kirjath Jairam of Lombardy;
give him this scroll---he hath on sale six Milan harnesses,
the worst would suit a crowned head---ten
goodly steeds, the worst might mount a king, were
he to do battle for his throne. Of these he will
give thee thy choice, with every thing else that can
furnish thee forth for the tournament: when it is
over, thou wilt return them safely---unless thou
shouldst have wherewith to pay their value to the
owner.''
``But, Isaac,'' said the Pilgrim, smiling, ``dost
thou know that in these sports, the arms and steed
of the knight who is unhorsed are forfeit to his victor?
Now I may be unfortunate, and so lose what
I cannot replace or repay.''
The Jew looked somewhat astounded at this
possibility; but collecting his courage, he replied
hastily. ``No---no---no---It is impossible---I will
not think so. The blessing of Our Father will be
upon thee. Thy lance will be powerful as the rod
of Moses.''
So saying, he was turning his mule's head away,
when the Palmer, in his turn, took hold of his gaberdine.
``Nay, but Isaac, thou knowest not all
the risk. The steed may be slain, the armour injured---
for I will spare neither horse nor man. Besides,
those of thy tribe give nothing for nothing;
something there must be paid for their use.''
The Jew twisted himself in the saddle, like a
man in a fit of the colic; but his better feelings
predominated over those which were most familiar
to him. ``I care not,'' he said, ``I care not---let
me go. If there is damage, it will cost you nothing---
if there is usage money, Kirjath Jairam
will forgive it for the sake of his kinsman Isaac.
Fare thee well!---Yet hark thee, good youth,'' said
he, turning about, ``thrust thyself not too forward
into 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,
again smiling; ``I will use thy courtesy frankly,
and it will go hard with me but I will requite it.''
They parted, and took different roads for the
town of Sheffield.
Òà·²¹«ÒæͼÊé¹Ý(shuku.net)