CHAPTER XXVII
Fond wretch! and what canst thou relate, But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin? Thy deeds are proved---thou know'st thy fate; But come, thy tale---begin---begin. - - - - - - - But I have griefs of other kind, Troubles and sorrows more severe; Give me to ease my tortured mind, Lend to my woes a patient ear; And let me, if I may not find A friend to help---find one to hear.
_Crabbe's Hall of Justice._
When Urfried had with clamours and menaces driven Rebecca back to the apartment from which she had sallied, she proceeded to conduct the unwilling Cedric into a small apartment, the door of which she heedfully secured. Then fetching from a cupboard a stoup of wine and two flagons, she placed them on the table, and said in a tone rather asserting a fact than asking a question, ``Thou art Saxon, father---Deny it not,'' she continued, observing that Cedric hastened not to reply; ``the sounds of my native language are sweet to mine ears, though seldom heard save from the tongues of the wretched and degraded serfs on whom the proud Normans impose the meanest drudgery of this dwelling. Thou art a Saxon, father---a Saxon, and, save as thou art a servant of God, a freeman. ---Thine accents are sweet in mine ear.''
``Do not Saxon priests visit this castle, then?'' replied Cedric; ``it were, methinks, their duty to comfort the outcast and oppressed children of the soil.''
``They come not---or if they come, they better
love to revel at the boards of their conquerors,''
answered Urfried, ``than to hear the groans of their
countrymen---so, at least, report speaks of them---
of myself I can say little. This castle, for ten
years, has opened to no priest save the debauched
Norman chaplain who partook the nightly revels of
Front-de-B
``I am a Saxon,'' answered Cedric, ``but unworthy,
surely, of the name of priest. Let me begone
on my way---I swear I will return, or send
one of our fathers more worthy to hear your confession.''
``Stay yet a while,'' said Urfried; ``the accents
of the voice which thou hearest now will soon be
choked with the cold earth, and I would not descend
to it like the beast I have lived. But wine
must give me strength to tell the horrors of my
tale.'' She poured out a cup, and drank it with a
frightful avidity, which seemed desirous of draining
the last drop in the goblet. ``It stupifies,'' she
said, looking upwards as she finished her drought,
``but it cannot cheer---Partake it, father, if you
would hear my tale without sinking down upon the
pavement.'' Cedric would have avoided pledging
her in this ominous conviviality, but the sign which
she made to him expressed impatience and despair.
He complied with her request, and answered her
challenge in a large wine-cup; she then proceeded
with her story, as if appeased by his complaisance.
``I was not born,'' she said, ``father, the wretch
that thou now seest me. I was free, was happy,
was honoured, loved, and was beloved. I am now
a slave, miserable and degraded---the sport of my
masters' passions while I had yet beauty---the object
of their contempt, scorn, and hatred, since it
has passed away. Dost thou wonder, father, that
I should hate mankind, and, above all, the race that
has wrought this change in me? Can the wrinkled
decrepit hag before thee, whose wrath must vent
itself in impotent curses, forget she was once the
daughter of the noble Thane of Torquilstone, before
whose frown a thousand vassals trembled?''
``Thou the daughter of Torquil Wolfganger!''
said Cedric, receding as he spoke; ``thou---thou---
the daughter of that noble Saxon, my father's friend
and companion in arms!''
``Thy father's friend!'' echoed Urfried; ``then
Cedric called the Saxon stands before me, for the
noble Hereward of Rotherwood had but one son,
whose name is well known among his countrymen.
But if thou art Cedric of Rotherwood, why this
religious dress?---hast thou too despaired of saving
thy country, and sought refuge from oppression in
the shade of the convent?''
``It matters not who I am,'' said Cedric; ``proceed,
unhappy woman, with thy tale of horror and
guilt!---Guilt there must be---there is guilt even
in thy living to tell it.''
``There is---there is,'' answered the wretched
woman, ``deep, black, damning guilt,---guilt, that
lies like a load at my breast---guilt, that all the
penitential fires of hereafter cannot cleanse.---Yes,
in these halls, stained with the noble and pure
blood of my father and my brethren---in these very
halls, to have lived the paramour of their murderer,
the slave at once and the partaker of his pleasures,
was to render every breath which I drew of vital
air, a crime and a curse.''
``Wretched woman!'' exclaimed Cedric. ``And
while the friends of thy father---while each true
Saxon heart, as it breathed a requiem for his soul,
and those of his valiant sons, forgot not in their
prayers the murdered Ulrica---while all mourned
and honoured the dead, thou hast lived to merit
our hate and execration---lived to unite thyself
with the vile tyrant who murdered thy nearest and
dearest---who shed the blood of infancy, rather than
a male of the noble house of Torquil Wolfganger
should survive---with him hast thou lived to unite
thyself, and in the hands of lawless love!''
``In lawless hands, indeed, but not in those of
love!'' answered the hag; ``love will sooner visit
the regions of eternal doom, than those unhallowed
vaults.---No, with that at least I cannot reproach
myself---hatred to Front-de-B
``You hated him, and yet you lived,'' replied
Cedric; ``wretch! was there no poniard---no knife
---no bodkin!---Well was it for thee, since thou
didst prize such an existence, that the secrets of a
Norman castle are like those of the grave. For had
I but dreamed of the daughter of Torquil living in
foul communion with the murderer of her father,
the sword of a true Saxon had found thee out even
in the arms of thy paramour!''
``Wouldst thou indeed have done this justice to
the name of Torquil?'' said Ulrica, for we may now
lay aside her assumed name of Urfried; ``thou art
then the true Saxon report speaks thee! for even
within these accursed walls, where, as thou well
sayest, guilt shrouds itself in inscrutable mystery,
even there has the name of Cedric been sounded---
and I, wretched and degraded, have rejoiced to
think that there yet breathed an avenger of our
unhappy nation.---I also have had my hours of vengeance---
I have fomented the quarrels of our foes,
and heated drunken revelry into murderous broil
---I have seen their blood flow---I have heard their
dying groans!---Look on me, Cedric---are there not
still left on this foul and faded face some traces of
the features of Torquil?''
``Ask me not of them, Ulrica,'' replied Cedric,
in a tone of grief mixed with abhorrence; ``these
traces form such a resemblance as arises from the
graves of the dead, when a fiend has animated the
lifeless corpse.''
``Be it so,'' answered Ulrica; ``yet wore these
fiendish features the mask of a spirit of light when
they were able to set at variance the elder Front-de-B
secrets these vaults conceal!---Rend asunder, ye
accursed arches,'' she added, looking up towards
the roof, ``and bury in your fall all who are conscious
of the hideous mystery!''
``And thou, creature of guilt and misery,'' said
Cedric, ``what became thy lot on the death of thy
ravisher?''
``Guess it, but ask it not.---Here---here I dwelt,
till age, premature age, has stamped its ghastly
features on my countenance---scorned and insulted
where I was once obeyed, and compelled to bound
the revenge which had once such ample scope, to
the efforts of petty malice of a discontented menial,
or the vain or unheeded curses of an impotent
hag---condemned to hear from my lonely turret the
sounds of revelry in which I once partook, or the
shrieks and groans of new victims of oppression.''
``Ulrica,'' said Cedric, ``with a heart which still,
I fear, regrets the lost reward of thy crimes, as
much as the deeds by which thou didst acquire that
meed, how didst thou dare to address thee to one
who wears this robe? Consider, unhappy woman,
what could the sainted Edward himself do for thee,
were he here in bodily presence? The royal Confessor
was endowed by heaven with power to cleanse
the ulcers of the body, but only God himself can
cure the leprosy of the soul.''
``Yet, turn not from me, stern prophet of wrath,''
she exclaimed, ``but tell me, if thou canst, in what
shall terminate these new and awful feelings that
burst on my solitude---Why do deeds, long since
done, rise before me in new and irresistible horrors?
What fate is prepared beyond the grave for her, to
whom God has assigned on earth a lot of such
unspeakable wretchedness? Better had I turn to
Woden, Hertha, and Zernebock---to Mista, and
to Skogula, the gods of our yet unbaptized ancestors,
than endure the dreadful anticipations which
have of late haunted my waking and my sleeping
hours!''
``I am no priest,'' said Cedric, turning with disgust
from this miserable picture of guilt, wretchedness,
and despair; ``I am no priest, though I wear
a priest's garment.''
``Priest or layman,'' answered Ulrica, ``thou art
the first I have seen for twenty years, by whom God
was feared or man regarded; and dost thou bid me
despair?''
``I bid thee repent,'' said Cedric. ``Seek to
prayer and penance, and mayest thou find acceptance!
But I cannot, I will not, longer abide with
thee.''
``Stay yet a moment!'' said Ulrica; ``leave me
not now, son of my father's friend, lest the demon
who has governed my life should tempt me to
avenge myself of thy hard-hearted scorn---Thinkest
thou, if Front-de-B
``And be it so,'' said Cedric; ``and let him tear
me with beak and talons, ere my tongue say one
word which my heart doth not warrant. I will die
a Saxon---true in word, open in deed---I bid thee
avaunt!---touch me not, stay me not!---The sight
of Front-de-B
``Be it so,'' said Ulrica, no longer interrupting
him; ``go thy way, and forget, in the insolence of
thy superority, that the wretch before thee is the
daughter of thy father's friend.---Go thy way---if
I am separated from mankind by my sufferings---
separated from those whose aid I might most justly
expect---not less will I be separated from them in
my revenge!---No man shall aid me, but the ears
of all men shall tingle to hear of the deed which I
shall dare to do!---Farewell!---thy scorn has burst
the last tie which seemed yet to unite me to my
kind---a thought that my woes might claim the
compassion of my people.''
``Ulrica,'' said Cedric, softened by this appeal,
``hast thou borne up and endured to live through
so much guilt and so much misery, and wilt thou
now yield to despair when thine eyes are opened to
thy crimes, and when repentance were thy fitter
occupation?''
``Cedric,'' answered Ulrica, ``thou little knowest
the human heart. To act as I have acted, to
think as I have thought, requires the maddening
love of pleasure, mingled with the keen appetite of
revenge, the proud consciousness of power; droughts
too intoxicating for the human heart to bear, and
yet retain the power to prevent. Their force has
long passed away---Age has no pleasures, wrinkles
have no influence, revenge itself dies away in impotent
curses. Then comes remorse, with all its
vipers, mixed with vain regrets for the past, and
despair for the future!---Then, when all other
strong impulses have ceased, we become like the
fiends in hell, who may feel remorse, but never repentance.
---But thy words have awakened a new
soul within me---Well hast thou said, all is possible
for those who dare to die!---Thou hast shown
me the means of revenge, and be assured I will
embrace them. It has hitherto shared this wasted
bosom with other and with rival passions---henceforward
it shall possess me wholly, and thou thyself
shalt say, that, whatever was the life of Ulrica,
her death well became the daughter of the noble
Torquil. There is a force without beleaguering
this accursed castle---hasten to lead them to the attack,
and when thou shalt see a red flag wave from
the turret on the eastern angle of the donjon, press
the Normans hard---they will then have enough to
do within, and you may win the wall in spite both
of bow and mangonel.---Begone, I pray thee---follow
thine own fate, and leave me to mine.''
Cedric would have enquired farther into the purpose
which she thus darkly announced, but the stern
voice of Front-de-B
``What a true prophet,'' said Ulrica, ``is an evil
conscience! But heed him not---out and to thy
people---Cry your Saxon onslaught, and let them
sing their war-song of Rollo, if they will; vengeance
shall bear a burden to it.''
As she thus spoke, she vanished through a private
door, and Reginald Front-de-B
``Thy penitents, father, have made a long shrift
---it is the better for them, since it is the last they
shall ever make. Hast thou prepared them for
death?''
``I found them,'' said Cedric, in such French as
he could command, ``expecting the worst, from the
moment they knew into whose power they had
fallen.''
``How now, Sir Friar,'' replied Front-de-B
``I was bred in the convent of St Withold of
Burton,'' answered Cedric.
``Ay?'' said the Baron; ``it had been better for
thee to have been a Norman, and better for my
purpose too; but need has no choice of messengers.
That St Withold's of Burton is a howlet's nest
worth the harrying. The day will soon come that
the frock shall protect the Saxon as little as the
mail-coat.''
``God's will be done,'' said Cedric, in a voice
tremulous with passion, which Front-de-B
``I see,'' said he, ``thou dreamest already that
our men-at-arms are in thy refectory and thy ale-vaults.
But do me one cast of thy holy office, and,
come what list of others, thou shalt sleep as safe in
thy cell as a snail within his shell of proof.''
``Speak your commands,'' said Cedric, with suppressed
emotion.
``Follow me through this passage, then, that I
may dismiss thee by the postern.''
And as he strode on his way before the supposed
friar, Front-de-B
``Thou seest, Sir Friar, yon herd of Saxon swine,
who have dared to environ this castle of Torquilstone---
Tell them whatever thou hast a mind of the
weakness of this fortalice, or aught else that can detain
them before it for twenty-four hours. Meantime
bear thou this scroll---But soft---canst read,
Sir Priest?''
``Not a jot I,'' answered Cedric, ``save on my
breviary; and then I know the characters, because
I have the holy service by heart, praised be Our
Lady and St Withold!''
``The fitter messenger for my purpose.---Carry
thou this scroll to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin;
say it cometh from me, and is written by the
Templar Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and that I pray
him to send it to York with all the speed man and
horse can make. Meanwhile, tell him to doubt
nothing, he shall find us whole and sound behind
our battlement---Shame on it, that we should be
compelled to hide thus by a pack of runagates, who
are wont to fly even at the flash of our pennons and
the tramp of our horses! I say to thee, priest, contrive
some cast of thine art to keep the knaves
where they are, until our friends bring up their
lances. My vengeance is awake, and she is a falcon
that slumbers not till she has been gorged.''
``By my patron saint,'' said Cedric, with deeper
energy than became his character, ``and by every
saint who has lived and died in England, your commands
shall be obeyed! Not a Saxon shall stir from
before these walls, if I have art and influence to detain
them there.''
``Ha!'' said Front-de-B
Cedric was no ready practiser of the art of dissimulation,
and would at this moment have been
much the better of a hint from Wamba's more
fertile brain. But necessity, according to the ancient
proverb, sharpens invention, and he muttered
something under his cowl concerning the men in
question being excommunicated outlaws both to
church and to kingdom.
``_Despardieux_,'' answered Front-de-B
``They were godless men,'' answered Cedric.
``Ay, and they drank out all the good wine and
ale that lay in store for many a secret carousal,
when ye pretend ye are but busied with vigils and
primes!---Priest, thou art bound to revenge such
sacrilege.''
``I am indeed bound to vengeance,'' murmured
Cedric; ``Saint Withold knows my heart.''
Front-de-B
``Begone, then; and if thou wilt do mine errand,
and if thou return hither when it is done, thou
shalt see Saxon flesh cheap as ever was hog's in the
shambles of Sheffield. And, hark thee, thou seemest
to be a jolly confessor---come hither after the
onslaught, and thou shalt have as much Malvoisie
as would drench thy whole convent.''
``Assuredly we shall meet again,'' answered Cedric.
``Something in hand the whilst,'' continued the
Norman; and, as they parted at the postern door,
he thrust into Cedric's reluctant hand a gold byzant,
adding, ``Remember, I will fly off both cowl
and skin, if thou failest in thy purpose.''
``And full leave will I give thee to do both,''
answered Cedric, leaving the postern, and striding
forth over the free field with a joyful step, ``if,
when we meet next, I deserve not better at thine
hand.''---Turning then back towards the castle, he
threw the piece of gold towards the donor, exclaiming
at the same time, ``False Norman, thy money
perish with thee!''
Front-de-B
His commands were obeyed; and, upon entering
that Gothic apartment, hung with many spoils
won by his own valour and that of his father, he
found a flagon of wine on the massive oaken table,
and the two Saxon captives under the guard of
four of his dependants. Front-de-B
``Gallants of England,'' said Front-de-B
* _Surquedy_ and _outrecuidance_---insolence and presumption.
of a prince of the House of Anjou?---Have
ye forgotten how ye requited the unmerited hospitality
of the royal John? By God and St Dennis,
an ye pay not the richer ransom, I will hang
ye up by the feet from the iron bars of these windows,
till the kites and hooded crows have made
skeletons of you!---Speak out, ye Saxon dogs---
what bid ye for your worthless lives?---How say
you, you of Rotherwood?
``Not a doit I,'' answered poor Wamba---``and
for hanging up by the feet, my brain has been topsy-turvy,
they say, ever since the biggin was bound
first round my head; so turning me upside down
may peradventure restore it again.''
``Saint Genevieve!'' said Front-de-B
And with the back of his hand he struck Cedric's
cap from the head of the Jester, and throwing open
his collar, discovered the fatal badge of servitude,
the silver collar round his neck.
``Giles---Clement---dogs and varlets!'' exclaimed
the furious Norman, ``what have you brought
me here?''
``I think I can tell you,'' said De Bracy, who
just entered the apartment. ``This is Cedric's
clown, who fought so manful a skirmish with Isaac
of York about a question of precedence.''
``I shall settle it for them both,'' replied Front-de-B
``Ay, but,'' said Wamba, ``your chivalrous excellency
will find there are more fools than franklins
among us.''
``What means the knave?'' said Front-de-B
``Saints of Heaven!'' exclaimed De Bracy, ``he
must have escaped in the monk's garments!''
``Fiends of hell!'' echoed Front-de-B
``You deal with me better than your word, noble
knight,'' whimpered forth poor Wamba, whose
habits of buffoonery were not to be overcome even
by the immediate prospect of death; ``if you give
me the red cap you propose, out of a simple monk
you will make a cardinal.''
``The poor wretch,'' said De Bracy, ``is resolved
to die in his vocation.---Front-de-B
``Ay, with my master's leave,'' said Wamba;
``for, look you, I must not slip collar'' (and he
touched that which he wore) ``without his permission.''
``Oh, a Norman saw will soon cut a Saxon collar.''
said De Bracy.
``Ay, noble sir,'' said Wamba, ``and thence
goes the proverb---
`Norman saw on English oak,
On English neck a Norman yoke;
Norman spoon in English dish,
And England ruled as Normans wish;
Blithe world to England never will be more,
Till England's rid of all the four.' ''
``Thou dost well, De Bracy,' said Front-de-B
``To the battlements then,'' said De Bracy;
``when didst thou ever see me the graver for the
thoughts of battle? Call the Templar yonder, and
let him fight but half so well for his life as he has
done for his Order---Make thou to the walls thyself
with thy huge body---Let me do my poor endeavour
in my own way, and I tell thee the Saxon
outlaws may as well attempt to scale the clouds, as
the castle of Torquilstone; or, if you will treat
with the banditti, why not employ the mediation of
this worthy franklin, who seems in such deep contemplation
of the wine-flagon?---Here, Saxon,''
he continued, addressing Athelstane, and handing
the cup to him, ``rinse thy throat with that noble
liquor, and rouse up thy soul to say what thou wilt
do for thy liberty.''
``What a man of mould may,'' answered Athelstane,
``providing it be what a man of manhood
ought.---Dismiss me free, with my companions, and
I will pay a ransom of a thousand marks.''
``And wilt moreover assure us the retreat of that
scum of mankind who are swarming around the castle,
contrary to God's peace and the king's?'' said
Front-de-B
``In so far as I can,'' answered Athelstane, ``I
will withdraw them; and I fear not but that my
father Cedric will do his best to assist me.''
``We are agreed then,'' said Front-de-B
``Nor to the Jew Isaac's daughter,'' said the
Templar, who had now joined them
``Neither,'' said Front-de-B
``I were unworthy to be called Christian, if they
did,'' replied Athelstane: ``deal with the unbelievers
as ye list.''
``Neither does the ransom include the Lady
Rowena,'' said De Bracy. ``It shall never be said
I was scared out of a fair prize without striking a
blow for it.''
``Neither,'' said Front-de-B
``The Lady Rowena,'' answered Athelstane,
with the most steady countenance, ``is my affianced
bride. I will be drawn by wild horses before I consent
to part with her. The slave Wamba has this
day saved the life of my father Cedric---I will lose
mine ere a hair of his head be injured.''
``Thy affianced bride?---The Lady Rowena the
affianced bride of a vassal like thee?'' said De
Bracy; ``Saxon, thou dreamest that the days of
thy seven kingdoms are returned again. I tell thee,
the Princes of the House of Anjou confer not their
wards on men of such lineage as thine.''
``My lineage, proud Norman,'' replied Athelstane,
``is drawn from a source more pure and ancient
than that of a beggarly Frenchman, whose
living is won by selling the blood of the thieves
whom he assembles under his paltry standard.
Kings were my ancestors, strong in war and wise
in council, who every day feasted in their hall more
hundreds than thou canst number individual followers;
whose names have been sung by minstrels,
and their laws recorded by Wittenagemotes; whose
bones were interred amid the prayers of saints, and
over whose tombs minsters have been builded.''
``Thou hast it, De Bracy,'' said Front-de-B
``As fairly as a captive can strike,'' said De
Bracy, with apparent carelessness; ``for he whose
hands are tied should have his tongue at freedom.
---But thy glibness of reply, comrade,'' rejoined he,
speaking to Athelstane, ``will not win the freedom
of the Lady Rowena.''
To this Athelstane, who had already made a
longer speech than was his custom to do on any
topic, however interesting, returned no answer.
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of
a menial, who announced that a monk demanded
admittance at the postern gate.
``In the name of Saint Bennet, the prince of
these bull-beggars,'' said Front-de-B
``Let me endure the extremity of your anger,
my lord,'' said Giles, ``if this be not a real shaveling.
Your squire Jocelyn knows him well, and
will vouch him to be brother Ambrose, a monk in
attendance upon the Prior of Jorvaulx.''
``Admit him,'' said Front-de-B
``I claim,'' said Athelstane, ``an honourable imprisonment,
with due care of my board and of my
couch, as becomes my rank, and as is due to one
who is in treaty for ransom. Moreover, I hold
him that deems himself the best of you, bound to
answer to me with his body for this aggression on
my freedom. This defiance hath already been sent
to thee by thy sewer; thou underliest it, and art
bound to answer me---There lies my glove.''
``I answer not the challenge of my prisoner,''
said Front-de-B
The Saxon prisoners were accordingly removed,
just as they introduced the monk Ambrose, who
appeared to be in great perturbation.
``This is the real _Deus vobiscum_,'' said Wamba,
as he passed the reverend brother; ``the others
were but counterfeits.''
``Holy Mother,'' said the monk, as he addressed
the assembled knights, ``I am at last safe and
in Christian keeping!''
``Safe thou art,'' replied De Bracy; ``and for
Christianity, here is the stout Baron Reginald
Front-de-B
``What saith the devil!'' interrupted Front-de-B
``_Sancta Maria!_'' ejaculated Father Ambrose,
``how prompt to ire are these unhallowed laymen!
---But be it known to you, brave knights, that certain
murderous caitiffs, casting behind them fear
of God, and reverence of his church, and not regarding
the bull of the holy see, _Si quis, suadende
Diabolo_------''
``Brother priest,'' said the Templar, ``all this
we know or guess at---tell us plainly, is thy master,
the Prior, made prisoner, and to whom?''
``Surely,'' said Ambrose, ``he is in the hands
of the men of Belial, infesters of these woods, and
contemners of the holy text, `Touch not mine
anointed, and do my prophets naught of evil.' ''
``Here is a new argument for our swords, sirs,''
said Front-de-B
``So please you,'' said Ambrose, ``violent hands
having been imposed on my reverend superior,
contrary to the holy ordinance which I did already
quote, and the men of Belial having rifled his mails
and budgets, and stripped him of two hundred
marks of pure refined gold, they do yet demand of
him a large sum beside, ere they will suffer him to
depart from their uncircumcised hands. Wherefore
the reverend father in God prays you, as his dear
friends, to rescue him, either by paying down the
ransom at which they hold him, or by force of arms,
at your best discretion.''
``The foul fiend quell the Prior!'' said Front-de-B
``And that was what I was about to tell you,''
said the monk, ``had your hastiness allowed me
time. But, God help me, I am old, and these foul
onslaughts distract an aged man's brain. Nevertheless,
it is of verity that they assemble a camp,
and raise a bank against the walls of this castle.''
``To the battlements!'' cried De Bracy, ``and
let us mark what these knaves do without;'' and
so saying, he opened a latticed window which led
to a sort of bartisan or projecting balcony, and immediately
called from thence to those in the apartment---
``Saint Dennis, but the old monk hath
brought true tidings!---They bring forward mantelets
and pavisses,* and the archers muster on the
* Mantelets were temporary and movable defences formed
* of planks, under cover of which the assailants advanced to the
* attack of fortified places of old. Pavisses were a species of large
* shields covering the whole person, employed on the same occasions.
skirts of the wood like a dark cloud before a hailstorm.''
Reginald Front-de-B
``De Bracy, look to the eastern side, where the
walls are lowest---Noble Bois-Guilbert, thy trade
hath well taught thee how to attack and defend,
look thou to the western side---I myself will take
post at the barbican. Yet, do not confine your
exertions to any one spot, noble friends!---we must
this day be everywhere, and multiply ourselves,
were it possible, so as to carry by our presence
succour and relief wherever the attack is hottest.
Our numbers are few, but activity and courage may
supply that defect, since we have only to do with
rascal clowns.''
``But, noble knights,'' exclaimed Father Ambrose,
amidst the bustle and confusion occasioned
by the preparations for defence, ``will none of ye
hear the message of the reverend father in God
Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx?---I beseech thee to hear
me, noble Sir Reginald!''
``Go patter thy petitions to heaven,'' said the
fierce Norman, ``for we on earth have no time to
listen to them.---Ho! there, Anselm I see that seething
pitch and oil are ready to pour on the heads of
these audacious traitors---Look that the cross-bowmen
lack not bolts.*---Fling abroad my banner with
* The bolt was the arrow peculiarly fitted to the cross-bow,
* as that of the long-bow was called a shaft. Hence the English
* proverb---``I will either make a shaft or bolt of it,'' signifying a
* determination to make one use or other of the thing spoken of.
the old bull's head---the knaves shall soon find with
whom they have to do this day!''
``But, noble sir,'' continued the monk, persevering
in his endeavours to draw attention, ``consider
my vow of obedience, and let me discharge myself
of my Superior's errand.''
``Away with this prating dotard,'' said Front-de B
``Blaspheme not the holy saints, Sir Reginald,''
said De Bracy, ``we shall have need of their aid
to-day before yon rascal rout disband.''
``I expect little aid from their hand,'' said Front-de-B
The Templar had in the meantime been looking
out on the proceedings of the besiegers, with rather
more attention than the brutal Front-de-B
``By the faith of mine order,'' he said, ``these
men approach with more touch of discipline than
could have been judged, however they come by it.
See ye how dexterously they avail themselves of
every cover which a tree or bush affords, and shun
exposing themselves to the shot of our cross-bows?
I spy neither banner nor pennon among them, and
yet will I gage my golden chain, that they are led
on by some noble knight or gentleman, skilful in
the practice of wars.''
``I espy him,'' said De Bracy; ``I see the waving
of a knight's crest, and the gleam of his armour.
See yon tall man in the black mail, who is
busied marshalling the farther troop of the rascaille
yeomen---by Saint Dennis, I hold him to be the
same whom we called _Le Noir Faineant_, who overthrew
thee, Front-de-B
The demonstrations of the enemy's immediate
approach cut off all farther discourse. Each knight
repaired to his post, and at the head of the few followers
whom they were able to muster, and who
were in numbers inadequate to defend the whole
extent of the walls, they awaited with calm determination
the threatened assault.
Òà·²¹«ÒæͼÊé¹Ý(shuku.net)