Ivanhoe (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (44 page)

“If the long letters were bows, and the short letters broad arrows, I might know something of the matter,” said the brave yeoman; “but as the matter stands, the meaning is as safe, for me, as the stag that’s at twelve miles’ distance.”

“I must be clerk, then,” said the Black Knight; and taking the letter from Locksley, he first read it over to himself, and then explained the meaning in Saxon to his confederates.

“Execute the noble Cedric!” exclaimed Wamba; “by the rood, thou must be mistaken, Sir Knight.”

“Not I, my worthy friend,” replied the knight, “I have explained the words as they are here set down.”

“Then, by St. Thomas of Canterbury,” replied Gurth, “we will have the castle, should we tear it down with our hands!”

“We have nothing else to tear it with,” replied Wamba; “but mine are scarce fit to make mammocks
^cy
of freestone and mortar.”

“‘Tis but a contrivance to gain time,” said Locksley; “they dare not do a deed for which I could exact a fearful penalty.”

“I would,” said the Black Knight, “there were some one among us who could obtain admission into the castle, and discover how the case stands with the besieged. Methinks, as they require a confessor to be sent, this holy hermit might at once exercise his pious vocation and procure us the information we desire.”

“A plague on thee and thy advice!” said the pious hermit; “I tell thee, Sir Slothful Knight, that when I doff my friar’s frock, my priesthood, my sanctity, my very Latin, are put off along with it; and when in my green jerkin I can better kill twenty deer than confess one Christian.”

“I fear,” said the Black Knight—“I fear greatly there is no one here that is qualified to take upon him, for the nonce, this same character of father confessor?”

All looked on each other, and were silent.

“I see,” said Wamba, after a short pause, “that the fool must be still the fool, and put his neck in the venture which wise men shrink from. You must know, my dear cousins and countrymen, that I wore russet before I wore motley, and was bred to be a friar, until a brain-fever came upon me and left me just wit enough to be a fool. I trust, with the assistance of the good hermit’s frock, together with the priesthood, sanctity, and learning which are stitched into the cowl of it, I shall be found qualified to administer both worldly and ghostly comfort to our worthy master Cedric and his companions in adversity.”

“Hath he sense enough, thinkst thou?” said the Black Knight, addressing Gurth.

“I know not,” said Gurth; “but if he hath not, it will be the first time he hath wanted wit to turn his jolly to account.”

“On with the frock, then, good fellow,” quoth the Knight, “and let thy master send us an account of their situation within the castle. Their numbers must be few, and it is five to one they may be accessible by a sudden and bold attack. Time wears—away with thee.”

“And, in the meantime,” said Locksley, “we will beset the place so closely that not so much as a fly shall carry news from thence. So that, my good friend,” he continued, addressing Wamba, “thou mayst assure these tyrants that whatever violence they exercise on the persons of their prisoners shall be most severely repaid upon their own.”

“Pax vobiscum,”
^cz
said Wamba, who was now muffled in his religious disguise.

And so saying, he imitated the solemn and stately deportment of a friar, and departed to execute his mission.

When the Jester, arrayed in the cowl and frock of the hermit, and having his knotted cord twisted round his middle, stood beforethe portal of the castle of Front-de-Bœuf, the warder demanded of him his name and errand.

“Pax
vobiscum,”
answered the Jester, “I am a poor brother of the Order of St. Francis, who come hither to do my office to certain unhappy prisoners now secured within this castle.”

“Thou art a bold friar,” said the warder, “to come hither, where, saving our own drunken confessor, a cock of thy feather hath not crowed these twenty years.”

“Yet I pray thee, do mine errand to the lord of the castle,” answered the pretended friar; “trust me, it will find good acceptance with him, and the cock shall crow, that the whole castle shall hear him.”

“Gramercy,” said the warder; “but if I come to shame for leav ing my post upon thine errand, I will try whether a friar’s grey gown be proof against a grey-goose shaft.”

With this threat he left his turret, and carried to the hall of the castle his unwonted intelligence, that a holy friar stood before the gate and demanded instant admission. With no small wonder he received his master’s commands to admit the holy man immediately; and, having previously manned the entrance to guard against surprise, he obeyed, without further scruple, the commands which he had received. The hare-brained self-conceit which had emboldened Wamba to undertake this dangerous office was scarce sufficient to support him when he found himself in the presence of a man so dreadful, and so much dreaded, as Reginald Front-de-Bœuf, and he brought out his Pax vobiscum, to which he, in a good measure, trusted for supporting his character, with more anxiety and hesitation than had hitherto accompanied it. But Front-de-Bœuf was accustomed to see men of all ranks tremble in his presence, so that the timidity of the supposed father did not give him any cause of suspicion. “Who and whence art thou, priest?” said he.

“Pax
vobiscum,”
reiterated the Jester, “I am a poor servant of St. Francis, who, travelling through this wilderness, have fallen among thieves as Scripture hath
it—quidam viator incidit in latrones
^da
—which thieves have sent me unto this castle in order to do my ghostly office on two persons condemned by your honourable justice.”

“Ay, right,” answered Front-de-Bœuf; “and canst thou tell me, holy father, the number of those banditti?”

“Gallant sir,” answered the Jester,
“nomen illis legio
^db
—their
name is legion.”

“Tell me in plain terms what numbers there are, or, priest, thy cloak and cord will ill protect thee.”

“Alas!” said the supposed friar,
“cor meum eructavit,
^dc
that is to say, I was like to burst with fear! but I conceive they may be, what of yeomen, what of commons, at least five hundred men.”

“What!” sid the Templar, who came into the hall that moment, “muster the wasps so thick here? It is time to stifle such a mischievous brood.” Then taking Front-de-Bœuf aside, “Knowest thou the priest?”

“He is a stranger from a distant convent,” said Front-de-Bœuf; “I know him not.”

“Then trust him not with thy purpose in words,” answered the Templar. “Let him carry a written order to De Bracy’s company of Free Companions, to repair instantly to their master’s aid. In the meantime, and that the shaveling may suspect nothing, permit him to go freely about his task of preparing these Saxon hogs for the slaughter-house.”

“It shall be so,” said Front-de-Bœuf. And he forthwith appointed a domestic to conduct Wamba to the apartment where Cedric and Athelstane were confined.

The impatience of Cedric had been rather enhanced than diminished by his confinement. He walked from one end of the hall to the other, with the attitude of one who advances to charge an enemy, or to storm the breach of a beleaguered place, sometimes ejaculating to himself, sometimes addressing Athelstane, who stoutly and stoically awaited the issue of the adventure, digesting, in the meantime, with great composure, the liberal meal which he had made at noon, and not greatly interesting himself about the duration of his captivity, which he concluded would, like all earthly evils, find an end in Heaven’s good time.

“Pax
vobiscum,”
said the Jester, entering the apartment; “the blessing of St. Dunstan, St. Denis, St. Duthoc, and all other saints whatsoever, be upon ye and about ye.”

“Enter freely,” answered Cedric to the supposed friar; “with what intent art thou come hither?”

“To bid you prepare yourselves for death,” answered the Jester.

“It is impossible!” replied Cedric, starting. “Fearless and wicked as they are, they dare not attempt such open and gratuitous cruelty!”

“Alas!” said the Jester, “to restrain them by their sense of humanity is the same as to stop a runaway horse with a bridle of silk thread. Bethink thee, therefore, noble Cedric, and you also, gallant Athelstane, what crimes you have committed in the flesh; for this very day will ye be called to answer at a higher tribunal.”

“Hearest thou this, Athelstane?” said Cedric. “We must rouse up our hearts to this last action, since better it is we should die like men than live like slaves.”

“I am ready,” answered Athelstane, “to stand the worst of their malice, and shall walk to my death with as much composure as ever I did to my dinner.”

“Let us then unto our holy gear, father,” said Cedric.

“Wait yet a moment, good uncle,” said the Jester, in his natural tone; “better look long before you leap in the dark.”

“By my faith,” said Cedric, “I should know that voice!”

“It is that of your trusty slave and jester,” answered Wamba, throwing back his cowl. “Had you taken a fool’s advice formerly, you would not have been here at all. Take a fool’s advice now, and you will not be here long.”

“How mean’st thou, knave?” answered the Saxon.

“Even thus,” replied Wamba; “take thou this frock and cord, which are all the orders I ever had, and march quietly out of the castle, leaving me your cloak and girdle to take the long leap in thy stead.”

“Leave thee in my stead!” said Cedric, astonished at the proposal ; “why, they would hang thee, my poor knave.”

“E’en let them do as they are permitted,” said Wamba; “I trust—no disparagement to your birth—that the son of Witless may hang in a chain with as much gravity as the chain hung upon his ancestor the alderman.”

“Well, Wamba,” answered Cedric, “for one thing will I grant thy request. And that is, if thou wilt make the exchange of garments with Lord Athelstane instead of me.”

“No, by St. Dunstan,” answered Wamba; “there were little reason in that. Good right there is that the son of Witless should suffer to save the son of Hereward; but little wisdom there were in his dying for the benefit of one whose fathers were strangers to his.”

“Villain,” said Cedric, “the fathers of Athelstane were monarchs of England!”

“They might be whomsoever they pleased,” replied Wamba; “but my neck stands too straight upon my shoulders to have it twisted for their sake. Wherefore, good my master, either take my proffer yourself or suffer me to leave this dungeon as free as I entered.”

“Let the old tree wither,” continued Cedric, “so the stately hope of the forest be preserved. Save the noble Athelstane, my trusty Wamba! it is the duty of each who has Saxon blood in his veins. Thou and I will abide together the utmost rage of our injurious oppressors, while he, free and safe, shall arouse the awakened spirits of our countrymen to avenge us.”

“Not so, father Cedric,” said Athelstane, grasping his hand, for, when roused to think or act, his deeds and sentiments were not unbecoming his high race—“not so,” he continued; “I would rather remain in this hall a week without food save the prisoner’s stinted loaf, or drink save the prisoner’s measure of water, than embrace the opportunity to escape which the slave’s untaught kindness has purveyed for his master.”

“You are called wise men, sira,” said the Jester, “and I a crazed fool; but, uncle Cedric and cousin Athelstane, the fool shall decide this controversy for ye, and save ye the trouble of straining courtesies any farther. I am like John-a-Duck’s mare, that will let no man mount her but John-a-Duck. I came to save my master, and if he will not consent, basta!
^dd
I can but go away home again. Kind service cannot be chucked from hand to hand like a shuttlecock or stool-ball.
^de
I’ll hang for no man but my own born master.”

“Go, then, noble Cedric,” said Athelstane, “neglect not this opportunity. Your presence without may encourage friends to our rescue; your remaining here would ruin us all.”

“And is there any prospect, then, of rescue from without?” said Cedric, looking to the Jester.

“Prospect, indeed!” echoed Wamba; “let me tell you, when you fill my cloak, you are wrapped in a general’s cassock. Five hundred men are there without, and I was this morning one of their chief leaders. My fool’s cap was a casque, and my bauble a truncheon. Well, we shall see what good they will make by exchanging a fool for a wise man. Truly, I fear they will lose in valour what they may gain in discretion. And so farewell, master, and be kind to poor Gurth and his dog Fangs; and let my cockscomb hang in the hall at Rotherwood, in memory that I flung away my life for my master, like a faithful—fool.” The last word came out with a sort of double expression, betwixt jest and earnest.

The tears stood in Cedric’s eyes. “Thy memory shall be preserved,” he said, “while fidelity and affection have honour upon earth! But that I trust I shall find the means of saving Rowena, and thee, Athelstane, and thee also, my poor Wamba, thou shouldst not overbear me in this matter.”

The exchange of dress was now accomplished, when a sudden doubt struck Cedric.

“I know no language,” he said, “but my own, and a few words of their mincing Norman. How shall I bear myself like a reverend brother?”

“The spell lies in two words,” replied Wamba. “Pax vobiscum will answer all queries. If you go or come, eat or drink, bless or ban,
Pax vobiscum
carries you through it all. It is as useful to a friar as a broomstick to a witch, or a wand to a conjurer. Speak it but thus, in a deep grave tone—
Pax vobiscum
—it is irresistible. Watch and ward,
^df
knight and squire, foot and horse, it acts as a charm upon them all. I think, if they bring me out to be hanged to-morrow, as is much to be doubted they may, I will try its weight upon the finisher of the sentence.”