No More Learning

" returned the priest, "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, Cedric, and you also, Athelstane, what
crimes you have committed in the flesh, for this very day will ye be
called to answer at a higher [v]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 [v]gear, father," said Cedric.

"Wait yet a moment, good [v]uncle," said the priest in a voice very
different from his solemn tones of a moment before; "better look before
you leap in the dark. "

"By my faith! " cried Cedric; "I should know that voice. "

"It is that of your trusty slave and jester," answered the priest,
throwing back his cowl and revealing the face of Wamba. "Take a fool's
advice, and you will not be here long. "

"How meanest thou, knave? " demanded the Saxon.

"Even thus," replied Wamba; "take thou this frock and cord 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! " exclaimed Cedric, astonished at the proposal;
"why, they would hang thee, my poor knave. "

"E'en let them do as they are permitted," answered 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
[v]alderman. "

"Well, Wamba," said 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," 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," cried Cedric, "the fathers of Athelstane were monarchs of
England! "

"They might be whomsoever they pleased," replied Wamba; "but my neck
stands too straight on 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," persisted 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 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. 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 [v]purveyed for his master. Go, noble
Cedric. 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? " asked Cedric,
looking at the jester.

"Prospect indeed! " echoed Wamba. "Let me tell you that 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 [v]casque, and my [v]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 valor what they may gain in discretion. And so
farewell, master, and be kind to poor Gurth and his dog Fangs; and let
my [v]coxcomb 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 honor 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 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,
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. "

"If such prove the case," said his master, "my religious orders are soon
taken. _Pax vobiscum_! I trust I shall remember the password. Noble
Athelstane, farewell; and farewell, my poor boy, whose heart might make
amends for a weaker head. I will save you, or return and die with you.
Farewell. "

"Farewell, noble Cedric," said Athelstane; "remember it is the true part
of a friar to accept refreshment, if you are offered any. "

Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his expedition and presently
found himself in the presence of Front-de-Boeuf. The Saxon, with some
difficulty, compelled himself to make obeisance to the haughty baron,
who returned his courtesy with a slight inclination of the head.

"Thy penitents, father," said the latter, "have made a long [v]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-Boeuf, "thy speech, me thinks,
smacks of the rude Saxon tongue? "

"I was bred in the convent of Saint 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 Saint 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! " returned Cedric, in a voice tremulous with
passion, which Front-de-Boeuf imputed to fear.

"I see," he said, "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
thou shalt sleep as safe in thy cell as a snail within his shell of
proof. "

"Speak your commands," replied Cedric, with suppressed emotion.

"Follow me through this passage, then, that I may dismiss thee by the
postern. "

As he strode on his way before the supposed friar, Front-de-Boeuf thus
schooled him in the part which he desired he should act.

"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 [v]fortalice, or aught else that can detain
them before it for twenty-four hours. Meantime bear this scroll--but
soft--canst thou read, sir priest? "

"Not a jot I," answered Cedric, "save on my [v]breviary; and then I know
the characters because I have the holy service by heart, praised be
Saint Withold! "

"The fitter messenger for my purpose. Carry thou this scroll to the
castle of Philip de [v]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 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. "

With these words, Front-de-Boeuf led the way to a postern where, passing
the moat on a single plank, they reached a small barbican, or exterior
defense, which communicated with the open field by a well-fortified
sally-port.

"Begone, then; and if thou wilt do mine errand, and 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
good wine as would drench thy whole convent. "

"Assuredly we shall meet again," answered Cedric.

"Something in the hand the whilst," continued the Norman; and, as they
parted at the postern door, he thrust in Cedric's reluctant hand a gold
[v]byzant, adding, "Remember, I will flay off both cowl and skin if thou
failest in thy purpose. "

The supposed priest passed out of the door without further words.

Front-de-Boeuf turned back within the castle.

"Ho! Giles jailer," he called, "let them bring Cedric of Rotherwood
before me, and the other churl, his companion--him I mean of
Coningsburgh--Athelstane there, or what call they him? Their very names
are an encumbrance to a Norman knight's mouth, and have, as it were, a
flavor of bacon. Give me a stoop of wine, as jolly Prince John would
say, that I may wash away the relish. Place it in the armory, and
thither lead the prisoners. "

His commands were obeyed; and upon entering that Gothic apartment, hung
with many spoils won by his own valor and that of his father, he found a
flagon of wine on a massive oaken table, and the two Saxon captives
under the guard of four of his dependants. Front-de-Boeuf took a long
draught of wine and then addressed his prisoners, for the imperfect
light prevented his perceiving that the more important of them had
escaped.

"Gallants of England," said Front-de-Boeuf, "how relish ye your
entertainment at Torquilstone? Faith and Saint Dennis, an ye pay not a
rich 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? What say
you, you of Rotherwood? "

"Not a [v]doit I," answered poor Wamba, "and for hanging up by the feet,
my brain has been topsy-turvy ever since the [v]biggin was bound first
around my head; so turning me upside down may peradventure restore it
again. "

"Hah! " cried Front-de-Boeuf, "what have we here? "

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! " called the furious Norman, "what
villain have you brought me here? "

"I think I can tell you," said De Bracy, who just entered the apartment.
"This is Cedric's clown. "

"Go," ordered Front-de-Boeuf; "fetch me the right Cedric hither, and I
pardon your error for once--the rather that you but mistook a fool for
a Saxon [v]franklin. "

"Ay, but," said Wamba, "your chivalrous excellency will find there are
more fools than franklins among us. "

"What means this knave? " said Front-de-Boeuf, looking toward his
followers, who, lingering and loath, faltered forth their belief that if
this were not Cedric who was there in presence, they knew not what was
become of him.

"Heavens! " exclaimed De Bracy. "He must have escaped in the monk's
garments! "

"Fiends! " echoed Front-de-Boeuf. "It was then the boar of Rotherwood
whom I ushered to the postern and dismissed with my own hands! And
thou," he said to Wamba, "whose folly could over-reach the wisdom of
idiots yet more gross than thyself. I will give thee holy orders, I will
shave thy crown for thee! Here, let them tear the scalp from his head
and pitch him headlong from the battlements. Thy trade is to jest: canst
thou jest now? "

"You deal with me better than your word, noble knight," whimpered forth
poor Wamba, whose habits of [v]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 [v]cardinal. "

"The poor wretch," said De Bracy, "is resolved to die in his vocation. "
The next moment would have been Wamba's last but for an unexpected
interruption. A hoarse shout, raised by many voices, bore to the inmates
of the hall the tidings that the besiegers were advancing to the attack.
There was a moment's silence in the hall, which was broken by De Bracy.
"To the battlements," he said; "let us see what these knaves do
without. "

So saying, he opened a latticed window which led to a sort of projecting
balcony, and immediately called to those in the apartment, "Saint
Dennis, it is time to stir! They bring forward [v]mantelets and
[v]pavisses, and the archers muster on the skirts of the wood like a
dark cloud before a hail-storm. "

Front-de-Boeuf also looked out upon the field and immediately snatched
his bugle. After winding a long and loud blast, he commanded his men to
their posts on the walls.

"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,
so look thou to the western side. I myself will take post at the
barbican. Our numbers are few, but activity and courage may supply that
defect, since we have only to do with rascal clowns. "

The Templar had in the meantime been looking out on the proceedings of
the besiegers with deeper attention than Front-de-Boeuf or his giddy
companion.

"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 avoid exposing themselves to the shot of our
cross-bows? I spy neither banner nor pennon, and yet I will gage my
golden chain that they are led by some noble knight or gentleman
skillful 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 armor. See yon tall man in the black mail who is busied
marshaling the farther troop of the rascally yeomen. By Saint Dennis, I
hold him to be the knight who did so well in the tournament at Ashby. "

The demonstrations of the enemy's approach cut off all farther
discourse. The Templar and De Bracy repaired to their posts and, at the
head of the few followers they were able to muster, awaited with calm
determination the threatened assault, while Front-de-Boeuf went to see
that all was secure in the besieged fortress.


V

In the meantime, the wounded Wilfred of Ivanhoe had been gradually
recovering his strength. Taken into her litter by Rebecca when his own
father hesitated to succor him, the young knight had lain in a stupor
through all the experiences of the journey and the capture of Cedric's
party by the Normans. De Bracy, who, bad as he was, was not without some
[v]compunction, on finding the occupant of the litter to be Ivanhoe, had
placed the invalid under the charge of two of his squires, who were
directed to state to any inquirers that he was a wounded comrade. This
explanation was now accordingly returned by these men to Front-de-Boeuf,
when, in going the round of the castle, he questioned them why they did
not make for the battlements upon the alarm of the attack.

"A wounded comrade! " he exclaimed in great wrath and astonishment. "No
wonder that churls and yeomen wax so presumptuous as even to lay leaguer
before castles, and that clowns and swineherds send defiances to nobles,
since men-at-arms have turned sick men's nurses. To the battlements, ye
loitering villains! " he cried, raising his [v]stentorian voice till the
arches rang again; "to the battlements, or I will splinter your bones
with this truncheon. "

The men, who, like most of their description, were fond of enterprise
and detested inaction, went joyfully to the scene of danger, and the
care of Ivanhoe fell to Rebecca, who occupied a neighboring apartment
and who was not kept in close confinement.

The beautiful young Jewess rejoined the knight, whom she had so signally
befriended, at the moment of the beginning of the attack on the castle.
Ivanhoe, already much better and chafing at his enforced inaction,
resembled the war-horse who scenteth the battle afar.

"If I could but drag myself to yonder window," he said, "that I might
see how this brave game is like to go--if I could strike but a single
blow for our deliverance! It is in vain; I am alike nerveless and
weaponless! "

"Fret not thyself, noble knight," answered Rebecca, "the sounds have
ceased of a sudden. It may be they join not battle. "

"Thou knowest naught of it," returned Wilfred, impatiently; "this dead
pause only shows that the men are at their posts on the walls and expect
an instant attack. What we have heard was but the distant muttering of
the storm, which will burst anon in all its fury. Could I but reach
yonder window! "

"Thou wilt injure thyself by the attempt, noble knight," replied the
attendant. Then she added, "I myself will stand at the lattice and
describe to you as I can what passes without. "

"You must not; you shall not! " exclaimed Ivanhoe. "Each lattice will
soon be a mark for the archers; some random shaft may strike you. At
least cover thy body with yonder ancient buckler and show as little of
thyself as may be. "

Availing herself of the protection of the large, ancient shield, which
she placed against the lower part of the window, Rebecca, with
tolerable security, could witness part of what was passing without the
castle and report to Ivanhoe the preparations being made for the
storming. From where she stood she had a full view of the outwork likely
to be the first object of the assault. It was a fortification of no
great height or strength, intended to protect the postern-gate through
which Cedric had been recently dismissed by Front-de-Boeuf. The castle
moat divided this species of barbican from the rest of the fortress, so
that, in case of its being taken, it was easy to cut off the
communication with the main building by withdrawing the temporary
bridge. In the outwork was a sally-port corresponding to the postern of
the castle, and the whole was surrounded by a strong palisade. From the
mustering of the assailants in a direction nearly opposite the outwork,
it seemed plain that this point had been selected for attack.

Rebecca communicated this to Ivanhoe, and added, "The skirts of the wood
seem lined with archers, although only a few are advanced from its dark
shadow. "

"Under what banner? " asked Ivanhoe.

"Under no ensign of war which I can observe," answered Rebecca.

"A singular novelty," muttered the knight, "to advance to storm such a
castle without pennon or banner displayed! Seest thou who they are that
act as leaders? Or, are all of them but stout yeomen? "

"A knight clad in sable armor is the most conspicuous," she replied; "he
alone is armed from head to foot, and he seems to assume the direction
of all around him. "

"Seem there no other leaders? " demanded the anxious inquirer.

"None of mark and distinction that I can behold from this station," said
Rebecca. "They appear even now preparing to attack. God of Zion protect
us!
What a dreadful sight! Those who advance first bear huge shields and
defenses made of plank; the others follow, bending their bows as they
come on. They raise their bows! God of Moses, forgive the creatures thou
hast made! "

Her description was suddenly interrupted by the signal for assault,
which was the blast of a shrill bugle, at once answered by a flourish of
the Norman trumpets from the battlements. The shouts of both parties
augmented the fearful din, the assailants crying, "Saint George for
merry England! " and the Normans answering them with cries of
"[v]_Beauseant! Beauseant! _"

It was not, however, by clamor that the contest was to be decided, and
the desperate efforts of the assailants were met by an equally vigorous
defense on the part of the besieged. The archers, trained by their
woodland pastimes to the most effective use of the longbow, shot so
rapidly and accurately that no point at which a defender could show the
least part of his person escaped their [v]cloth-yard shafts. By this
heavy discharge, which continued as thick and sharp as hail, two or
three of the garrison were slain and several others wounded. But,
confident in their armor of proof and in the cover which their situation
afforded, the followers of Front-de-Boeuf, and his allies, showed an
obstinacy in defense proportioned to the fury of the attack, replying
with the discharge of their large cross-bows to the close and continued
shower of arrows. As the assailants were necessarily but indifferently
protected, they received more damage than they did.

"And I must lie here like a bedridden monk," exclaimed Ivanhoe, "while
the game that gives me freedom or death is played out by the hands of
others! Look from the window once again, kind maiden, but beware that
you are not marked by the archers beneath--look out once more and tell
me if they yet advance to the storm. "

With patient courage, Rebecca again took post at the lattice.

"What dost thou see? " demanded the wounded knight.

"Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle mine eyes
and hide the bowmen who shoot them. "

"That cannot endure," remarked Ivanhoe. "If they press not on to carry
the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but little
against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the sable knight and see how
he bears himself, for as the leader is, so will his followers be. "

"I see him not," said Rebecca.

"Foul craven! " exclaimed Ivanhoe; "does he blench from the helm when the
wind blows highest? "

"He blenches not! he blenches not! " cried Rebecca. "I see him now; he
heads a body of men close under the outer barrier of the barbican. They
pull down the piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers with axes.
His high black plume floats over the throng, like a raven over the field
of the slain. They have made a breach in the barriers--they rush
in--they are thrust back! Front-de-Boeuf heads the defenders; I see his
gigantic form above the press. They throng again to the breach, and the
pass is disputed hand to hand, and man to man. Have mercy, God! "

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer to endure a
sight so terrible.

"Look forth again, Rebecca," urged Ivanhoe, mistaking the cause of her
retiring; "the archery must in some degree have ceased, since they are
now fighting hand to hand. Look again; there is less danger. "

Rebecca again looked forth and almost immediately exclaimed: "Holy
prophets of the law! Front-de-Boeuf and the Black Knight fight hand to
hand in the breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch the
progress of the strife. " She then uttered a loud shriek, "He is down! he
is down! "

"Who is down? " cried Ivanhoe; "tell me which has fallen? "

"The Black Knight," answered Rebecca, faintly; then shouted with joyful
eagerness, "But no--the name of the Lord of Hosts be blessed! --he is on
foot again and fights as if there were twenty men's strength in his
single arm. His sword is broken--he snatches an ax from a yeoman--he
presses Front-de-Boeuf with blow on blow. The giant stoops and totters
like an oak under the steel of a woodsman--he falls--he falls! "

"Front-de-Boeuf? " exclaimed Ivanhoe.

"Front-de-Boeuf! " answered the Jewess. "His men rush to the rescue,
headed by the haughty Templar--their united force compels the champion
to pause--they drag Front-de-Boeuf within the walls. "

"The assailants have won the barriers, have they not? " Ivanhoe eagerly
queried.

"They have! they have! " answered Rebecca; "and they press the besieged
hard on the outer wall. Some plant ladders, some swarm like bees and
endeavor to ascend upon the shoulders of each other. Down go stones,
beams, and trunks of trees on their heads, and as fast as they bear the
wounded to the rear, fresh men supply their places. Great God! hast thou
given men thine own image, that it should be thus cruelly defaced by the
hands of their brethren! "

"Think not of that," said Ivanhoe. "This is no time for such thoughts.
Who yield--who push their way? "

"The ladders are thrown down," replied Rebecca, shuddering; "the
soldiers lie groveling under them like crushed reptiles; the besieged
have the better. "

"Saint George strike for us! " exclaimed the knight; "do the false yeomen
give way? "

"No," exclaimed Rebecca, "they bear themselves right yeomanly--the Black
Knight approaches the postern with his huge ax--the thundering blows he
deals you may hear above all the din of the battle. Stones and beams are
hailed down on the bold champion--he regards them no more than if they
were thistle-down or feathers! "

"By Saint John of Acre," cried Ivanhoe, raising himself joyfully on his
couch, "methought there was but one man in England that might do such a
deed! "

"The postern-gate shakes," continued Rebecca; "it crashes--it is
splintered by his blows--they rush in--the outwork is won! Oh, God! they
hurl the defenders from the battlements--they throw them into the
moat--men, if ye indeed be men, spare them that can resist no longer! "

"The bridge--the bridge which communicates with the castle--have they
won that pass? "

"No," replied Rebecca. "The Templar has destroyed the plank on which
they crossed--few of the defenders escaped with him into the castle--the
shrieks and cries you hear tell the fate of the others! Alas! I see it
is more difficult to look on victory than on battle. "

"What do they now, maiden? " asked Ivanhoe. "Look forth yet again; this
is no time to faint at bloodshed. "

"It is over for the time," answered Rebecca. "Our friends strengthen
themselves within the outwork which they have mastered; it affords them
so good a shelter from the foeman's shot that the garrison only bestow a
few bolts on it from interval to interval, as if to disquiet rather than
to injure them. "

"Our friends," said Wilfred, "will surely not abandon an enterprise so
gloriously begun and so happily attained. Oh, no! I will put my faith in
the good knight whose ax hath rent heart-of-oak and bars of iron. "


VI

During the interval of quiet which followed the first success of the
besiegers, the Black Knight was employed 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.

When the raft was completed, the Black Knight addressed the besiegers:
"It avails not waiting here longer, my friends; the sun is descending in
the west, and I may not tarry for another day. Besides, it will be a
marvel if the horsemen do not come upon us from York, unless we speedily
accomplish our purpose. Wherefore, one of you 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; while you, true Englishmen,
stand by me and be ready to thrust the raft end-long over the moat
whenever the postern on our side is thrown open. Follow me boldly
across, and aid me to burst yon sally-port in the main wall of the
castle. As many of you as like not this service, or are but ill-armed,
do you man the top of the outwork, draw your bowstrings to your ears and
quell with your shot whoever shall appear upon the rampant. Noble
Cedric, wilt thou take the direction of those that remain? "

"Not so," answered the Saxon. "Lead I cannot, but my posterity curse me
in my grave if I follow not with the foremost wherever thou shalt point
the way! "

"Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon," said the knight, "thou hast neither
hauberk nor corslet, nor aught but that light helmet, [v]target, and
sword. "

"The better," replied 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 you
beheld the steel corslet of a Norman warrior. "

"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, now held by
the besiegers, to the moat and corresponded with a sally-port in the
main wall of the castle was suddenly opened. The temporary bridge was
immediately thrust forward and extended its length between the castle
and outwork, 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 shore. Here he began to
thunder with his ax on 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 [v]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.

[Illustration: [See page 323]

He Began to Thunder on the Gate]

The situation of Cedric and 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 on 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
battlement, an better may not be. Get pick-ax 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 Locksley whipped up the courage of his men.

"Saint George for England! " he cried. "To the charge, bold yeomen! Why
leave ye the good knight and noble Cedric to storm the pass alone? Make
in, yeomen! The castle is taken. Think of honor; 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 had heaved up and
loosened the stone pinnacle, when, receiving an arrow through his
headpiece, he dropped from the battlement into the moat a dead man. The
men-at-arms were daunted, for no armor seemed proof against the shot of
this tremendous archer.

"Do you give ground, base knaves? " cried De Bracy. "[v]_Mountjoy Saint
Dennis_! Give me the lever. "

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 a foot on the raft. Thrice did Locksley bend his shaft against
De Bracy, and thrice did his arrow bound back from the knight's armor of
proof.

"Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat! " said Locksley; "had English smith
forged it, these arrows had gone through it as if it had been silk. " 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 Black Knight
himself occasioned by his strokes upon the postern would have drowned
twenty war-trumpets. The faithful Gurth indeed sprang 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
ear.

"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," returned
Bois-Guilbert. "I have striven in vain to extinguish it. "

"What is to be done? " cried De Bracy. "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 to the
barbican. I will charge from the main gate and attack the barbican on
the outside. If we can regain that post, we shall defend ourselves until
we are relieved or, at least, until they grant us fair quarter. "

"It is well thought upon," replied De Bracy; "I will play my part. "

De Bracy hastily drew his men together and rushed down to the
postern-gate, which he caused instantly to be thrown open. 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! " cried De Bracy; "will ye let two men win our only pass for
safety? "

"He is the devil! " replied a veteran man-at-arms, bearing back from the
blows of their sable antagonist.

"And if he be the devil," said 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 chivalrously did De Bracy that day maintain the fame he had
acquired in the civil wars of that dreadful period. The vaulted passages
in which the two redoubted champions were now fighting hand to hand rang
with the furious blows they dealt each other, De Bracy with his sword,
the Black Knight with his ponderous ax. At length the Norman received a
blow, which, though its force was partly parried by his shield,
descended yet with such violence on his crest that he measured his
length on the paved floor.

"Yield thee, De Bracy," said the Black Knight, stooping over him and
holding against the bars of his helmet the fatal poniard with which
knights despatched their enemies; "yield thee, Maurice de Bracy, rescue
or no rescue, or thou art but a dead man. Speak! "

The gallant Norman, seeing the hopelessness of further resistance,
yielded, and was allowed to rise.

"Let me tell thee what it imports thee to know," he said. "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. "The life of every man
in the castle shall answer if a hair of his head be singed. Show me his
chamber! "

"Ascend yonder stair," directed De Bracy. "It leads to his apartment. "

The 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 fire, and there the rage of man still triumphed; for the besiegers
pursued the defenders of the castle from chamber to chamber. Most of the
garrison resisted to the uttermost; few of them asked quarter--none
received it. The air was filled with groans and the clashing of arms.

Through this scene of confusion the Black Knight rushed in quest of
Ivanhoe, whom he found in Rebecca's charge. The knight, picking up the
wounded man as if he were a child, bore him quickly to safety. In the
meantime, Cedric had gone in search of Rowena, followed by the faithful
Gurth. The noble Saxon was so fortunate as to reach his ward's
apartment just as she had abandoned all hope of safety and sat in
expectation of instant death. He committed her to the charge of Gurth,
to be carried without the castle. The loyal Cedric then hastened in
quest of his friend Athelstane, determined at every risk to himself to
save the prince. But ere Cedric penetrated as far as the old hall in
which he himself had been a prisoner, the inventive genius of Wamba had
procured liberation for himself and his companion.

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! " These sounds he rendered yet more fearful by banging against each
other two or three pieces of rusty armor which lay scattered around the
hall.

The guards at once ran to tell the Templar that foemen had entered the
old hall. Meantime the prisoners found no difficulty in making their
escape into the court of the castle, which was now the last scene of the
contest. Here sat the fierce Templar, mounted on horseback and
surrounded by several of the garrison, who had united their strength in
order to secure the last chance of safety and retreat which remained to
them. The principal, and now the single remaining 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. On the other hand, a party of the besiegers
who had entered by the postern on the opposite side were now issuing
into the court-yard and attacking with fury the remnant of the defenders
in the rear.

Animated, however, by despair and the example of their gallant leader,
the remaining soldiers of the castle fought with the utmost valor; and,
being well armed, they succeeded in driving back the assailants.

Crying aloud, "Those who would save themselves, follow me!