Rebecca and Rowena

by William Makepeace Thackeray

she chose to style herself at home) looked so hard at him out of her

  china-blue eyes, that Sir Wilfrid felt as if she was reading his

  thoughts, and was fain to drop his own eyes into his flagon.

  In a word, his life was intolerable. The dinner hour of the twelfth

  century, it is known, was very early; in fact, people dined at ten

  o'clock in the morning: and after dinner Rowena sat mum under her

  canopy, embroidered with the arms of Edward the Confessor, working with

  her maidens at the most hideous pieces of tapestry, representing the

  tortures and martyrdoms of her favorite saints, and not allowing a soul

  to speak above his breath, except when she chose to cry out in her own

  shrill voice when a handmaid made a wrong stitch, or let fall a ball of

  worsted. It was a dreary life. Wamba, we have said, never ventured to

  crack a joke, save in a whisper, when he was ten miles from home; and

  then Sir Wilfrid Ivanhoe was too weary and blue-devilled to laugh; but

  hunted in silence, moodily bringing down deer and wild-boar with shaft

  and quarrel.

  Then he besought Robin of Huntingdon, the jolly outlaw, nathless, to

  join him, and go to the help of their fair sire King Richard, with a

  score or two of lances. But the Earl of Huntingdon was a very

  different character from Robin Hood the forester. There was no more

  conscientious magistrate in all the county than his lordship: he was

  never known to miss church or quarter-sessions; he was the strictest

  game-proprietor in all the Riding, and sent scores of poachers to

  Botany Bay. "A man who has a stake in the country, my good Sir

  Wilfrid," Lord Huntingdon said, with rather a patronizing air, (his

  lordship had grown immensely fat since the King had taken him into

  grace, and required a horse as strong as an elephant to mount him) "a

  man with a stake in the country ought to stay in the country.

  Property has its duties as well as its privileges, and a person of my

  rank is bound to live on the land from which he gets his living."

  "Amen!" sang out the Reverend--Tuck, his lordship's domestic chaplain,

  who had also grown as sleek as the Abbot of Jorvaulx, who was as prim

  as a lady in his dress, wore bergamot in his handkerchief, and had his

  poll shaved and his beard curled every day. And so sanctified was his

  Reverence grown, that he thought it was a shame to kill the pretty

  deer, (though he ate of them still hugely, both in pasties and with

  French beans and currant-jelly,) and being shown a quarter-staff upon a

  certain occasion, handled it curiously, and asked what that ugly great

  stick was?"

  Lady Huntingdon, late Maid Marian, had still some of her old fun and

  spirits, and poor Ivanhoe begged and prayed that she would come and

  stay at Rotherwood occasionally, and _egayer the general dulness of

  that castle. But her ladyship said that Rowena gave herself such airs,

  and bored her so intolerably with stories of King Edward the Confessor,

  that she preferred any place rather than Rotherwood, which was as dull

  as if it had been at the top of Mount Athos.

  The only person who visited it was Athelstane. "His Royal Highness the

  Prince" Rowena of course called him, whom the lady received with royal

  honors. She had the guns fired, and the footmen turned out with

  presented arms when he arrived; helped him to all Ivanhoe's favorite

  cuts of the mutton or the turkey, and forced her poor husband to light

  him to the state bedroom, walking backwards, holding a pair of

  wax-candles. At this hour of bedtime the Thane used to be in such a

  condition, that he saw two pair of candles and two Ivanhoes reeling

  before him. Let us hope it was not Ivanhoe that was reeling, but only

  his kinsman's brains muddled with the quantities of drink which it was

  his daily custom to consume. Rowena said it was the crack which the

  wicked Bois Guilbert, "the Jewess's other lover, Wilfrid my dear," gave

  him on his royal skull, which caused the Prince to be disturbed so

  easily; but added, that drinking became a person of royal blood, and

  was but one of the duties of his station.

  Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe saw it would be of no avail to ask this man to

  bear him company on his projected tour abroad; but still he himself was

  every day more and more bent upon going and he long cast about for some

  means of breaking to his Rowena his firm resolution to join the King.

  He thought she would certainly fall ill if he communicated the news too

  abruptly to her: he would pretend a journey to York to attend a grand

  jury; then a call to London on law business or to buy stock; then he

  would slip over to Calais by the packet, by degrees as it were; and so

  be with the King before his wife knew that he was out of sight of

  Westminster Hall.

  Suppose your honor says you are going as your honor would say Bo! to a

  goose, plump, short, and to the point," said Wamba the Jester who was

  Sir Wilfrid's chief counselor and attendant "depend on't her Highness

  would bear the news like a Christian woman."

  "Tush, malapert! I will give thee the strap," said Sir Wilfrid, in a

  fine tone of high-tragedy indignation. "Thou know est not the delicacy

  of the nerves of high-born ladies. An she faint not, write me down

  Hollander."

  "I will wager my bauble against an Irish billet of exchange that she

  will let your honor go off readily: that is, if you press not the

  matter too strongly," Wamba answered, knowingly.

  And this Ivanhoe found to his discomfiture: for one morning at

  breakfast, adopting a _degage air, as he sipped his tea, he said, "My

  love, I was thinking of going over to pay his Majesty a visit in

  Normandy." Upon which, laying down her muffin, (which, since the royal

  Alfred baked those cakes, had been the chosen breakfast cate of noble

  Anglo-Saxons, and which a kneeling page tendered to her on a salver,

  chased by the Florentine, Benvenuto Cellini,) "When do you think of

  going, Wilfrid my dear?" the lady said; and the moment the tea-things

  were removed, and the tables and their trestles put away, she set about

  mending his linen, and getting ready his carpet-bag.

  So Sir Wilfrid was as disgusted at her readiness to part with him as he

  had been weary of staying at home, which caused Wamba the Fool to say,

  "Marry, gossip, thou art like the man on shipboard, who, when the

  boatswain flogged him, did cry out "Oh!" wherever the rope's-end fell

  on him: which caused Master Boatswain to say, "Plague on thee, fellow,

  and a pize on thee, knave, wherever I hit thee there is no pleasing

  thee.""

  And truly there are some backs which Fortune is always belaboring,"

  thought Sir Wilfrid with a groan, "and mine is one that is ever

  sore."

  So, with a moderate retinue, whereof the knave Wamba made one, and a

  large woollen comforter round his neck, which his wife's own white

  fingers had woven, Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe left home to join the King

  his master. Rowena, standing on the steps, poured out a series of

  prayers and blessings, most edifying to hear, as her lord mounted his

  charger, which his squires led to
the door. It was the duty of the

  British female of rank," she said, "to suffer all all in the cause of

  her sovereign. She would not fear loneliness during the campaign: she

  would bear up against widowhood, desertion, and an unprotected

  situation."

  My cousin Athelstane will protect thee," said Ivanhoe, with profound

  emotion, as the tears trickled down his base net and bestowing a chaste

  salute upon the steel-clad warrior, Rowena modestly said "she hoped his

  Highness would be so kind."

  Then Ivanhoe's trumpet blew: then Rowena waved her pocket-handkerchief:

  then the household gave a shout: then the pursuivant of the good

  Knight, Sir Wilfrid the Crusader, flung out his banner (which was

  argent, a gules cramoisy with three Moors impaled sable) then Wamba

  gave a lash on his mule's haunch, and Ivanhoe, heaving a great sigh,

  turned the tail of his war-horse upon the castle of his fathers.

  As they rode along the forest, they met Athelstane the Thane powdering

  along the road in the direction of Rotherwood on his great dray-horse

  of a charger. "Good-by, good luck to you, old brick," cried the

  Prince, using the vernacular Saxon. "Pitch into those Frenchmen; give

  it 'em over the face and eyes; and I'll stop at home and take care of

  Mrs. I."

  "Thank you, kinsman," said Ivanhoe looking, however, not particularly

  well pleased; and the chief's shaking hands, the train of each took its

  different way Athelstane's to Rotherwood, Ivanhoe's towards his place

  of embarkation.

  The poor knight had his wish, and yet his face was a yard long and as

  yellow as a lawyer's parchment; and having longed to quit home any time

  these three years past, he found himself envying Athelstane, because,

  forsooth, he was going to Rotherwood: which symptoms of discontent

  being observed by the witless Wamba, caused that absurd madman to bring

  his re beck over his shoulder from his back, and to sing

  ATRA CURA.

  "Before I lost my five poor wits,

  I mind me of a Romish clerk,

  Who sang how Care, the phantom dark,

  Beside the belted horseman sits.

  Methought I saw the griesly sprite

  Jump up but now behind my Knight."

  "Perhaps thou didst, knave," said Ivanhoe, looking over his shoulder;

  and the knave went on with his jingle:

  "And though he gallop as he may,

  I mark that cursed monster black

  Still sits behind his honor's back,

  Tight squeezing of his heart al way

  Like two black Templars sit they there,

  Beside one crupper, Knight and Care.

  "No knight am I with pennoned spear,

  To prance upon a bold destrere:

  I will not have black Care prevail

  Upon my long-eared charger's tail,

  For lo, I am a witless fool,

  And laugh at Grief and ride a mule.

  And his bells rattled as he kicked his mule's sides.

  "Silence, fool!" said Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe, in a voice both majestic

  and wrathful. "If thou know est not care and grief, it is because thou

  know est not love, whereof they are the companions. Who can love

  without an anxious heart? How shall there be joy at meeting, without

  tears at parting?" ("I did not see that his honor or in lady shed many

  anon," thought Wamba the Fool; but he was only a zany, and his mind was

  not right.) "I would not exchange my very sorrows for thine

  indifference," the knight continued. "Where there, is a sun, there

  must be a shadow.

  If the shadow offend me, shall I put out my eyes and live in the dark?

  No! I am content with my fate, even such as it is. The Care of which

  thou speak est hard though it may vex him, never yet rode down an

  honest man. I can bear him on my shoulders, and make my way through

  the world's press in spite of him; for my arm is strong, and my sword

  is keen, and my shield has no stain on it; and my heart, though it is

  sad, knows no guile." And here, taking a locket out of his waistcoat

  (which was made of clian-mail), the knight kissed the token, put it

  back under the waistcoat again, heaved a profound sigh, and stuck spurs

  into his horse.

  As for Wamba, he was munching a black pudding whilst Sir Wilfrid was

  making the above speech, (which implied some secret grief on the

  knight's part, that must have been perfectly unintelligible to the

  fool,) and so did not listen to a single word of Ivanhoe's pompous

  remarks. They travelled on by slow stages through the whole kingdom,

  until they came to Dover, whence they took shipping for Calais. And in

  this little voyage, being exceedingly sea-sick, and besides elated at

  the thought of meeting his sovereign, the good knight cast away that

  profound melancholy which had accompanied him during the whole of his

  land journey.

  CHAPTER II.

  THE LAST DAYS OF THE LION.

  FROM Calais Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe took the diligence across country to

  Limoges, sending on Gurth, his squire, with the horses and the rest of

  his attendants: with the exception of Wamba, who travelled not only as

  the knight's fool, but as his valet, and who, perched on the roof of

  the carriage, amused himself by blowing tunes upon the _conducteur's

  French horn. The good King Richard was, as Ivanhoe learned, in the

  Limousin, encamped before a little place called Chalus; the lord

  whereof, though a vassal of the King's, was holding the castle against

  his sovereign with a resolution and valor which caused a great fury and

  annoyance on the part of the Monarch with the Lion Heart. For brave

  and magnanimous as he was, the Lion-hearted one did not love to be

  balked any more than another; and, like the royal animal whom he was

  said to resemble, he commonly tore his adversary to pieces, and then,

  perchance, had leisure to think how brave the latter had been. The

  Count of Chalus had found, it was said, a pot of money; the royal

  Richard wanted it. As the count denied that he had it, why did he not

  open the gates of his castle at once? It was a clear proof that he was

  guilty; and the King was determined to punish this rebel, and have his

  money and his life too.

  He had naturally brought no breaching guns with him, because those

  instruments were not yet invented; and though he had assaulted the

  place a score of times with the utmost fury, his Majesty had been

  beaten back on every occasion, until he was so savage that it was

  dangerous to approach the British Lion. The Lion's wife, the lovely

  Berengaria, scarcely ventured to come near him. He flung the

  joint-stools in his tent at the heads of the officers of state, and

  kicked his aides-de-camp round his pavilion; and, in fact, a maid of

  honor, who brought a sack-posset in to his Majesty from the Queen after

  he came in from the assault, came spinning like a football out of the

  royal tent just as Ivanhoe entered it.

  "Send me my drum-major to flog that woman!" roared out the infuriate

  King. "By the bones of St. Barnabas she has burned the sack! By St.

  Wittikind, I will have her flayed alive. Ha, St.

  George! ha, St. Richard!
whom have we here?" And he lifted up his

  demi-culverin, or curt al-axe a weapon weighing about thirteen

  hundredweight and was about to fling it at the intruder's head, when

  the latter, kneeling gracefully on one knee, said calmly, "It is I, my

  good liege, Wilfrid of Ivanhoe."

  "What, Wilfrid of Templestowe, Wilfrid the married man, Wilfrid the

  henpecked!" cried the King with a sudden burst of good-humor, flinging

  away the culverin from him, as though it had been a reed (it lighted

  three hundred yards off, on the foot of Hugo de Bunyon, who was smoking

  a cigar at the door of his tent, and caused that redoubled warrior to

  limp for some days after).

  "What, Wilfrid my gossip? Art come to see the lion's den? There are

  bones in it, man, bones and carsses, and the lion is angry," said the

  King, with a terrific glare of his eyes. "But tush! we will talk of

  that anon. Ho! bring two gallons of hypocras for the King and the

  good Knight, Wilfrid of Ivanhoe. Thou art come in time, Wilfrid, for,

  by St. Richard and St. George, we will give a grand assault

  to-morrow. There will be bones broken, ha!"

  "I care not, my liege," said Ivanhoe, pledging the sovereign

  respectfully, and tossing off the whole contents of the bowl of

  hypocras to his Highness's good health. And he at once appeared to be

  taken into high favor; not a little to the envy of many of the persons

  surrounding the King.

  As his Majesty said, there was fighting and feasting in plenty before

  Chalus. Day after day, the besiegers made assaults upon the castle,

  but it was held so strongly by the Count of Chalus and his gallant

  garrison, that each afternoon beheld the attacking-parties returning

  disconsolately to their tents, leaving behind them many of their own

  slain, and bringing back with them store of broken heads and maimed

  limbs, received in the unsuccessful onset. The valor displayed by

  Ivanhoe in all these contests was prodigious; and the way in which he

  escaped death from the discharges of mangonels, catapults,

  battering-rams, twenty-four pounders, boiling oil, and other artillery,

  with which the besieged received their enemies, was remarkable. After

  a day's fighting, Gurth and Wamba used to pick the arrows out of their

  intrepid master's coat-of-mail, as if they had been so many almonds in

  a pudding. "Twas well for the good knight, that under his first

  coat-of-armor he wore a choice suit of Toledan steel, perfectly

  impervious to arrow-shots, and given to him by a certain Jew, named

  Isaac of York, to whom he had done some considerable services a few

  years back.

  If King Richard had not been in such a rage at the repeated failures of

  his attacks upon the castle, that all sense of justice was blinded in

  the lionhearted monarch, he would have been the first to acknowledge

  the valor of Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe, and would have given him a Peerage

  and the Grand Cross of the Bath at least a dozen times in the course of

  the siege: for Ivanhoe led more than a dozen storming parties, and with

  his own hand killed as many men (viz. two thousand three hundred and

  fifty-one) within six, as were slain by the lion-hearted monarch

  himself. But his Majesty was rather disgusted than pleased by his

  faithful servant's prowess; and all the courtiers, who hated Ivanhoe

  for his superior valor and dexterity (for he would kill you off a

  couple of hundreds of them of Chalus, whilst the strongest champions of

  the King's host could not finish more than their two dozen of a day),

  poisoned the royal mind against Sir Wilfrid, and made the King look

  upon his feats of arms with an evil eye. Roger de Backbite sneeringly

  told the King that Sir Wilfrid had offered to bet an equal bet that he

  would kill more men than Richard himself in the next assault: Peter de

  Toadhole said that Ivanhoe stated everywhere that his Majesty was not

  the man he used to be; that pleasures and drink had enervated him; that