by Walter Scott
The Templar accordingly read it as follows:
“I, Wamba, the son of Witless, jester to a noble and freeborn man, Cedric of Rotherwood, called the Saxon: and I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph, the swineherd—”
“Thou are mad,” said Front-de-Bœuf, interrupting the reader.
“By St. Luke, it is so set down,” answered the Templar. Then resuming his task, he went on—“I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph, swineherd unto the said Cedric, with the assistance of our allies and confederates, who make common cause with us in this our feud, namely, the good knight, called for the present Le Noir Faineant, and the stout yeoman, Robert Locksley, called Cleave-the-Wand, do you, Reginald Front-de-Bœuf, and your allies and accomplices whomsoever, to wit, that whereas you have, without cause given or feud declared, wrongfully and by mastery seized upon the person of our lord and master the said Cedric; also upon the person of a noble and freeborn damsel, the Lady Rowena of Hargottstandstede; also upon the person of a noble and freeborn man, Athelstane of Coningsburgh; also upon the persons of certain freeborn men, their cnichts; also upon certain serfs, their born bondsmen; also upon a certain Jew, named Isaac of York, together with his daughter, a Jewess, and certain horses and mules: which noble persons, with their cnichts, and slaves, and also with the horses and mules, Jew and Jewess beforesaid, were all in peace with his Majesty, and travelling as liege subjects upon the king’s highway; therefore we require and demand that the said noble persons, namely, Cedric of Rotherwood, Rowena of Hargottstandstede, Athelstane of Coningsburgh, with their servants, cnichts, and followers, also the horses and mules, Jew and Jewess aforesaid, together with all goods and chattels to them pertaining, be, within an hour after the delivery hereof, delivered to us, or to those whom we shall appoint to receive the same, and that untouched and unharmed in body and goods. Failing of which, we do pronounce to you, that we hold ye as robbers and traitors, and will wager our bodies against ye in battle, siege, or otherwise, and do our utmost to your annoyance and destruction. Wherefore may God have you in His keeping. Signed by us upon the eve of St. Withold’s day, under the great trysting oak in the Harthill Walk, the above being written by a holy man, clerk to God, our Lady, and St. Dunstan, in the chapel of Copmanhurst.”
At the bottom of this document was scrawled, in the first place, a rude sketch of a cock’s head and comb, with a legend expressing this hieroglyphic to be the sign-manualcw of Wamba, son of Witless. Under this respectable emblem stood a cross, stated to be the mark of Gurth, the son of Beowulph. Then was written, in rough bold characters, the words Le Noir Faineant. And, to conclude the whole, an arrow, neatly enough drawn, was described as the mark of the yeoman Locksley.
The knights heard this uncommon document read from end to end, and then gazed upon each other in silent amazement, as being utterly at a loss to know what it could portend. De Bracy was the first to break silence by an uncontrollable fit of laughter, wherein he was joined, though with more moderation, by the Templar. Front-de-Bœuf, on the contrary, seemed impatient of their ill-timed jocularity.
“I give you plain warning,” he said, “fair sirs, that you had better consult how to bear yourselves under these circumstances, than give way to such misplaced merriment.”
“Front-de-Bœuf has not recovered his temper since his late overthrow,” said De Bracy to the Templar; “he is cowed at the very idea of a cartel, though it come but from a fool and a swineherd.”
“By St. Michael,” answered Front-de-Bœuf, “I would thou couldst stand the whole brunt of this adventure thyself, De Bracy. These fellows dared not have acted with such inconceivable impudence, had they not been supported by some strong bands. There are enough of outlaws in this forest to resent my protecting the deer. I did but tie one fellow, who was taken red-handed and in the fact, to the horns of a wild stag, which gored him to death in five minutes, and I had as many arrows shot at me as there were launched against yonder target at Ashby. Here, fellow,” he added, to one of his attendants, ”hast thou sent out to see by what force this precious challenge is to be supported?”
“There are at least two hundred men assembled in the woods,” answered a squire who was in attendance.
“Here is a proper matter!” said Front-de-Bœuf; “this comes of lending you the use of my castle, that cannot manage your undertaking quietly, but you must bring this nest of hornets about my ears!”
“Of hornets!” said De Bracy, “of stingless drones rather; a band of lazy knaves, who take to the wood and destroy the venison rather than labour for their maintenance.”
“Stingless!” replied Front-de-Bœuf; “fork-headed shafts of a cloth-yard in length,cx and these shot within the breadth of a French crown, are sting enough.”
“For shame, Sir Knight!” said the Templar. “Let us summon our people and sally forth upon them. One knight—ay, one man-at-arms, were enough for twenty such peasants.”
“Enough, and too much,” said De Bracy; “I should only be ashamed to couch lance against them.”
“True,” answered Front-de-Bœuf; “were they black Turks or Moors, Sir Templar, or the craven peasants of France, most valiant De Bracy; but these are English yeomen, over whom we shall have no advantage, save what we may derive from our arms and horses, which will avail us little in the glades of the forest. Sally, saidst thou? We have scarce men enough to defend the castle. The best of mine are at York; so is all your band, De Bracy; and we have scarcely twenty, besides the handful that were engaged in this mad business.”
“Thou dost not fear,” said the Templar, “that they can assemble in force sufficient to attempt the castle?”
“Not so, Sir Brian,” answered Front-de-Bœuf. “These outlaws have indeed a daring captain; but without machines, scaling ladders, and experienced leaders, my castle may defy them.”
“Send to thy neighbours,” said the Templar; “let them assemble their people and come to the rescue of three knights, besiegedby a jester and a swineherd in the baronial castle of Reginald Front-de-Bœuf!”
“You jest, Sir Knight,” answered the baron; “but to whom should I send? Malvoisin is by this time at York with his retainers, and so are my other allies; and so should I have been, but for this infernal enterprise.”
“Then send to York and recall our people,” said De Bracy. “If they abide the shaking of my standard, or the sight of my Free Companions, I will give them credit for the boldest outlaws ever bent bow in greenwood.”
“And who shall bear such a message?” said Front-de-Bœuf; “they will beset every path, and rip the errand out of his bosom. I have it,” he added, after pausing for a moment. “Sir Templar, thou canst write as well as read, and if we can but find the writing materials of my chaplain, who died a twelvemonth since in the midst of his Christmas carousals—”
“So please ye,” said the squire, who was still in attendance, “I think old Urfried has them somewhere in keeping, for love of the confessor. He was the last man, I have heard her tell, who ever said aught to her which man ought in courtesy to address to maid or matron.”
“Go, search them out, Engelred,” said Front-de-Bœuf; “and then, Sir Templar, thou shalt return an answer to this bold challenge.”
“I would rather do it at the sword’s point than at that of the pen,” said Bois-Guilbert; “but be it as you will.”
He sat down accordingly, and indited, in the French language, an epistle of the following tenor:
“Sir Reginald Front-de-Bœuf, with his noble and knightly allies and confederates, receive no defiances at the hands of slaves, bondsmen, or fugitives. If the person calling himself the Black Knight have indeed a claim to the honours of chivalry, he ought to know that he stands degraded by his present association, and has no right to ask reckoning at the hands of good men of noble blood. Touching the prisoners we have made, we do in Christian charity require you to send a man of religion to receive their confession and reconcile them with God; since it is our fixed intention to execute them this morning before noon, so that their head
s, being placed on the battlements, shall show to all men how lightly we esteem those who have bestirred themselves in their rescue. Wherefore, as above, we require you to send a priest to reconcile them to God, in doing which you shall render them the last earthly service.”
This letter, being folded, was delivered to the squire, and by him to the messenger who waited without, as the answer to that which he had brought.
The yeoman, having thus accomplished his mission, returned to the headquarters of the allies, which were for the present established under a venerable oak-tree, about three arrowflights distant from the castle. Here Wamba and Gurth, with their allies the Black Knight and Locksley, and the jovial hermit, awaited with impatience an answer to their summons. Around, and at a distance from them, were seen many a bold yeoman, whose silvan dress and weather-beaten countenances showed the ordinary nature of their occupation. More than two hundred had already assembled, and others were fast coming in. Those whom they obeyed as leaders were only distinguished from the others by a feather in the cap, their dress, arms, and equipments being in all other respects the same.
Besides these bands, a less orderly and a worse-armed force, consisting of the Saxon inhabitants of the neighbouring township, as well as many bondsmen and servants from Cedric’s extensive estate, had already arrived, for the purpose of assisting in his rescue. Few of these were armed otherwise than with such rustic weapons as necessity sometimes converts to military purposes. Boar-spears, scythes, flails, and the like, were their chief arms; for the Normans, with the usual policy of conquerors, were jealous of permitting to the vanquished Saxons the possession or the use of swords and spears. These circumstances rendered the assistance of the Saxons far from being so formidable to the besieged as the strength of the men themselves, their superior numbers, and the animation inspired by a just cause, might otherwise well have made them. It was to the leaders of this motley army that the letter of the Templar was now delivered.
Reference was at first made to the chaplain for an exposition of its contents.
“By the crook of St. Dunstan,” said that worthy ecclesiastic, “which hath brought more sheep within the sheepfold than the crook of e’er another saint in Paradise, I swear that I cannot expound unto you this jargon, which, whether it be French or Arabic, is beyond my guess.”
He then gave the letter to Gurth, who shook his head gruffly, and passed it to Wamba. The Jester looked at each of the four corners of the paper with such a grin of affected intelligence as a monkey is apt to assume upon similar occasions, then cut a caper, and gave the letter to Locksley.
“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 mammockscy 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.
CHAPTER XXVI
The hottest horse will oft be cool,
The dullest will show fire;
The friar will often play the fool,
The fool will play the friar.
Old Song1
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 legiodb—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.
