by Walter Scott
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 Song
When the Jester, arrayed in the cowl and frock of the hermit, and havinghis knotted cord twisted round his middle, stood before the portal ofthe castle of Front-de-Boeuf, the warder demanded of him his name anderrand.
"Pax vobiscum," answered the Jester, "I am a poor brother of the Orderof St Francis, who come hither to do my office to certain unhappyprisoners now secured within this castle."
"Thou art a bold friar," said the warder, "to come hither, where, savingour own drunken confessor, a cock of thy feather hath not crowed thesetwenty years."
"Yet I pray thee, do mine errand to the lord of the castle," answeredthe 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 leaving mypost upon thine errand, I will try whether a friar's grey gown be proofagainst a grey-goose shaft."
With this threat he left his turret, and carried to the hall of thecastle his unwonted intelligence, that a holy friar stood before thegate and demanded instant admission. With no small wonder he receivedhis master's commands to admit the holy man immediately; and, havingpreviously manned the entrance to guard against surprise, he obeyed,without further scruple, the commands which he had received. Theharebrained self-conceit which had emboldened Wamba to undertake thisdangerous office, was scarce sufficient to support him when he foundhimself in the presence of a man so dreadful, and so much dreaded, asReginald Front-de-Boeuf, and he brought out his "pax vobiscum", to whichhe, in a good measure, trusted for supporting his character, withmore anxiety and hesitation than had hitherto accompanied it. ButFront-de-Boeuf was accustomed to see men of all ranks tremble in hispresence, so that the timidity of the supposed father did not give himany cause of suspicion.
"Who and whence art thou, priest?" said he.
"'Pax vobiscum'," reiterated the Jester, "I am a poor servant of StFrancis, who, travelling through this wilderness, have fallen amongthieves, (as Scripture hath it,) 'quidam viator incidit in latrones',which thieves have sent me unto this castle in order to do my ghostlyoffice on two persons condemned by your honourable justice."
"Ay, right," answered Front-de-Boeuf; "and canst thou tell me, holyfather, the number of those banditti?"
"Gallant sir," answered the Jester, "'nomen illis legio', their name islegion."
"Tell me in plain terms what numbers there are, or, priest, thy cloakand cord will ill protect thee."
"Alas!" said the supposed friar, "'cor meum eructavit', that is tosay, I was like to burst with fear! but I conceive they may be--what ofyeomen--what of commons, at least five hundred men."
"What!" said the Templar, who came into the hall that moment, "musterthe wasps so thick here? it is time to stifle such a mischievous brood."Then taking Front-de-Boeuf aside "Knowest thou the priest?"
"He is a stranger from a distant convent," said Front-de-Boeuf; "I knowhim 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 theshaveling may suspect nothing, permit him to go freely about his task ofpreparing these Saxon hogs for the slaughter-house."
"It shall be so," said Front-de-Boeuf. And he forthwith appointed adomestic to conduct Wamba to the apartment where Cedric and Athelstanewere confined.
The impatience of Cedric had been rather enhanced than diminished by hisconfinement. He walked from one end of the hall to the other, with theattitude of one who advances to charge an enemy, or to storm the breachof a beleaguered place, sometimes ejaculating to himself, sometimesaddressing Athelstane, who stoutly and stoically awaited the issue ofthe adventure, digesting, in the meantime, with great composure, theliberal meal which he had made at noon, and not greatly interestinghimself 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 blessingof St Dunstan, St Dennis, St Duthoc, and all other saints whatsoever, beupon ye and about ye."
"Enter freely," answered Cedric to the supposed friar; "with what intentart thou come hither?"
"To bid you prepare yourselves for death," answered the Jester.
"It is impossible!" replied Cedric, starting. "Fearless and wicked asthey 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 yebe called to answer at a higher tribunal."
"Hearest thou this, Athelstane?" said Cedric; "we must rouse up ourhearts 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 mydinner."
"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, throwingback his cowl. "Had you taken a fool's advice formerly, you would nothave been here at all. Take a fool's advice now, and you will not behere long."
"How mean'st thou, knave?" answered the Saxon.
"Even thus," replied Wamba; "take thou this frock and cord, which areall the orders I ever had, and march quietly out of the castle, leavingme 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--nodisparagement to your birth--that the son of Witless may hang in a chainwith 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 LordAthelstane 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 savethe son of Hereward; but little wisdom there were in his dying for thebenefit of one whose fathers were strangers to his."
"Villain," said Cedric, "the fathers of Athelstane were monarchs ofEngland!"
"They might be whomsoever they pleased," replied Wamba; "but my neckstands too straight upon my shoulders to have it twisted for their sake.Wherefore, good my master, either take my proffer yourself, or suffer meto leave this dungeon as free as I entered."
"Let the old tree wither," continued Cedric, "so the stately hope of theforest be preserved. Save the noble Athelstane, my trusty Wamba! it isthe duty of each who has Saxon blood in his veins. Thou and I will abidetogether the utmost rage of our injurious oppressors, while he, free andsafe, shall arouse the awakened spirits of our countrymen to avenge us."
"Not so, father Cedric," said Athelstane, grasping his hand,--for, whenroused to think or act, his deeds and sentiments were not unbecoming hishigh race--"Not so," he continued; "I would rather remain in this halla week without food save the prisoner's stinted loaf, or drink savethe prisoner's measure of water, than embrace the opportunity to escapewhich the slave's untaught kindness has purveyed for his master."
"You are called wise men, sirs," said the Jester, "and I a crazed fool;but, uncle Cedric, and cousin Athelstane, the fool shall decide thiscontroversy for ye, and save ye the trouble of straining courtesies anyfarther. I am like John-a-Duck's mare, that will let
no man mounther but John-a-Duck. I came to save my master, and if he will notconsent--basta--I can but go away home again. Kind service cannot bechucked from hand to hand like a shuttlecock or stool-ball. I'll hangfor no man but my own born master."
"Go, then, noble Cedric," said Athelstane, "neglect not thisopportunity. Your presence without may encourage friends to ourrescue--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 mycloak, you are wrapped in a general's cassock. Five hundred men arethere without, and I was this morning one of the chief leaders. Myfool's cap was a casque, and my bauble a truncheon. Well, we shall seewhat good they will make by exchanging a fool for a wise man. Truly, Ifear they will lose in valour what they may gain in discretion. And sofarewell, master, and be kind to poor Gurth and his dog Fangs; and letmy cockscomb hang in the hall at Rotherwood, in memory that I flung awaymy life for my master, like a faithful---fool."
The last word came out with a sort of double expression, betwixt jestand earnest. The tears stood in Cedric's eyes.
"Thy memory shall be preserved," he said, "while fidelity and affectionhave honour upon earth! But that I trust I shall find the means ofsaving Rowena, and thee, Athelstane, and thee, also, my poor Wamba, thoushouldst not overbear me in this matter."
The exchange of dress was now accomplished, when a sudden doubt struckCedric.
"I know no language," he said, "but my own, and a few words of theirmincing Norman. How shall I bear myself like a reverend brother?"
"The spell lies in two words," replied Wamba--"'Pax vobiscum' willanswer all queries. If you go or come, eat or drink, bless or ban, 'Paxvobiscum' carries you through it all. It is as useful to a friar as abroomstick to a witch, or a wand to a conjurer. Speak it but thus, in adeep 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 tobe doubted they may, I will try its weight upon the finisher of thesentence."
"If such prove the case," said the master, "my religious orders are soontaken--'Pax vobiscum'. I trust I shall remember the pass-word.--NobleAthelstane, farewell; and farewell, my poor boy, whose heart might makeamends for a weaker head--I will save you, or return and die with you.The royal blood of our Saxon kings shall not be spilt while mine beatsin my veins; nor shall one hair fall from the head of the kind knavewho risked himself for his master, if Cedric's peril can preventit.--Farewell."
"Farewell, noble Cedric," said Athelstane; "remember it is the true partof a friar to accept refreshment, if you are offered any."
"Farewell, uncle," added Wamba; "and remember 'Pax vobiscum'."
Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his expedition; and it was notlong ere he had occasion to try the force of that spell which his Jesterhad recommended as omnipotent. In a low-arched and dusky passage, bywhich he endeavoured to work his way to the hall of the castle, he wasinterrupted by a female form.
"'Pax vobiscum!'" said the pseudo friar, and was endeavouring tohurry past, when a soft voice replied, "'Et vobis--quaso, dominereverendissime, pro misericordia vestra'."
"I am somewhat deaf," replied Cedric, in good Saxon, and at the sametime muttered to himself, "A curse on the fool and his 'Pax vobiscum!' Ihave lost my javelin at the first cast."
It was, however, no unusual thing for a priest of those days to be deafof his Latin ear, and this the person who now addressed Cedric knew fullwell.
"I pray you of dear love, reverend father," she replied in his ownlanguage, "that you will deign to visit with your ghostly comfort awounded prisoner of this castle, and have such compassion upon him andus as thy holy office teaches--Never shall good deed so highly advantagethy convent."
"Daughter," answered Cedric, much embarrassed, "my time in this castlewill not permit me to exercise the duties of mine office--I mustpresently forth--there is life and death upon my speed."
"Yet, father, let me entreat you by the vow you have taken on you,"replied the suppliant, "not to leave the oppressed and endangeredwithout counsel or succour."
"May the fiend fly away with me, and leave me in Ifrin with the souls ofOdin and of Thor!" answered Cedric impatiently, and would probablyhave proceeded in the same tone of total departure from his spiritualcharacter, when the colloquy was interrupted by the harsh voice ofUrfried, the old crone of the turret.
"How, minion," said she to the female speaker, "is this the mannerin which you requite the kindness which permitted thee to leave thyprison-cell yonder?--Puttest thou the reverend man to use ungraciouslanguage to free himself from the importunities of a Jewess?"
"A Jewess!" said Cedric, availing himself of the information to getclear of their interruption,--"Let me pass, woman! stop me not at yourperil. I am fresh from my holy office, and would avoid pollution."
"Come this way, father," said the old hag, "thou art a stranger in thiscastle, and canst not leave it without a guide. Come hither, for I wouldspeak with thee.--And you, daughter of an accursed race, go to the sickman's chamber, and tend him until my return; and woe betide you if youagain quit it without my permission!"
Rebecca retreated. Her importunities had prevailed upon Urfried tosuffer her to quit the turret, and Urfried had employed her serviceswhere she herself would most gladly have paid them, by the bedside ofthe wounded Ivanhoe. With an understanding awake to their dangeroussituation, and prompt to avail herself of each means of safety whichoccurred, Rebecca had hoped something from the presence of a man ofreligion, who, she learned from Urfried, had penetrated into thisgodless castle. She watched the return of the supposed ecclesiastic,with the purpose of addressing him, and interesting him in favour ofthe prisoners; with what imperfect success the reader has been justacquainted.
