prompt:
Chapter: ---There I throw my gage,
     To prove it on thee to the extremest point
     Of martial daring.
     --Richard II

Even Lucas Beaumanoir himself was affected by the mien and appearance
of Rebecca. He was not originally a cruel or even a severe man; but
with passions by nature cold, and with a high, though mistaken, sense of
duty, his heart had been gradually hardened by the ascetic life which he
pursued, the supreme power which he enjoyed, and the supposed necessity
of subduing infidelity and eradicating heresy, which he conceived
peculiarly incumbent on him. His features relaxed in their usual
severity as he gazed upon the beautiful creature before him, alone,
unfriended, and defending herself with so much spirit and courage. He
crossed himself twice, as doubting whence arose the unwonted softening
of a heart, which on such occasions used to resemble in hardness the
steel of his sword. At length he spoke.

"Damsel," he said, "if the pity I feel for thee arise from any practice
thine evil arts have made on me, great is thy guilt. But I rather judge
it the kinder feelings of nature, which grieves that so goodly a form
should be a vessel of perdition. Repent, my daughter--confess thy
witchcrafts--turn thee from thine evil faith--embrace this holy
emblem, and all shall yet be well with thee here and hereafter. In some
sisterhood of the strictest order, shalt thou have time for prayer and
fitting penance, and that repentance not to be repented of. This do and
live--what has the law of Moses done for thee that thou shouldest die
for it?"

"It was the law of my fathers," said Rebecca; "it was delivered in
thunders and in storms upon the mountain of Sinai, in cloud and in fire.
This, if ye are Christians, ye believe--it is, you say, recalled; but so
my teachers have not taught me."

"Let our chaplain," said Beaumanoir, "stand forth, and tell this
obstinate infidel--"

"Forgive the interruption," said Rebecca, meekly; "I am a maiden,
unskilled to dispute for my religion, but I can die for it, if it be
God's will.--Let me pray your answer to my demand of a champion."

"Give me her glove," said Beaumanoir. "This is indeed," he continued, as
he looked at the flimsy texture and slender fingers, "a slight and frail
gage for a purpose so deadly!--Seest thou, Rebecca, as this thin and
light glove of thine is to one of our heavy steel gauntlets, so is
thy cause to that of the Temple, for it is our Order which thou hast
defied."

"Cast my innocence into the scale," answered Rebecca, "and the glove of
silk shall outweigh the glove of iron."

"Then thou dost persist in thy refusal to confess thy guilt, and in that
bold challenge which thou hast made?"

"I do persist, noble sir," answered Rebecca.

"So be it then, in the name of Heaven," said the Grand Master; "and may
God show the right!"

"Amen," replied the Preceptors around him, and the word was deeply
echoed by the whole assembly.

"Brethren," said Beaumanoir, "you are aware that we might well have
refused to this woman the benefit of the trial by combat--but though a
Jewess and an unbeliever, she is also a stranger and defenceless, and
God forbid that she should ask the benefit of our mild laws, and that it
should be refused to her. Moreover, we are knights and soldiers as well
as men of religion, and shame it were to us upon any pretence, to
refuse proffered combat. Thus, therefore, stands the case. Rebecca,
the daughter of Isaac of York, is, by many frequent and suspicious
circumstances, defamed of sorcery practised on the person of a noble
knight of our holy Order, and hath challenged the combat in proof of her
innocence. To whom, reverend brethren, is it your opinion that we should
deliver the gage of battle, naming him, at the same time, to be our
champion on the field?"

"To Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whom it chiefly concerns," said the
Preceptor of Goodalricke, "and who, moreover, best knows how the truth
stands in this matter."

"But if," said the Grand Master, "our brother Brian be under the
influence of a charm or a spell--we speak but for the sake of
precaution, for to the arm of none of our holy Order would we more
willingly confide this or a more weighty cause."

"Reverend father," answered the Preceptor of Goodalricke, "no spell can
effect the champion who comes forward to fight for the judgment of God."

"Thou sayest right, brother," said the Grand Master. "Albert Malvoisin,
give this gage of battle to Brian de Bois-Guilbert.--It is our charge to
thee, brother," he continued, addressing himself to Bois-Guilbert, "that
thou do thy battle manfully, nothing doubting that the good cause shall
triumph.--And do thou, Rebecca, attend, that we assign thee the third
day from the present to find a champion."

"That is but brief space," answered Rebecca, "for a stranger, who is
also of another faith, to find one who will do battle, wagering life
and honour for her cause, against a knight who is called an approved
soldier."

"We may not extend it," answered the Grand Master; "the field must be
foughten in our own presence, and divers weighty causes call us on the
fourth day from hence."

"God's will be done!" said Rebecca; "I put my trust in Him, to whom an
instant is as effectual to save as a whole age."

"Thou hast spoken well, damsel," said the Grand Master; "but well know
we who can array himself like an angel of light. It remains but to name
a fitting place of combat, and, if it so hap, also of execution.--Where
is the Preceptor of this house?"

Albert Malvoisin, still holding Rebecca's glove in his hand, was
speaking to Bois-Guilbert very earnestly, but in a low voice.

"How!" said the Grand Master, "will he not receive the gage?"

"He will--he doth, most Reverend Father," said Malvoisin, slipping the
glove under his own mantle. "And for the place of combat, I hold the
fittest to be the lists of Saint George belonging to this Preceptory,
and used by us for military exercise."

"It is well," said the Grand Master.--"Rebecca, in those lists shalt
thou produce thy champion; and if thou failest to do so, or if thy
champion shall be discomfited by the judgment of God, thou shalt then
die the death of a sorceress, according to doom.--Let this our judgment
be recorded, and the record read aloud, that no one may pretend
ignorance."

One of the chaplains, who acted as clerks to the chapter, immediately
engrossed the order in a huge volume, which contained the proceedings of
the Templar Knights when solemnly assembled on such occasions; and when
he had finished writing, the other read aloud the sentence of the Grand
Master, which, when translated from the Norman-French in which it was
couched, was expressed as follows.--

"Rebecca, a Jewess, daughter of Isaac of York, being attainted of
sorcery, seduction, and other damnable practices, practised on a Knight
of the most Holy Order of the Temple of Zion, doth deny the same; and
saith, that the testimony delivered against her this day is false,
wicked, and disloyal; and that by lawful 'essoine' [54] of her body as
being unable to combat in her own behalf, she doth offer, by a champion
instead thereof, to avouch her case, he performing his loyal 'devoir' in
all knightly sort, with such arms as to gage of battle do fully
appertain, and that at her peril and cost. And therewith she proffered
her gage. And the gage having been delivered to the noble Lord and
Knight, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, of the Holy Order of the Temple of Zion,
he was appointed to do this battle, in behalf of his Order and himself,
as injured and impaired by the practices of the appellant. Wherefore the
most reverend Father and puissant Lord, Lucas Marquis of Beaumanoir, did
allow of the said challenge, and of the said 'essoine' of the
appellant's body, and assigned the third day for the said combat, the
place being the enclosure called the lists of Saint George, near to the
Preceptory of Templestowe. And the Grand Master appoints the appellant
to appear there by her champion, on pain of doom, as a person convicted
of sorcery or seduction; and also the defendant so to appear, under the
penalty of being held and adjudged recreant in case of default; and the
noble Lord and most reverend Father aforesaid appointed the battle to be
done in his own presence, and according to all that is commendable and
profitable in such a case. And may God aid the just cause!"

"Amen!" said the Grand Master; and the word was echoed by all around.
Rebecca spoke not, but she looked up to heaven, and, folding her hands,
remained for a minute without change of attitude. She then modestly
reminded the Grand Master, that she ought to be permitted some
opportunity of free communication with her friends, for the purpose of
making her condition known to them, and procuring, if possible, some
champion to fight in her behalf.

"It is just and lawful," said the Grand Master; "choose what messenger
thou shalt trust, and he shall have free communication with thee in thy
prison-chamber."

"Is there," said Rebecca, "any one here, who, either for love of a good
cause, or for ample hire, will do the errand of a distressed being?"

All were silent; for none thought it safe, in the presence of the Grand
Master, to avow any interest in the calumniated prisoner, lest he
should be suspected of leaning towards Judaism. Not even the prospect of
reward, far less any feelings of compassion alone, could surmount this
apprehension.

Rebecca stood for a few moments in indescribable anxiety, and then
exclaimed, "Is it really thus?--And, in English land, am I to be
deprived of the poor chance of safety which remains to me, for want of
an act of charity which would not be refused to the worst criminal?"

Higg, the son of Snell, at length replied, "I am but a maimed man,
but that I can at all stir or move was owing to her charitable
assistance.--I will do thine errand," he added, addressing Rebecca, "as
well as a crippled object can, and happy were my limbs fleet enough
to repair the mischief done by my tongue. Alas! when I boasted of thy
charity, I little thought I was leading thee into danger!"

"God," said Rebecca, "is the disposer of all. He can turn back the
captivity of Judah, even by the weakest instrument. To execute his
message the snail is as sure a messenger as the falcon. Seek out Isaac
of York--here is that will pay for horse and man--let him have this
scroll.--I know not if it be of Heaven the spirit which inspires me,
but most truly do I judge that I am not to die this death, and that a
champion will be raised up for me. Farewell!--Life and death are in thy
haste."

The peasant took the scroll, which contained only a few lines in Hebrew.
Many of the crowd would have dissuaded him from touching a document so
suspicious; but Higg was resolute in the service of his benefactress.
She had saved his body, he said, and he was confident she did not mean
to peril his soul.

"I will get me," he said, "my neighbour Buthan's good capul, [55] and I
will be at York within as brief space as man and beast may."

But as it fortuned, he had no occasion to go so far, for within a
quarter of a mile from the gate of the Preceptory he met with two
riders, whom, by their dress and their huge yellow caps, he knew to be
Jews; and, on approaching more nearly, discovered that one of them was
his ancient employer, Isaac of York. The other was the Rabbi Ben Samuel;
and both had approached as near to the Preceptory as they dared, on
hearing that the Grand Master had summoned a chapter for the trial of a
sorceress.

"Brother Ben Samuel," said Isaac, "my soul is disquieted, and I wot not
why. This charge of necromancy is right often used for cloaking evil
practices on our people."

"Be of good comfort, brother," said the physician; "thou canst deal with
the Nazarenes as one possessing the mammon of unrighteousness, and canst
therefore purchase immunity at their hands--it rules the savage minds of
those ungodly men, even as the signet of the mighty Solomon was said
to command the evil genii.--But what poor wretch comes hither upon his
crutches, desiring, as I think, some speech of me?--Friend," continued
the physician, addressing Higg, the son of Snell, "I refuse thee not the
aid of mine art, but I relieve not with one asper those who beg for alms
upon the highway. Out upon thee!--Hast thou the palsy in thy legs? then
let thy hands work for thy livelihood; for, albeit thou be'st unfit for
a speedy post, or for a careful shepherd, or for the warfare, or for the
service of a hasty master, yet there be occupations--How now, brother?"
said he, interrupting his harangue to look towards Isaac, who had but
glanced at the scroll which Higg offered, when, uttering a deep groan,
he fell from his mule like a dying man, and lay for a minute insensible.

The Rabbi now dismounted in great alarm, and hastily applied the
remedies which his art suggested for the recovery of his companion. He
had even taken from his pocket a cupping apparatus, and was about
to proceed to phlebotomy, when the object of his anxious solicitude
suddenly revived; but it was to dash his cap from his head, and to throw
dust on his grey hairs. The physician was at first inclined to ascribe
this sudden and violent emotion to the effects of insanity; and,
adhering to his original purpose, began once again to handle his
implements. But Isaac soon convinced him of his error.

"Child of my sorrow," he said, "well shouldst thou be called Benoni,
instead of Rebecca! Why should thy death bring down my grey hairs to the
grave, till, in the bitterness of my heart, I curse God and die!"

"Brother," said the Rabbi, in great surprise, "art thou a father in
Israel, and dost thou utter words like unto these?--I trust that the
child of thy house yet liveth?"

"She liveth," answered Isaac; "but it is as Daniel, who was called
Beltheshazzar, even when within the den of the lions. She is captive
unto those men of Belial, and they will wreak their cruelty upon her,
sparing neither for her youth nor her comely favour. O! she was as a
crown of green palms to my grey locks; and she must wither in a night,
like the gourd of Jonah!--Child of my love!--child of my old age!--oh,
Rebecca, daughter of Rachel! the darkness of the shadow of death hath
encompassed thee."

"Yet read the scroll," said the Rabbi; "peradventure it may be that we
may yet find out a way of deliverance."

"Do thou read, brother," answered Isaac, "for mine eyes are as a
fountain of water."

The physician read, but in their native language, the following words:--

"To Isaac, the son of Adonikam, whom the Gentiles call Isaac of York,
peace and the blessing of the promise be multiplied unto thee!--My
father, I am as one doomed to die for that which my soul knoweth
not--even for the crime of witchcraft. My father, if a strong man can be
found to do battle for my cause with sword and spear, according to the
custom of the Nazarenes, and that within the lists of Templestowe, on
the third day from this time, peradventure our fathers' God will give
him strength to defend the innocent, and her who hath none to help her.
But if this may not be, let the virgins of our people mourn for me as
for one cast off, and for the hart that is stricken by the hunter, and
for the flower which is cut down by the scythe of the mower. Wherefore
look now what thou doest, and whether there be any rescue. One Nazarene
warrior might indeed bear arms in my behalf, even Wilfred, son of
Cedric, whom the Gentiles call Ivanhoe. But he may not yet endure
the weight of his armour. Nevertheless, send the tidings unto him, my
father; for he hath favour among the strong men of his people, and as
he was our companion in the house of bondage, he may find some one to do
battle for my sake. And say unto him, even unto him, even unto Wilfred,
the son of Cedric, that if Rebecca live, or if Rebecca die, she liveth
or dieth wholly free of the guilt she is charged withal. And if it be
the will of God that thou shalt be deprived of thy daughter, do not
thou tarry, old man, in this land of bloodshed and cruelty; but betake
thyself to Cordova, where thy brother liveth in safety, under the shadow
of the throne, even of the throne of Boabdil the Saracen; for less
cruel are the cruelties of the Moors unto the race of Jacob, than the
cruelties of the Nazarenes of England."

Isaac listened with tolerable composure while Ben Samuel read the
letter, and then again resumed the gestures and exclamations of Oriental
sorrow, tearing his garments, besprinkling his head with dust, and
ejaculating, "My daughter! my daughter! flesh of my flesh, and bone of
my bone!"

"Yet," said the Rabbi, "take courage, for this grief availeth nothing.
Gird up thy loins, and seek out this Wilfred, the son of Cedric. It may
be he will help thee with counsel or with strength; for the youth hath
favour in the eyes of Richard, called of the Nazarenes Coeur-de-Lion,
and the tidings that he hath returned are constant in the land. It may
be that he may obtain his letter, and his signet, commanding these men
of blood, who take their name from the Temple to the dishonour thereof,
that they proceed not in their purposed wickedness."

"I will seek him out," said Isaac, "for he is a good youth, and hath
compassion for the exile of Jacob. But he cannot bear his armour, and
what other Christian shall do battle for the oppressed of Zion?"

"Nay, but," said the Rabbi, "thou speakest as one that knoweth not the
Gentiles. With gold shalt thou buy their valour, even as with gold thou
buyest thine own safety. Be of good courage, and do thou set forward to
find out this Wilfred of Ivanhoe. I will also up and be doing, for great
sin it were to leave thee in thy calamity. I will hie me to the city of
York, where many warriors and strong men are assembled, and doubt not I
will find among them some one who will do battle for thy daughter; for
gold is their god, and for riches will they pawn their lives as well as
their lands.--Thou wilt fulfil, my brother, such promise as I may make
unto them in thy name?"

"Assuredly, brother," said Isaac, "and Heaven be praised that raised me
up a comforter in my misery. Howbeit, grant them not their full demand
at once, for thou shalt find it the quality of this accursed people that
they will ask pounds, and peradventure accept of ounces--Nevertheless,
be it as thou willest, for I am distracted in this thing, and what would
my gold avail me if the child of my love should perish!"

"Farewell," said the physician, "and may it be to thee as thy heart
desireth."

They embraced accordingly, and departed on their several roads. The
crippled peasant remained for some time looking after them.

"These dog-Jews!" said he; "to take no more notice of a free
guild-brother, than if I were a bond slave or a Turk, or a circumcised
Hebrew like themselves! They might have flung me a mancus or two,
however. I was not obliged to bring their unhallowed scrawls, and run
the risk of being bewitched, as more folks than one told me. And what
care I for the bit of gold that the wench gave me, if I am to come to
harm from the priest next Easter at confession, and be obliged to give
him twice as much to make it up with him, and be called the Jew's
flying post all my life, as it may hap, into the bargain? I think I was
bewitched in earnest when I was beside that girl!--But it was always so
with Jew or Gentile, whosoever came near her--none could stay when she
had an errand to go--and still, whenever I think of her, I would give
shop and tools to save her life."

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The Grand Master assigns De Bois-Guilbert to be the champion who defends the Order. He gives Rebecca three days to find a champion for herself. Rebecca is allowed to send a message to Isaac, and she declares that a champion will emerge who will vindicate her. Higg, the messenger, meets Isaac and his companion Samuel only a quarter of a mile away. Samuel reads Isaac the message Rebecca has sent. She explains her situation, and asks that Isaac contact Ivanhoe. Even though Ivanhoe will not yet have recovered from his wounds, he may be able to find someone else who will act as her champion


prompt:
Chapter: O maid, unrelenting and cold as thou art,
     My bosom is proud as thine own.
     --Seward

It was in the twilight of the day when her trial, if it could be
called such, had taken place, that a low knock was heard at the door
of Rebecca's prison-chamber. It disturbed not the inmate, who was then
engaged in the evening prayer recommended by her religion, and which
concluded with a hymn we have ventured thus to translate into English.

     When Israel, of the Lord beloved,
     Out of the land of bondage came,
     Her father's God before her moved,
     An awful guide, in smoke and flame.
     By day, along the astonish'd lands
     The cloudy pillar glided slow;
     By night, Arabia's crimson'd sands
     Return'd the fiery column's glow.

     There rose the choral hymn of praise,
     And trump and timbrel answer'd keen,
     And Zion's daughters pour'd their lays,
     With priest's and warrior's voice between.
     No portents now our foes amaze,
     Forsaken Israel wanders lone;
     Our fathers would not know THY ways,
     And THOU hast left them to their own.

     But, present still, though now unseen;
     When brightly shines the prosperous day,
     Be thoughts of THEE a cloudy screen
     To temper the deceitful ray.
     And oh, when stoops on Judah's path
     In shade and storm the frequent night,
     Be THOU, long-suffering, slow to wrath,
     A burning, and a shining light!

     Our harps we left by Babel's streams,
     The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn;
     No censer round our altar beams,
     And mute our timbrel, trump, and horn.
     But THOU hast said, the blood of goat,
     The flesh of rams, I will not prize;
     A contrite heart, and humble thought,
     Are mine accepted sacrifice.

When the sounds of Rebecca's devotional hymn had died away in silence,
the low knock at the door was again renewed. "Enter," she said, "if
thou art a friend; and if a foe, I have not the means of refusing thy
entrance."

"I am," said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, entering the apartment, "friend or
foe, Rebecca, as the event of this interview shall make me."

Alarmed at the sight of this man, whose licentious passion she
considered as the root of her misfortunes, Rebecca drew backward with
a cautious and alarmed, yet not a timorous demeanour, into the farthest
corner of the apartment, as if determined to retreat as far as she
could, but to stand her ground when retreat became no longer possible.
She drew herself into an attitude not of defiance, but of resolution,
as one that would avoid provoking assault, yet was resolute to repel it,
being offered, to the utmost of her power.

"You have no reason to fear me, Rebecca," said the Templar; "or if I
must so qualify my speech, you have at least NOW no reason to fear me."

"I fear you not, Sir Knight," replied Rebecca, although her short-drawn
breath seemed to belie the heroism of her accents; "my trust is strong,
and I fear thee not."

"You have no cause," answered Bois-Guilbert, gravely; "my former frantic
attempts you have not now to dread. Within your call are guards, over
whom I have no authority. They are designed to conduct you to death,
Rebecca, yet would not suffer you to be insulted by any one, even by me,
were my frenzy--for frenzy it is--to urge me so far."

"May Heaven be praised!" said the Jewess; "death is the least of my
apprehensions in this den of evil."

"Ay," replied the Templar, "the idea of death is easily received by the
courageous mind, when the road to it is sudden and open. A thrust with a
lance, a stroke with a sword, were to me little--To you, a spring from
a dizzy battlement, a stroke with a sharp poniard, has no terrors,
compared with what either thinks disgrace. Mark me--I say this--perhaps
mine own sentiments of honour are not less fantastic, Rebecca, than
thine are; but we know alike how to die for them."

"Unhappy man," said the Jewess; "and art thou condemned to expose thy
life for principles, of which thy sober judgment does not acknowledge
the solidity? Surely this is a parting with your treasure for that which
is not bread--but deem not so of me. Thy resolution may fluctuate on the
wild and changeful billows of human opinion, but mine is anchored on the
Rock of Ages."

"Silence, maiden," answered the Templar; "such discourse now avails but
little. Thou art condemned to die not a sudden and easy death, such as
misery chooses, and despair welcomes, but a slow, wretched, protracted
course of torture, suited to what the diabolical bigotry of these men
calls thy crime."

"And to whom--if such my fate--to whom do I owe this?" said Rebecca
"surely only to him, who, for a most selfish and brutal cause, dragged
me hither, and who now, for some unknown purpose of his own, strives to
exaggerate the wretched fate to which he exposed me."

"Think not," said the Templar, "that I have so exposed thee; I would
have bucklered thee against such danger with my own bosom, as freely as
ever I exposed it to the shafts which had otherwise reached thy life."

"Had thy purpose been the honourable protection of the innocent," said
Rebecca, "I had thanked thee for thy care--as it is, thou hast claimed
merit for it so often, that I tell thee life is worth nothing to me,
preserved at the price which thou wouldst exact for it."

"Truce with thine upbraidings, Rebecca," said the Templar; "I have my
own cause of grief, and brook not that thy reproaches should add to it."

"What is thy purpose, then, Sir Knight?" said the Jewess; "speak it
briefly.--If thou hast aught to do, save to witness the misery thou
hast caused, let me know it; and then, if so it please you, leave me to
myself--the step between time and eternity is short but terrible, and I
have few moments to prepare for it."

"I perceive, Rebecca," said Bois-Guilbert, "that thou dost continue to
burden me with the charge of distresses, which most fain would I have
prevented."

"Sir Knight," said Rebecca, "I would avoid reproaches--But what is more
certain than that I owe my death to thine unbridled passion?"

"You err--you err,"--said the Templar, hastily, "if you impute what
I could neither foresee nor prevent to my purpose or agency.--Could I
guess the unexpected arrival of yon dotard, whom some flashes of frantic
valour, and the praises yielded by fools to the stupid self-torments
of an ascetic, have raised for the present above his own merits, above
common sense, above me, and above the hundreds of our Order, who think
and feel as men free from such silly and fantastic prejudices as are the
grounds of his opinions and actions?"

"Yet," said Rebecca, "you sate a judge upon me, innocent--most
innocent--as you knew me to be--you concurred in my condemnation, and,
if I aright understood, are yourself to appear in arms to assert my
guilt, and assure my punishment."

"Thy patience, maiden," replied the Templar. "No race knows so well as
thine own tribes how to submit to the time, and so to trim their bark as
to make advantage even of an adverse wind."

"Lamented be the hour," said Rebecca, "that has taught such art to
the House of Israel! but adversity bends the heart as fire bends the
stubborn steel, and those who are no longer their own governors, and
the denizens of their own free independent state, must crouch before
strangers. It is our curse, Sir Knight, deserved, doubtless, by our own
misdeeds and those of our fathers; but you--you who boast your freedom
as your birthright, how much deeper is your disgrace when you stoop to
soothe the prejudices of others, and that against your own conviction?"

"Your words are bitter, Rebecca," said Bois-Guilbert, pacing the
apartment with impatience, "but I came not hither to bandy reproaches
with you.--Know that Bois-Guilbert yields not to created man, although
circumstances may for a time induce him to alter his plan. His will is
the mountain stream, which may indeed be turned for a little space aside
by the rock, but fails not to find its course to the ocean. That scroll
which warned thee to demand a champion, from whom couldst thou think it
came, if not from Bois-Guilbert? In whom else couldst thou have excited
such interest?"

"A brief respite from instant death," said Rebecca, "which will little
avail me--was this all thou couldst do for one, on whose head thou hast
heaped sorrow, and whom thou hast brought near even to the verge of the
tomb?"

"No maiden," said Bois-Guilbert, "this was NOT all that I purposed. Had
it not been for the accursed interference of yon fanatical dotard, and
the fool of Goodalricke, who, being a Templar, affects to think and
judge according to the ordinary rules of humanity, the office of the
Champion Defender had devolved, not on a Preceptor, but on a Companion
of the Order. Then I myself--such was my purpose--had, on the sounding
of the trumpet, appeared in the lists as thy champion, disguised indeed
in the fashion of a roving knight, who seeks adventures to prove his
shield and spear; and then, let Beaumanoir have chosen not one, but two
or three of the brethren here assembled, I had not doubted to cast them
out of the saddle with my single lance. Thus, Rebecca, should thine
innocence have been avouched, and to thine own gratitude would I have
trusted for the reward of my victory."

"This, Sir Knight," said Rebecca, "is but idle boasting--a brag of what
you would have done had you not found it convenient to do otherwise. You
received my glove, and my champion, if a creature so desolate can find
one, must encounter your lance in the lists--yet you would assume the
air of my friend and protector!"

"Thy friend and protector," said the Templar, gravely, "I will yet
be--but mark at what risk, or rather at what certainty, of dishonour;
and then blame me not if I make my stipulations, before I offer up all
that I have hitherto held dear, to save the life of a Jewish maiden."

"Speak," said Rebecca; "I understand thee not."

"Well, then," said Bois-Guilbert, "I will speak as freely as ever
did doting penitent to his ghostly father, when placed in the tricky
confessional.--Rebecca, if I appear not in these lists I lose fame and
rank--lose that which is the breath of my nostrils, the esteem, I mean,
in which I am held by my brethren, and the hopes I have of succeeding to
that mighty authority, which is now wielded by the bigoted dotard Lucas
de Beaumanoir, but of which I should make a different use. Such is my
certain doom, except I appear in arms against thy cause. Accursed be he
of Goodalricke, who baited this trap for me! and doubly accursed Albert
de Malvoisin, who withheld me from the resolution I had formed,
of hurling back the glove at the face of the superstitious and
superannuated fool, who listened to a charge so absurd, and against a
creature so high in mind, and so lovely in form as thou art!"

"And what now avails rant or flattery?" answered Rebecca. "Thou hast
made thy choice between causing to be shed the blood of an innocent
woman, or of endangering thine own earthly state and earthly hopes--What
avails it to reckon together?--thy choice is made."

"No, Rebecca," said the knight, in a softer tone, and drawing nearer
towards her; "my choice is NOT made--nay, mark, it is thine to make the
election. If I appear in the lists, I must maintain my name in arms;
and if I do so, championed or unchampioned, thou diest by the stake and
faggot, for there lives not the knight who hath coped with me in arms on
equal issue, or on terms of vantage, save Richard Coeur-de-Lion, and his
minion of Ivanhoe. Ivanhoe, as thou well knowest, is unable to bear
his corslet, and Richard is in a foreign prison. If I appear, then thou
diest, even although thy charms should instigate some hot-headed youth
to enter the lists in thy defence."

"And what avails repeating this so often?" said Rebecca.

"Much," replied the Templar; "for thou must learn to look at thy fate on
every side."

"Well, then, turn the tapestry," said the Jewess, "and let me see the
other side."

"If I appear," said Bois-Guilbert, "in the fatal lists, thou diest by a
slow and cruel death, in pain such as they say is destined to the guilty
hereafter. But if I appear not, then am I a degraded and dishonoured
knight, accused of witchcraft and of communion with infidels--the
illustrious name which has grown yet more so under my wearing, becomes a
hissing and a reproach. I lose fame, I lose honour, I lose the prospect
of such greatness as scarce emperors attain to--I sacrifice mighty
ambition, I destroy schemes built as high as the mountains with which
heathens say their heaven was once nearly scaled--and yet, Rebecca," he
added, throwing himself at her feet, "this greatness will I sacrifice,
this fame will I renounce, this power will I forego, even now when it
is half within my grasp, if thou wilt say, Bois-Guilbert, I receive thee
for my lover."

"Think not of such foolishness, Sir Knight," answered Rebecca, "but
hasten to the Regent, the Queen Mother, and to Prince John--they cannot,
in honour to the English crown, allow of the proceedings of your Grand
Master. So shall you give me protection without sacrifice on your part,
or the pretext of requiring any requital from me."

"With these I deal not," he continued, holding the train of her
robe--"it is thee only I address; and what can counterbalance thy
choice? Bethink thee, were I a fiend, yet death is a worse, and it is
death who is my rival."

"I weigh not these evils," said Rebecca, afraid to provoke the wild
knight, yet equally determined neither to endure his passion, nor even
feign to endure it. "Be a man, be a Christian! If indeed thy faith
recommends that mercy which rather your tongues than your actions
pretend, save me from this dreadful death, without seeking a requital
which would change thy magnanimity into base barter."

"No, damsel!" said the proud Templar, springing up, "thou shalt not thus
impose on me--if I renounce present fame and future ambition, I renounce
it for thy sake, and we will escape in company. Listen to me, Rebecca,"
he said, again softening his tone; "England,--Europe,--is not the
world. There are spheres in which we may act, ample enough even for my
ambition. We will go to Palestine, where Conrade, Marquis of Montserrat,
is my friend--a friend free as myself from the doting scruples which
fetter our free-born reason--rather with Saladin will we league
ourselves, than endure the scorn of the bigots whom we contemn.--I will
form new paths to greatness," he continued, again traversing the room
with hasty strides--"Europe shall hear the loud step of him she has
driven from her sons!--Not the millions whom her crusaders send to
slaughter, can do so much to defend Palestine--not the sabres of the
thousands and ten thousands of Saracens can hew their way so deep into
that land for which nations are striving, as the strength and policy of
me and those brethren, who, in despite of yonder old bigot, will adhere
to me in good and evil. Thou shalt be a queen, Rebecca--on Mount Carmel
shall we pitch the throne which my valour will gain for you, and I will
exchange my long-desired batoon for a sceptre!"

"A dream," said Rebecca; "an empty vision of the night, which, were it
a waking reality, affects me not. Enough, that the power which thou
mightest acquire, I will never share; nor hold I so light of country or
religious faith, as to esteem him who is willing to barter these ties,
and cast away the bonds of the Order of which he is a sworn member,
in order to gratify an unruly passion for the daughter of another
people.--Put not a price on my deliverance, Sir Knight--sell not a deed
of generosity--protect the oppressed for the sake of charity, and not
for a selfish advantage--Go to the throne of England; Richard will
listen to my appeal from these cruel men."

"Never, Rebecca!" said the Templar, fiercely. "If I renounce my Order,
for thee alone will I renounce it--Ambition shall remain mine, if thou
refuse my love; I will not be fooled on all hands.--Stoop my crest to
Richard?--ask a boon of that heart of pride?--Never, Rebecca, will I
place the Order of the Temple at his feet in my person. I may forsake
the Order, I never will degrade or betray it."

"Now God be gracious to me," said Rebecca, "for the succour of man is
well-nigh hopeless!"

"It is indeed," said the Templar; "for, proud as thou art, thou hast in
me found thy match. If I enter the lists with my spear in rest, think
not any human consideration shall prevent my putting forth my strength;
and think then upon thine own fate--to die the dreadful death of the
worst of criminals--to be consumed upon a blazing pile--dispersed to the
elements of which our strange forms are so mystically composed--not a
relic left of that graceful frame, from which we could say this lived
and moved!--Rebecca, it is not in woman to sustain this prospect--thou
wilt yield to my suit."

"Bois-Guilbert," answered the Jewess, "thou knowest not the heart
of woman, or hast only conversed with those who are lost to her best
feelings. I tell thee, proud Templar, that not in thy fiercest battles
hast thou displayed more of thy vaunted courage, than has been shown
by woman when called upon to suffer by affection or duty. I am myself a
woman, tenderly nurtured, naturally fearful of danger, and impatient
of pain--yet, when we enter those fatal lists, thou to fight and I to
suffer, I feel the strong assurance within me, that my courage shall
mount higher than thine. Farewell--I waste no more words on thee; the
time that remains on earth to the daughter of Jacob must be otherwise
spent--she must seek the Comforter, who may hide his face from his
people, but who ever opens his ear to the cry of those who seek him in
sincerity and in truth."

"We part then thus?" said the Templar, after a short pause; "would to
Heaven that we had never met, or that thou hadst been noble in birth and
Christian in faith!--Nay, by Heaven! when I gaze on thee, and think when
and how we are next to meet, I could even wish myself one of thine own
degraded nation; my hand conversant with ingots and shekels, instead of
spear and shield; my head bent down before each petty noble, and my look
only terrible to the shivering and bankrupt debtor--this could I wish,
Rebecca, to be near to thee in life, and to escape the fearful share I
must have in thy death."

"Thou hast spoken the Jew," said Rebecca, "as the persecution of such
as thou art has made him. Heaven in ire has driven him from his country,
but industry has opened to him the only road to power and to influence,
which oppression has left unbarred. Read the ancient history of the
people of God, and tell me if those, by whom Jehovah wrought such
marvels among the nations, were then a people of misers and of
usurers!--And know, proud knight, we number names amongst us to which
your boasted northern nobility is as the gourd compared with the
cedar--names that ascend far back to those high times when the Divine
Presence shook the mercy-seat between the cherubim, and which derive
their splendour from no earthly prince, but from the awful Voice, which
bade their fathers be nearest of the congregation to the Vision--Such
were the princes of the House of Jacob."

Rebecca's colour rose as she boasted the ancient glories of her race,
but faded as she added, with at sigh, "Such WERE the princes of Judah,
now such no more!--They are trampled down like the shorn grass, and
mixed with the mire of the ways. Yet are there those among them who
shame not such high descent, and of such shall be the daughter of Isaac
the son of Adonikam! Farewell!--I envy not thy blood-won honours--I envy
not thy barbarous descent from northern heathens--I envy thee not thy
faith, which is ever in thy mouth, but never in thy heart nor in thy
practice."

"There is a spell on me, by Heaven!" said Bois-Guilbert. "I almost think
yon besotted skeleton spoke truth, and that the reluctance with which
I part from thee hath something in it more than is natural.--Fair
creature!" he said, approaching near her, but with great respect,--"so
young, so beautiful, so fearless of death! and yet doomed to die, and
with infamy and agony. Who would not weep for thee?--The tear, that has
been a stranger to these eyelids for twenty years, moistens them as I
gaze on thee. But it must be--nothing may now save thy life. Thou and
I are but the blind instruments of some irresistible fatality, that
hurries us along, like goodly vessels driving before the storm, which
are dashed against each other, and so perish. Forgive me, then, and let
us part, at least, as friends part. I have assailed thy resolution in
vain, and mine own is fixed as the adamantine decrees of fate."

"Thus," said Rebecca, "do men throw on fate the issue of their own wild
passions. But I do forgive thee, Bois-Guilbert, though the author of my
early death. There are noble things which cross over thy powerful mind;
but it is the garden of the sluggard, and the weeds have rushed up, and
conspired to choke the fair and wholesome blossom."

"Yes," said the Templar, "I am, Rebecca, as thou hast spoken me,
untaught, untamed--and proud, that, amidst a shoal of empty fools and
crafty bigots, I have retained the preeminent fortitude that places me
above them. I have been a child of battle from my youth upward, high
in my views, steady and inflexible in pursuing them. Such must I
remain--proud, inflexible, and unchanging; and of this the world shall
have proof.--But thou forgivest me, Rebecca?"

"As freely as ever victim forgave her executioner."

"Farewell, then," said the Templar, and left the apartment.

The Preceptor Albert waited impatiently in an adjacent chamber the
return of Bois-Guilbert.

"Thou hast tarried long," he said; "I have been as if stretched on
red-hot iron with very impatience. What if the Grand Master, or his spy
Conrade, had come hither? I had paid dear for my complaisance.--But what
ails thee, brother?--Thy step totters, thy brow is as black as night.
Art thou well, Bois-Guilbert?"

"Ay," answered the Templar, "as well as the wretch who is doomed to die
within an hour.--Nay, by the rood, not half so well--for there be those
in such state, who can lay down life like a cast-off garment. By Heaven,
Malvoisin, yonder girl hath well-nigh unmanned me. I am half resolved to
go to the Grand Master, abjure the Order to his very teeth, and refuse
to act the brutality which his tyranny has imposed on me."

"Thou art mad," answered Malvoisin; "thou mayst thus indeed utterly ruin
thyself, but canst not even find a chance thereby to save the life of
this Jewess, which seems so precious in thine eyes. Beaumanoir will
name another of the Order to defend his judgment in thy place, and the
accused will as assuredly perish as if thou hadst taken the duty imposed
on thee."

"'Tis false--I will myself take arms in her behalf," answered the
Templar, haughtily; "and, should I do so, I think, Malvoisin, that thou
knowest not one of the Order, who will keep his saddle before the point
of my lance."

"Ay, but thou forgettest," said the wily adviser, "thou wilt have
neither leisure nor opportunity to execute this mad project. Go to Lucas
Beaumanoir, and say thou hast renounced thy vow of obedience, and see
how long the despotic old man will leave thee in personal freedom.
The words shall scarce have left thy lips, ere thou wilt either be an
hundred feet under ground, in the dungeon of the Preceptory, to abide
trial as a recreant knight; or, if his opinion holds concerning thy
possession, thou wilt be enjoying straw, darkness, and chains, in some
distant convent cell, stunned with exorcisms, and drenched with holy
water, to expel the foul fiend which hath obtained dominion over thee.
Thou must to the lists, Brian, or thou art a lost and dishonoured man."

"I will break forth and fly," said Bois-Guilbert--"fly to some distant
land, to which folly and fanaticism have not yet found their way. No
drop of the blood of this most excellent creature shall be spilled by my
sanction."

"Thou canst not fly," said the Preceptor; "thy ravings have excited
suspicion, and thou wilt not be permitted to leave the Preceptory. Go
and make the essay--present thyself before the gate, and command the
bridge to be lowered, and mark what answer thou shalt receive.--Thou are
surprised and offended; but is it not the better for thee? Wert thou
to fly, what would ensue but the reversal of thy arms, the dishonour of
thine ancestry, the degradation of thy rank?--Think on it. Where
shall thine old companions in arms hide their heads when Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, the best lance of the Templars, is proclaimed recreant,
amid the hisses of the assembled people? What grief will be at the Court
of France! With what joy will the haughty Richard hear the news, that
the knight that set him hard in Palestine, and well-nigh darkened his
renown, has lost fame and honour for a Jewish girl, whom he could not
even save by so costly a sacrifice!"

"Malvoisin," said the Knight, "I thank thee--thou hast touched the
string at which my heart most readily thrills!--Come of it what may,
recreant shall never be added to the name of Bois-Guilbert. Would to
God, Richard, or any of his vaunting minions of England, would appear in
these lists! But they will be empty--no one will risk to break a lance
for the innocent, the forlorn."

"The better for thee, if it prove so," said the Preceptor; "if no
champion appears, it is not by thy means that this unlucky damsel shall
die, but by the doom of the Grand Master, with whom rests all the blame,
and who will count that blame for praise and commendation."

"True," said Bois-Guilbert; "if no champion appears, I am but a part
of the pageant, sitting indeed on horseback in the lists, but having no
part in what is to follow."

"None whatever," said Malvoisin; "no more than the armed image of Saint
George when it makes part of a procession."

"Well, I will resume my resolution," replied the haughty Templar. "She
has despised me--repulsed me--reviled me--And wherefore should I offer
up for her whatever of estimation I have in the opinion of others?
Malvoisin, I will appear in the lists."

He left the apartment hastily as he uttered these words, and the
Preceptor followed, to watch and confirm him in his resolution; for in
Bois-Guilbert's fame he had himself a strong interest, expecting much
advantage from his being one day at the head of the Order, not to
mention the preferment of which Mont-Fitchet had given him hopes, on
condition he would forward the condemnation of the unfortunate Rebecca.
Yet although, in combating his friend's better feelings, he possessed
all the advantage which a wily, composed, selfish disposition has over
a man agitated by strong and contending passions, it required all
Malvoisin's art to keep Bois-Guilbert steady to the purpose he had
prevailed on him to adopt. He was obliged to watch him closely
to prevent his resuming his purpose of flight, to intercept his
communication with the Grand Master, lest he should come to an open
rupture with his Superior, and to renew, from time to time, the various
arguments by which he endeavoured to show, that, in appearing as
champion on this occasion, Bois-Guilbert, without either accelerating or
ensuring the fate of Rebecca, would follow the only course by which he
could save himself from degradation and disgrace.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: In the evening, De Bois-Guilbert visits Rebecca in the apartment where she is being held. He tries to reason with her, saying that he is not responsible for her predicament, since he did not know that the Grand Master would be at the Preceptory. Rebecca does not accept his argument, saying that he concurred in her condemnation and is set to be the champion who asserts her guilt. De Bois-Guilbert replies that it was he who gave her the scroll that told her to demand a champion. She says that was merely a brief respite from instant death. De Bois-Guilbert responds that he had in fact intended to disguise himself and emerge as her champion. He says he would have had little difficulty in showing her innocence by defeating any opponent. Rebecca is skeptical. De Bois-Guilbert goes on to say that unless he appears as her accuser he will lose all chance of attaining the position he desires within the Order, that of Grand Master. His ambitions will be in ruins. But he says he will accept this if she will accept him. They will flee to Palestine where he will win fame and glory and she will be his queen. Rebecca wants no part of this scheme. De Bois-Guilbert says that nothing can save her, but he wants them to part as friends. She forgives him for his part in her death. He leaves her apartment. Outside, he tells Malvoisin that he is inclined to go to the Grand Master and refuse the task that has fallen to him. Malvoisin advises him not to do so, since he will be imprisoned or put on trial. Malvoisin also advises him not to flee. De Bois-Guilbert hopes that no champion emerges for Rebecca; then he will not have to fight and will not be responsible for her death. The anti-Semitism noticeable in the presentation of Isaac is entirely absent from the portrayal of Rebecca. Indeed, like Shakespeare in The Merchant of Venice, Scott now turns his guns on the Christians, who are seen, in the characters of the Grand Master and Malvoisin, to be intolerant, dishonest, vengeful, and lacking in all sense of decency. The perjury of the witnesses who testify against Rebecca with fantastic tales echo the way Jews were persecuted in medieval Europe. Rebecca, on the other hand, is a shining example of courage and dignity when under severe duress


prompt:
Chapter: Shadows avaunt!--Richard's himself again.
     Richard III

When the Black Knight--for it becomes necessary to resume the train of
his adventures--left the Trysting-tree of the generous Outlaw, he held
his way straight to a neighbouring religious house, of small extent
and revenue, called the Priory of Saint Botolph, to which the wounded
Ivanhoe had been removed when the castle was taken, under the guidance
of the faithful Gurth, and the magnanimous Wamba. It is unnecessary at
present to mention what took place in the interim betwixt Wilfred
and his deliverer; suffice it to say, that after long and grave
communication, messengers were dispatched by the Prior in several
directions, and that on the succeeding morning the Black Knight was
about to set forth on his journey, accompanied by the jester Wamba, who
attended as his guide.

"We will meet," he said to Ivanhoe, "at Coningsburgh, the castle of the
deceased Athelstane, since there thy father Cedric holds the funeral
feast for his noble relation. I would see your Saxon kindred together,
Sir Wilfred, and become better acquainted with them than heretofore.
Thou also wilt meet me; and it shall be my task to reconcile thee to thy
father."

So saying, he took an affectionate farewell of Ivanhoe, who expressed an
anxious desire to attend upon his deliverer. But the Black Knight would
not listen to the proposal.

"Rest this day; thou wilt have scarce strength enough to travel on the
next. I will have no guide with me but honest Wamba, who can play priest
or fool as I shall be most in the humour."

"And I," said Wamba, "will attend you with all my heart. I would fain
see the feasting at the funeral of Athelstane; for, if it be not full
and frequent, he will rise from the dead to rebuke cook, sewer, and
cupbearer; and that were a sight worth seeing. Always, Sir Knight, I
will trust your valour with making my excuse to my master Cedric, in
case mine own wit should fail."

"And how should my poor valour succeed, Sir Jester, when thy light wit
halts?--resolve me that."

"Wit, Sir Knight," replied the Jester, "may do much. He is a quick,
apprehensive knave, who sees his neighbours blind side, and knows how
to keep the lee-gage when his passions are blowing high. But valour is a
sturdy fellow, that makes all split. He rows against both wind and tide,
and makes way notwithstanding; and, therefore, good Sir Knight, while I
take advantage of the fair weather in our noble master's temper, I will
expect you to bestir yourself when it grows rough."

"Sir Knight of the Fetterlock, since it is your pleasure so to be
distinguished," said Ivanhoe, "I fear me you have chosen a talkative and
a troublesome fool to be your guide. But he knows every path and alley
in the woods as well as e'er a hunter who frequents them; and the poor
knave, as thou hast partly seen, is as faithful as steel."

"Nay," said the Knight, "an he have the gift of showing my road, I shall
not grumble with him that he desires to make it pleasant.--Fare
thee well, kind Wilfred--I charge thee not to attempt to travel till
to-morrow at earliest."

So saying, he extended his hand to Ivanhoe, who pressed it to his lips,
took leave of the Prior, mounted his horse, and departed, with Wamba for
his companion. Ivanhoe followed them with his eyes, until they were
lost in the shades of the surrounding forest, and then returned into the
convent.

But shortly after matin-song, he requested to see the Prior. The old man
came in haste, and enquired anxiously after the state of his health.

"It is better," he said, "than my fondest hope could have anticipated;
either my wound has been slighter than the effusion of blood led me to
suppose, or this balsam hath wrought a wonderful cure upon it. I feel
already as if I could bear my corslet; and so much the better, for
thoughts pass in my mind which render me unwilling to remain here longer
in inactivity."

"Now, the saints forbid," said the Prior, "that the son of the Saxon
Cedric should leave our convent ere his wounds were healed! It were
shame to our profession were we to suffer it."

"Nor would I desire to leave your hospitable roof, venerable father,"
said Ivanhoe, "did I not feel myself able to endure the journey, and
compelled to undertake it."

"And what can have urged you to so sudden a departure?" said the Prior.

"Have you never, holy father," answered the Knight, "felt an
apprehension of approaching evil, for which you in vain attempted to
assign a cause?--Have you never found your mind darkened, like the sunny
landscape, by the sudden cloud, which augurs a coming tempest?--And
thinkest thou not that such impulses are deserving of attention, as
being the hints of our guardian spirits, that danger is impending?"

"I may not deny," said the Prior, crossing himself, "that such things
have been, and have been of Heaven; but then such communications have
had a visibly useful scope and tendency. But thou, wounded as thou art,
what avails it thou shouldst follow the steps of him whom thou couldst
not aid, were he to be assaulted?"

"Prior," said Ivanhoe, "thou dost mistake--I am stout enough to exchange
buffets with any who will challenge me to such a traffic--But were it
otherwise, may I not aid him were he in danger, by other means than by
force of arms? It is but too well known that the Saxons love not the
Norman race, and who knows what may be the issue, if he break in upon
them when their hearts are irritated by the death of Athelstane,
and their heads heated by the carousal in which they will indulge
themselves? I hold his entrance among them at such a moment most
perilous, and I am resolved to share or avert the danger; which, that I
may the better do, I would crave of thee the use of some palfrey whose
pace may be softer than that of my 'destrier'." [56]

"Surely," said the worthy churchman; "you shall have mine own ambling
jennet, and I would it ambled as easy for your sake as that of the Abbot
of Saint Albans. Yet this will I say for Malkin, for so I call her, that
unless you were to borrow a ride on the juggler's steed that paces a
hornpipe amongst the eggs, you could not go a journey on a creature so
gentle and smooth-paced. I have composed many a homily on her back, to
the edification of my brethren of the convent, and many poor Christian
souls."

"I pray you, reverend father," said Ivanhoe, "let Malkin be got ready
instantly, and bid Gurth attend me with mine arms."

"Nay, but fair sir," said the Prior, "I pray you to remember that Malkin
hath as little skill in arms as her master, and that I warrant not her
enduring the sight or weight of your full panoply. O, Malkin, I
promise you, is a beast of judgment, and will contend against any undue
weight--I did but borrow the 'Fructus Temporum' from the priest of Saint
Bees, and I promise you she would not stir from the gate until I had
exchanged the huge volume for my little breviary."

"Trust me, holy father," said Ivanhoe, "I will not distress her with too
much weight; and if she calls a combat with me, it is odds but she has
the worst."

This reply was made while Gurth was buckling on the Knight's heels a
pair of large gilded spurs, capable of convincing any restive horse that
his best safety lay in being conformable to the will of his rider.

The deep and sharp rowels with which Ivanhoe's heels were now
armed, began to make the worthy Prior repent of his courtesy, and
ejaculate,--"Nay, but fair sir, now I bethink me, my Malkin abideth not
the spur--Better it were that you tarry for the mare of our manciple
down at the Grange, which may be had in little more than an hour, and
cannot but be tractable, in respect that she draweth much of our winter
fire-wood, and eateth no corn."

"I thank you, reverend father, but will abide by your first offer, as
I see Malkin is already led forth to the gate. Gurth shall carry mine
armour; and for the rest, rely on it, that as I will not overload
Malkin's back, she shall not overcome my patience. And now, farewell!"

Ivanhoe now descended the stairs more hastily and easily than his
wound promised, and threw himself upon the jennet, eager to escape the
importunity of the Prior, who stuck as closely to his side as his
age and fatness would permit, now singing the praises of Malkin, now
recommending caution to the Knight in managing her.

"She is at the most dangerous period for maidens as well as mares," said
the old man, laughing at his own jest, "being barely in her fifteenth
year."

Ivanhoe, who had other web to weave than to stand canvassing a palfrey's
paces with its owner, lent but a deaf ear to the Prior's grave advices
and facetious jests, and having leapt on his mare, and commanded his
squire (for such Gurth now called himself) to keep close by his side, he
followed the track of the Black Knight into the forest, while the
Prior stood at the gate of the convent looking after him, and
ejaculating,--"Saint Mary! how prompt and fiery be these men of war!
I would I had not trusted Malkin to his keeping, for, crippled as I
am with the cold rheum, I am undone if aught but good befalls her. And
yet," said he, recollecting himself, "as I would not spare my own old
and disabled limbs in the good cause of Old England, so Malkin must e'en
run her hazard on the same venture; and it may be they will think our
poor house worthy of some munificent guerdon--or, it may be, they will
send the old Prior a pacing nag. And if they do none of these, as great
men will forget little men's service, truly I shall hold me well repaid
in having done that which is right. And it is now well-nigh the fitting
time to summon the brethren to breakfast in the refectory--Ah! I doubt
they obey that call more cheerily than the bells for primes and matins."

So the Prior of Saint Botolph's hobbled back again into the refectory,
to preside over the stockfish and ale, which was just serving out for
the friars' breakfast. Busy and important, he sat him down at the table,
and many a dark word he threw out, of benefits to be expected to the
convent, and high deeds of service done by himself, which, at another
season, would have attracted observation. But as the stockfish was
highly salted, and the ale reasonably powerful, the jaws of the brethren
were too anxiously employed to admit of their making much use of their
ears; nor do we read of any of the fraternity, who was tempted to
speculate upon the mysterious hints of their Superior, except Father
Diggory, who was severely afflicted by the toothache, so that he could
only eat on one side of his jaws.

In the meantime, the Black Champion and his guide were pacing at their
leisure through the recesses of the forest; the good Knight whiles
humming to himself the lay of some enamoured troubadour, sometimes
encouraging by questions the prating disposition of his attendant, so
that their dialogue formed a whimsical mixture of song and jest, of
which we would fain give our readers some idea. You are then to imagine
this Knight, such as we have already described him, strong of person,
tall, broad-shouldered, and large of bone, mounted on his mighty black
charger, which seemed made on purpose to bear his weight, so easily he
paced forward under it, having the visor of his helmet raised, in order
to admit freedom of breath, yet keeping the beaver, or under part,
closed, so that his features could be but imperfectly distinguished. But
his ruddy embrowned cheek-bones could be plainly seen, and the large and
bright blue eyes, that flashed from under the dark shade of the raised
visor; and the whole gesture and look of the champion expressed careless
gaiety and fearless confidence--a mind which was unapt to apprehend
danger, and prompt to defy it when most imminent--yet with whom danger
was a familiar thought, as with one whose trade was war and adventure.

The Jester wore his usual fantastic habit, but late accidents had led
him to adopt a good cutting falchion, instead of his wooden sword, with
a targe to match it; of both which weapons he had, notwithstanding
his profession, shown himself a skilful master during the storming of
Torquilstone. Indeed, the infirmity of Wamba's brain consisted chiefly
in a kind of impatient irritability, which suffered him not long to
remain quiet in any posture, or adhere to any certain train of ideas,
although he was for a few minutes alert enough in performing any
immediate task, or in apprehending any immediate topic. On horseback,
therefore, he was perpetually swinging himself backwards and forwards,
now on the horse's ears, then anon on the very rump of the animal,--now
hanging both his legs on one side, and now sitting with his face to the
tail, moping, mowing, and making a thousand apish gestures, until his
palfrey took his freaks so much to heart, as fairly to lay him at his
length on the green grass--an incident which greatly amused the Knight,
but compelled his companion to ride more steadily thereafter.

At the point of their journey at which we take them up, this joyous pair
were engaged in singing a virelai, as it was called, in which the clown
bore a mellow burden, to the better instructed Knight of the Fetterlock.
And thus run the ditty:--

     Anna-Marie, love, up is the sun,
     Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun,
     Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free,
     Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie.
     Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn,
     The hunter is winding blithe sounds on his horn,
     The echo rings merry from rock and from tree,
     'Tis time to arouse thee, love, Anna-Marie.

Wamba.

     O Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet,
     Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit,
     For what are the joys that in waking we prove,
     Compared with these visions, O, Tybalt, my love?
     Let the birds to the rise of the mist carol shrill,
     Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the hill,
     Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I prove,--
     But think not I dreamt of thee, Tybalt, my love.

"A dainty song," said Wamba, when they had finished their carol, "and I
swear by my bauble, a pretty moral!--I used to sing it with Gurth, once
my playfellow, and now, by the grace of God and his master, no less than
a freemen; and we once came by the cudgel for being so entranced by the
melody, that we lay in bed two hours after sunrise, singing the ditty
betwixt sleeping and waking--my bones ache at thinking of the tune ever
since. Nevertheless, I have played the part of Anna-Marie, to please
you, fair sir."

The Jester next struck into another carol, a sort of comic ditty, to
which the Knight, catching up the tune, replied in the like manner.

Knight and Wamba.

     There came three merry men from south, west, and north,
     Ever more sing the roundelay;
     To win the Widow of Wycombe forth,
     And where was the widow might say them nay?

     The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came,
     Ever more sing the roundelay;
     And his fathers, God save us, were men of great fame,
     And where was the widow might say him nay?

     Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire,
     He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay;
     She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire,
     For she was the widow would say him nay.

Wamba.

     The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails,
     Merrily sing the roundelay;
     Hur's a gentleman, God wot, and hur's lineage was of Wales,
     And where was the widow might say him nay?

     Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh
     Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay
     She said that one widow for so many was too few,
     And she bade the Welshman wend his way.

     But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent,
     Jollily singing his roundelay;
     He spoke to the widow of living and rent,
     And where was the widow could say him nay?

Both.

     So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire,
     There for to sing their roundelay;
     For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent,
     There never was a widow could say him nay.

"I would, Wamba," said the knight, "that our host of the Trysting-tree,
or the jolly Friar, his chaplain, heard this thy ditty in praise of our
bluff yeoman."

"So would not I," said Wamba--"but for the horn that hangs at your
baldric."

"Ay," said the Knight,--"this is a pledge of Locksley's goodwill, though
I am not like to need it. Three mots on this bugle will, I am assured,
bring round, at our need, a jolly band of yonder honest yeomen."

"I would say, Heaven forefend," said the Jester, "were it not that that
fair gift is a pledge they would let us pass peaceably."

"Why, what meanest thou?" said the Knight; "thinkest thou that but for
this pledge of fellowship they would assault us?"

"Nay, for me I say nothing," said Wamba; "for green trees have ears as
well as stone walls. But canst thou construe me this, Sir Knight--When
is thy wine-pitcher and thy purse better empty than full?"

"Why, never, I think," replied the Knight.

"Thou never deservest to have a full one in thy hand, for so simple an
answer! Thou hadst best empty thy pitcher ere thou pass it to a Saxon,
and leave thy money at home ere thou walk in the greenwood."

"You hold our friends for robbers, then?" said the Knight of the
Fetterlock.

"You hear me not say so, fair sir," said Wamba; "it may relieve a man's
steed to take of his mail when he hath a long journey to make; and,
certes, it may do good to the rider's soul to ease him of that which is
the root of evil; therefore will I give no hard names to those who do
such services. Only I would wish my mail at home, and my purse in my
chamber, when I meet with these good fellows, because it might save them
some trouble."

"WE are bound to pray for them, my friend, notwithstanding the fair
character thou dost afford them."

"Pray for them with all my heart," said Wamba; "but in the town, not
in the greenwood, like the Abbot of Saint Bees, whom they caused to say
mass with an old hollow oak-tree for his stall."

"Say as thou list, Wamba," replied the Knight, "these yeomen did thy
master Cedric yeomanly service at Torquilstone."

"Ay, truly," answered Wamba; "but that was in the fashion of their trade
with Heaven."

"Their trade, Wamba! how mean you by that?" replied his companion.

"Marry, thus," said the Jester. "They make up a balanced account with
Heaven, as our old cellarer used to call his ciphering, as fair as Isaac
the Jew keeps with his debtors, and, like him, give out a very little,
and take large credit for doing so; reckoning, doubtless, on their own
behalf the seven-fold usury which the blessed text hath promised to
charitable loans."

"Give me an example of your meaning, Wamba,--I know nothing of ciphers
or rates of usage," answered the Knight.

"Why," said Wamba, "an your valour be so dull, you will please to learn
that those honest fellows balance a good deed with one not quite so
laudable; as a crown given to a begging friar with an hundred byzants
taken from a fat abbot, or a wench kissed in the greenwood with the
relief of a poor widow."

"Which of these was the good deed, which was the felony?" interrupted
the Knight.

"A good gibe! a good gibe!" said Wamba; "keeping witty company
sharpeneth the apprehension. You said nothing so well, Sir Knight, I
will be sworn, when you held drunken vespers with the bluff Hermit.--But
to go on. The merry-men of the forest set off the building of a cottage
with the burning of a castle,--the thatching of a choir against the
robbing of a church,--the setting free a poor prisoner against the
murder of a proud sheriff; or, to come nearer to our point, the
deliverance of a Saxon franklin against the burning alive of a Norman
baron. Gentle thieves they are, in short, and courteous robbers; but it
is ever the luckiest to meet with them when they are at the worst."

"How so, Wamba?" said the Knight.

"Why, then they have some compunction, and are for making up matters
with Heaven. But when they have struck an even balance, Heaven help them
with whom they next open the account! The travellers who first met
them after their good service at Torquilstone would have a woeful
flaying.--And yet," said Wamba, coming close up to the Knight's side,
"there be companions who are far more dangerous for travellers to meet
than yonder outlaws."

"And who may they be, for you have neither bears nor wolves, I trow?"
said the Knight.

"Marry, sir, but we have Malvoisin's men-at-arms," said Wamba; "and let
me tell you, that, in time of civil war, a halfscore of these is worth
a band of wolves at any time. They are now expecting their harvest,
and are reinforced with the soldiers that escaped from Torquilstone.
So that, should we meet with a band of them, we are like to pay for our
feats of arms.--Now, I pray you, Sir Knight, what would you do if we met
two of them?"

"Pin the villains to the earth with my lance, Wamba, if they offered us
any impediment."

"But what if there were four of them?"

"They should drink of the same cup," answered the Knight.

"What if six," continued Wamba, "and we as we now are, barely two--would
you not remember Locksley's horn?"

"What! sound for aid," exclaimed the Knight, "against a score of such
'rascaille' as these, whom one good knight could drive before him, as
the wind drives the withered leaves?"

"Nay, then," said Wamba, "I will pray you for a close sight of that same
horn that hath so powerful a breath."

The Knight undid the clasp of the baldric, and indulged his
fellow-traveller, who immediately hung the bugle round his own neck.

"Tra-lira-la," said he, whistling the notes; "nay, I know my gamut as
well as another."

"How mean you, knave?" said the Knight; "restore me the bugle."

"Content you, Sir Knight, it is in safe keeping. When Valour and Folly
travel, Folly should bear the horn, because she can blow the best."

"Nay but, rogue," said the Black Knight, "this exceedeth thy
license--Beware ye tamper not with my patience."

"Urge me not with violence, Sir Knight," said the Jester, keeping at a
distance from the impatient champion, "or Folly will show a clean pair
of heels, and leave Valour to find out his way through the wood as best
he may."

"Nay, thou hast hit me there," said the Knight; "and, sooth to say, I
have little time to jangle with thee. Keep the horn an thou wilt, but
let us proceed on our journey."

"You will not harm me, then?" said Wamba.

"I tell thee no, thou knave!"

"Ay, but pledge me your knightly word for it," continued Wamba, as he
approached with great caution.

"My knightly word I pledge; only come on with thy foolish self."

"Nay, then, Valour and Folly are once more boon companions," said the
Jester, coming up frankly to the Knight's side; "but, in truth, I love
not such buffets as that you bestowed on the burly Friar, when his
holiness rolled on the green like a king of the nine-pins. And now that
Folly wears the horn, let Valour rouse himself, and shake his mane;
for, if I mistake not, there are company in yonder brake that are on the
look-out for us."

"What makes thee judge so?" said the Knight.

"Because I have twice or thrice noticed the glance of a motion from
amongst the green leaves. Had they been honest men, they had kept the
path. But yonder thicket is a choice chapel for the Clerks of Saint
Nicholas."

"By my faith," said the Knight, closing his visor, "I think thou be'st
in the right on't."

And in good time did he close it, for three arrows, flew at the same
instant from the suspected spot against his head and breast, one of
which would have penetrated to the brain, had it not been turned aside
by the steel visor. The other two were averted by the gorget, and by the
shield which hung around his neck.

"Thanks, trusty armourers," said the Knight.--"Wamba, let us close with
them,"--and he rode straight to the thicket. He was met by six or seven
men-at-arms, who ran against him with their lances at full career. Three
of the weapons struck against him, and splintered with as little effect
as if they had been driven against a tower of steel. The Black Knight's
eyes seemed to flash fire even through the aperture of his visor. He
raised himself in his stirrups with an air of inexpressible dignity, and
exclaimed, "What means this, my masters!"--The men made no other reply
than by drawing their swords and attacking him on every side, crying,
"Die, tyrant!"

"Ha! Saint Edward! Ha! Saint George!" said the Black Knight, striking
down a man at every invocation; "have we traitors here?"

His opponents, desperate as they were, bore back from an arm which
carried death in every blow, and it seemed as if the terror of his
single strength was about to gain the battle against such odds, when a
knight, in blue armour, who had hitherto kept himself behind the other
assailants, spurred forward with his lance, and taking aim, not at the
rider but at the steed, wounded the noble animal mortally.

"That was a felon stroke!" exclaimed the Black Knight, as the steed fell
to the earth, bearing his rider along with him.

And at this moment, Wamba winded the bugle, for the whole had passed so
speedily, that he had not time to do so sooner. The sudden sound made
the murderers bear back once more, and Wamba, though so imperfectly
weaponed, did not hesitate to rush in and assist the Black Knight to
rise.

"Shame on ye, false cowards!" exclaimed he in the blue harness, who
seemed to lead the assailants, "do ye fly from the empty blast of a horn
blown by a Jester?"

Animated by his words, they attacked the Black Knight anew, whose best
refuge was now to place his back against an oak, and defend himself with
his sword. The felon knight, who had taken another spear, watching the
moment when his formidable antagonist was most closely pressed, galloped
against him in hopes to nail him with his lance against the tree, when
his purpose was again intercepted by Wamba. The Jester, making up by
agility the want of strength, and little noticed by the men-at-arms, who
were busied in their more important object, hovered on the skirts of the
fight, and effectually checked the fatal career of the Blue Knight, by
hamstringing his horse with a stroke of his sword. Horse and man went to
the ground; yet the situation of the Knight of the Fetterlock continued
very precarious, as he was pressed close by several men completely
armed, and began to be fatigued by the violent exertions necessary
to defend himself on so many points at nearly the same moment, when
a grey-goose shaft suddenly stretched on the earth one of the most
formidable of his assailants, and a band of yeomen broke forth from the
glade, headed by Locksley and the jovial Friar, who, taking ready and
effectual part in the fray, soon disposed of the ruffians, all of whom
lay on the spot dead or mortally wounded. The Black Knight thanked his
deliverers with a dignity they had not observed in his former bearing,
which hitherto had seemed rather that of a blunt bold soldier, than of a
person of exalted rank.

"It concerns me much," he said, "even before I express my full gratitude
to my ready friends, to discover, if I may, who have been my unprovoked
enemies.--Open the visor of that Blue Knight, Wamba, who seems the chief
of these villains."

The Jester instantly made up to the leader of the assassins, who,
bruised by his fall, and entangled under the wounded steed, lay
incapable either of flight or resistance.

"Come, valiant sir," said Wamba, "I must be your armourer as well as
your equerry--I have dismounted you, and now I will unhelm you."

So saying, with no very gentle hand he undid the helmet of the Blue
Knight, which, rolling to a distance on the grass, displayed to the
Knight of the Fetterlock grizzled locks, and a countenance he did not
expect to have seen under such circumstances.

"Waldemar Fitzurse!" he said in astonishment; "what could urge one of
thy rank and seeming worth to so foul an undertaking?"

"Richard," said the captive Knight, looking up to him, "thou knowest
little of mankind, if thou knowest not to what ambition and revenge can
lead every child of Adam."

"Revenge?" answered the Black Knight; "I never wronged thee--On me thou
hast nought to revenge."

"My daughter, Richard, whose alliance thou didst scorn--was that no
injury to a Norman, whose blood is noble as thine own?"

"Thy daughter?" replied the Black Knight; "a proper cause of enmity, and
followed up to a bloody issue!--Stand back, my masters, I would speak
to him alone.--And now, Waldemar Fitzurse, say me the truth--confess who
set thee on this traitorous deed."

"Thy father's son," answered Waldemar, "who, in so doing, did but avenge
on thee thy disobedience to thy father."

Richard's eyes sparkled with indignation, but his better nature overcame
it. He pressed his hand against his brow, and remained an instant gazing
on the face of the humbled baron, in whose features pride was contending
with shame.

"Thou dost not ask thy life, Waldemar," said the King.

"He that is in the lion's clutch," answered Fitzurse, "knows it were
needless."

"Take it, then, unasked," said Richard; "the lion preys not on prostrate
carcasses.--Take thy life, but with this condition, that in three days
thou shalt leave England, and go to hide thine infamy in thy Norman
castle, and that thou wilt never mention the name of John of Anjou as
connected with thy felony. If thou art found on English ground after the
space I have allotted thee, thou diest--or if thou breathest aught
that can attaint the honour of my house, by Saint George! not the altar
itself shall be a sanctuary. I will hang thee out to feed the ravens,
from the very pinnacle of thine own castle.--Let this knight have a
steed, Locksley, for I see your yeomen have caught those which were
running loose, and let him depart unharmed."

"But that I judge I listen to a voice whose behests must not be
disputed," answered the yeoman, "I would send a shaft after the skulking
villain that should spare him the labour of a long journey."

"Thou bearest an English heart, Locksley," said the Black Knight, "and
well dost judge thou art the more bound to obey my behest--I am Richard
of England!"

At these words, pronounced in a tone of majesty suited to the high rank,
and no less distinguished character of Coeur-de-Lion, the yeomen at once
kneeled down before him, and at the same time tendered their allegiance,
and implored pardon for their offences.

"Rise, my friends," said Richard, in a gracious tone, looking on
them with a countenance in which his habitual good-humour had already
conquered the blaze of hasty resentment, and whose features retained no
mark of the late desperate conflict, excepting the flush arising from
exertion,--"Arise," he said, "my friends!--Your misdemeanours, whether
in forest or field, have been atoned by the loyal services you rendered
my distressed subjects before the walls of Torquilstone, and the rescue
you have this day afforded to your sovereign. Arise, my liegemen, and be
good subjects in future.--And thou, brave Locksley--"

"Call me no longer Locksley, my Liege, but know me under the name,
which, I fear, fame hath blown too widely not to have reached even your
royal ears--I am Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest." [561]

"King of Outlaws, and Prince of good fellows!" said the King, "who
hath not heard a name that has been borne as far as Palestine? But be
assured, brave Outlaw, that no deed done in our absence, and in the
turbulent times to which it hath given rise, shall be remembered to thy
disadvantage."

"True says the proverb," said Wamba, interposing his word, but with some
abatement of his usual petulance,--

"'When the cat is away, The mice will play.'"

"What, Wamba, art thou there?" said Richard; "I have been so long of
hearing thy voice, I thought thou hadst taken flight."

"I take flight!" said Wamba; "when do you ever find Folly separated from
Valour? There lies the trophy of my sword, that good grey gelding, whom
I heartily wish upon his legs again, conditioning his master lay there
houghed in his place. It is true, I gave a little ground at first, for
a motley jacket does not brook lance-heads, as a steel doublet will. But
if I fought not at sword's point, you will grant me that I sounded the
onset."

"And to good purpose, honest Wamba," replied the King. "Thy good service
shall not be forgotten."

"'Confiteor! Confiteor!'"--exclaimed, in a submissive tone, a voice near
the King's side--"my Latin will carry me no farther--but I confess my
deadly treason, and pray leave to have absolution before I am led to
execution!"

Richard looked around, and beheld the jovial Friar on his knees, telling
his rosary, while his quarter-staff, which had not been idle during the
skirmish, lay on the grass beside him. His countenance was gathered so
as he thought might best express the most profound contrition, his
eyes being turned up, and the corners of his mouth drawn down, as Wamba
expressed it, like the tassels at the mouth of a purse. Yet this demure
affectation of extreme penitence was whimsically belied by a ludicrous
meaning which lurked in his huge features, and seemed to pronounce his
fear and repentance alike hypocritical.

"For what art thou cast down, mad Priest?" said Richard; "art thou
afraid thy diocesan should learn how truly thou dost serve Our Lady and
Saint Dunstan?--Tush, man! fear it not; Richard of England betrays no
secrets that pass over the flagon."

"Nay, most gracious sovereign," answered the Hermit, (well known to the
curious in penny-histories of Robin Hood, by the name of Friar
Tuck,) "it is not the crosier I fear, but the sceptre.--Alas! that my
sacrilegious fist should ever have been applied to the ear of the Lord's
anointed!"

"Ha! ha!" said Richard, "sits the wind there?--In truth I had forgotten
the buffet, though mine ear sung after it for a whole day. But if the
cuff was fairly given, I will be judged by the good men around, if it
was not as well repaid--or, if thou thinkest I still owe thee aught, and
will stand forth for another counterbuff--"

"By no means," replied Friar Tuck, "I had mine own returned, and with
usury--may your Majesty ever pay your debts as fully!"

"If I could do so with cuffs," said the King, "my creditors should have
little reason to complain of an empty exchequer."

"And yet," said the Friar, resuming his demure hypocritical countenance,
"I know not what penance I ought to perform for that most sacrilegious
blow!---"

"Speak no more of it, brother," said the King; "after having stood
so many cuffs from Paynims and misbelievers, I were void of reason to
quarrel with the buffet of a clerk so holy as he of Copmanhurst. Yet,
mine honest Friar, I think it would be best both for the church and
thyself, that I should procure a license to unfrock thee, and retain
thee as a yeoman of our guard, serving in care of our person, as
formerly in attendance upon the altar of Saint Dunstan."

"My Liege," said the Friar, "I humbly crave your pardon; and you would
readily grant my excuse, did you but know how the sin of laziness has
beset me. Saint Dunstan--may he be gracious to us!--stands quiet in his
niche, though I should forget my orisons in killing a fat buck--I stay
out of my cell sometimes a night, doing I wot not what--Saint Dunstan
never complains--a quiet master he is, and a peaceful, as ever was made
of wood.--But to be a yeoman in attendance on my sovereign the King--the
honour is great, doubtless--yet, if I were but to step aside to comfort
a widow in one corner, or to kill a deer in another, it would be, 'where
is the dog Priest?' says one. 'Who has seen the accursed Tuck?' says
another. 'The unfrocked villain destroys more venison than half the
country besides,' says one keeper; 'And is hunting after every shy doe
in the country!' quoth a second.--In fine, good my Liege, I pray you
to leave me as you found me; or, if in aught you desire to extend your
benevolence to me, that I may be considered as the poor Clerk of Saint
Dunstan's cell in Copmanhurst, to whom any small donation will be most
thankfully acceptable."

"I understand thee," said the King, "and the Holy Clerk shall have a
grant of vert and venison in my woods of Warncliffe. Mark, however, I
will but assign thee three bucks every season; but if that do not prove
an apology for thy slaying thirty, I am no Christian knight nor true
king."

"Your Grace may be well assured," said the Friar, "that, with the
grace of Saint Dunstan, I shall find the way of multiplying your most
bounteous gift."

"I nothing doubt it, good brother," said the King; "and as venison is
but dry food, our cellarer shall have orders to deliver to thee a butt
of sack, a runlet of Malvoisie, and three hogsheads of ale of the first
strike, yearly--If that will not quench thy thirst, thou must come to
court, and become acquainted with my butler."

"But for Saint Dunstan?" said the Friar--

"A cope, a stole, and an altar-cloth shalt thou also have," continued
the King, crossing himself--"But we may not turn our game into earnest,
lest God punish us for thinking more on our follies than on his honour
and worship."

"I will answer for my patron," said the Priest, joyously.

"Answer for thyself, Friar," said King Richard, something sternly; but
immediately stretching out his hand to the Hermit, the latter, somewhat
abashed, bent his knee, and saluted it. "Thou dost less honour to my
extended palm than to my clenched fist," said the Monarch; "thou didst
only kneel to the one, and to the other didst prostrate thyself."

But the Friar, afraid perhaps of again giving offence by continuing
the conversation in too jocose a style--a false step to be particularly
guarded against by those who converse with monarchs--bowed profoundly,
and fell into the rear.

At the same time, two additional personages appeared on the scene.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The narrative returns to the Black Knight, who rides to a religious house not far from the forest, where Ivanhoe was taken after he was removed from the doomed castle. The Black Knight says he will meet Ivanhoe again at the funeral of Athelstane. He also mentions that it is his task to reconcile Ivanhoe to his father. After the Black Knight leaves, Ivanhoe prepares to travel, taking Gurth, whom he now refers to as his squire, with him. Meanwhile, the Black Knight and Wamba are in light-hearted mood as they journey in the forest. But then they are attacked by armed men. The fight goes badly, but the Black Knight makes the bugle call to summon the friendly outlaws. Locksley and his men soon arrive, and with their help almost all the assailants are either killed or mortally wounded. Their leader turns out to be Waldemar Fitzurse, and the Black Knight gets him to admit that it was Prince John who planned the attack. Fitzurse knows that the Black Knight is Richard. Richard spares his life but banishes him from the country. Richard then tells Locksley his real identity, and Locksley in turn confesses that he is Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest. Friar Tuck begs forgiveness of Richard for any slights he may have given him. Richard good-naturedly grants his desire