prompt:
Chapter: Fond wretch! and what canst thou relate,
     But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin?
     Thy deeds are proved--thou know'st thy fate;
     But come, thy tale--begin--begin.
     * * * * *
     But I have griefs of other kind,
     Troubles and sorrows more severe;
     Give me to ease my tortured mind,
     Lend to my woes a patient ear;
     And let me, if I may not find
     A friend to help--find one to hear.
     --Crabbe's Hall of Justice

When Urfried had with clamours and menaces driven Rebecca back to the
apartment from which she had sallied, she proceeded to conduct the
unwilling Cedric into a small apartment, the door of which she heedfully
secured. Then fetching from a cupboard a stoup of wine and two flagons,
she placed them on the table, and said in a tone rather asserting a
fact than asking a question, "Thou art Saxon, father--Deny it not," she
continued, observing that Cedric hastened not to reply; "the sounds of
my native language are sweet to mine ears, though seldom heard save from
the tongues of the wretched and degraded serfs on whom the proud
Normans impose the meanest drudgery of this dwelling. Thou art a
Saxon, father--a Saxon, and, save as thou art a servant of God, a
freeman.--Thine accents are sweet in mine ear."

"Do not Saxon priests visit this castle, then?" replied Cedric; "it
were, methinks, their duty to comfort the outcast and oppressed children
of the soil."

"They come not--or if they come, they better love to revel at the boards
of their conquerors," answered Urfried, "than to hear the groans of
their countrymen--so, at least, report speaks of them--of myself I can
say little. This castle, for ten years, has opened to no priest save
the debauched Norman chaplain who partook the nightly revels of
Front-de-Boeuf, and he has been long gone to render an account of his
stewardship.--But thou art a Saxon--a Saxon priest, and I have one
question to ask of thee."

"I am a Saxon," answered Cedric, "but unworthy, surely, of the name of
priest. Let me begone on my way--I swear I will return, or send one of
our fathers more worthy to hear your confession."

"Stay yet a while," said Urfried; "the accents of the voice which thou
hearest now will soon be choked with the cold earth, and I would
not descend to it like the beast I have lived. But wine must give me
strength to tell the horrors of my tale." She poured out a cup, and
drank it with a frightful avidity, which seemed desirous of draining the
last drop in the goblet. "It stupifies," she said, looking upwards as
she finished her drought, "but it cannot cheer--Partake it, father, if
you would hear my tale without sinking down upon the pavement." Cedric
would have avoided pledging her in this ominous conviviality, but the
sign which she made to him expressed impatience and despair. He complied
with her request, and answered her challenge in a large wine-cup; she
then proceeded with her story, as if appeased by his complaisance.

"I was not born," she said, "father, the wretch that thou now seest me.
I was free, was happy, was honoured, loved, and was beloved. I am now a
slave, miserable and degraded--the sport of my masters' passions while
I had yet beauty--the object of their contempt, scorn, and hatred,
since it has passed away. Dost thou wonder, father, that I should hate
mankind, and, above all, the race that has wrought this change in me?
Can the wrinkled decrepit hag before thee, whose wrath must vent itself
in impotent curses, forget she was once the daughter of the noble Thane
of Torquilstone, before whose frown a thousand vassals trembled?"

"Thou the daughter of Torquil Wolfganger!" said Cedric, receding as he
spoke; "thou--thou--the daughter of that noble Saxon, my father's friend
and companion in arms!"

"Thy father's friend!" echoed Urfried; "then Cedric called the Saxon
stands before me, for the noble Hereward of Rotherwood had but one son,
whose name is well known among his countrymen. But if thou art Cedric of
Rotherwood, why this religious dress?--hast thou too despaired of saving
thy country, and sought refuge from oppression in the shade of the
convent?"

"It matters not who I am," said Cedric; "proceed, unhappy woman, with
thy tale of horror and guilt!--Guilt there must be--there is guilt even
in thy living to tell it."

"There is--there is," answered the wretched woman, "deep, black, damning
guilt,--guilt, that lies like a load at my breast--guilt, that all the
penitential fires of hereafter cannot cleanse.--Yes, in these halls,
stained with the noble and pure blood of my father and my brethren--in
these very halls, to have lived the paramour of their murderer, the
slave at once and the partaker of his pleasures, was to render every
breath which I drew of vital air, a crime and a curse."

"Wretched woman!" exclaimed Cedric. "And while the friends of thy
father--while each true Saxon heart, as it breathed a requiem for his
soul, and those of his valiant sons, forgot not in their prayers the
murdered Ulrica--while all mourned and honoured the dead, thou hast
lived to merit our hate and execration--lived to unite thyself with the
vile tyrant who murdered thy nearest and dearest--who shed the blood
of infancy, rather than a male of the noble house of Torquil Wolfganger
should survive--with him hast thou lived to unite thyself, and in the
hands of lawless love!"

"In lawless hands, indeed, but not in those of love!" answered the
hag; "love will sooner visit the regions of eternal doom, than
those unhallowed vaults.--No, with that at least I cannot reproach
myself--hatred to Front-de-Boeuf and his race governed my soul most
deeply, even in the hour of his guilty endearments."

"You hated him, and yet you lived," replied Cedric; "wretch! was there
no poniard--no knife--no bodkin!--Well was it for thee, since thou didst
prize such an existence, that the secrets of a Norman castle are like
those of the grave. For had I but dreamed of the daughter of Torquil
living in foul communion with the murderer of her father, the sword of a
true Saxon had found thee out even in the arms of thy paramour!"

"Wouldst thou indeed have done this justice to the name of Torquil?"
said Ulrica, for we may now lay aside her assumed name of Urfried;
"thou art then the true Saxon report speaks thee! for even within these
accursed walls, where, as thou well sayest, guilt shrouds itself in
inscrutable mystery, even there has the name of Cedric been sounded--and
I, wretched and degraded, have rejoiced to think that there yet
breathed an avenger of our unhappy nation.--I also have had my hours of
vengeance--I have fomented the quarrels of our foes, and heated drunken
revelry into murderous broil--I have seen their blood flow--I have heard
their dying groans!--Look on me, Cedric--are there not still left on
this foul and faded face some traces of the features of Torquil?"

"Ask me not of them, Ulrica," replied Cedric, in a tone of grief mixed
with abhorrence; "these traces form such a resemblance as arises from
the graves of the dead, when a fiend has animated the lifeless corpse."

"Be it so," answered Ulrica; "yet wore these fiendish features the mask
of a spirit of light when they were able to set at variance the elder
Front-de-Boeuf and his son Reginald! The darkness of hell should hide
what followed, but revenge must lift the veil, and darkly intimate what
it would raise the dead to speak aloud. Long had the smouldering fire of
discord glowed between the tyrant father and his savage son--long had I
nursed, in secret, the unnatural hatred--it blazed forth in an hour of
drunken wassail, and at his own board fell my oppressor by the hand of
his own son--such are the secrets these vaults conceal!--Rend asunder,
ye accursed arches," she added, looking up towards the roof, "and bury
in your fall all who are conscious of the hideous mystery!"

"And thou, creature of guilt and misery," said Cedric, "what became thy
lot on the death of thy ravisher?"

"Guess it, but ask it not.--Here--here I dwelt, till age, premature age,
has stamped its ghastly features on my countenance--scorned and insulted
where I was once obeyed, and compelled to bound the revenge which had
once such ample scope, to the efforts of petty malice of a discontented
menial, or the vain or unheeded curses of an impotent hag--condemned
to hear from my lonely turret the sounds of revelry in which I once
partook, or the shrieks and groans of new victims of oppression."

"Ulrica," said Cedric, "with a heart which still, I fear, regrets the
lost reward of thy crimes, as much as the deeds by which thou didst
acquire that meed, how didst thou dare to address thee to one who
wears this robe? Consider, unhappy woman, what could the sainted
Edward himself do for thee, were he here in bodily presence? The royal
Confessor was endowed by heaven with power to cleanse the ulcers of the
body, but only God himself can cure the leprosy of the soul."

"Yet, turn not from me, stern prophet of wrath," she exclaimed, "but
tell me, if thou canst, in what shall terminate these new and awful
feelings that burst on my solitude--Why do deeds, long since done, rise
before me in new and irresistible horrors? What fate is prepared beyond
the grave for her, to whom God has assigned on earth a lot of such
unspeakable wretchedness? Better had I turn to Woden, Hertha, and
Zernebock--to Mista, and to Skogula, the gods of our yet unbaptized
ancestors, than endure the dreadful anticipations which have of late
haunted my waking and my sleeping hours!"

"I am no priest," said Cedric, turning with disgust from this miserable
picture of guilt, wretchedness, and despair; "I am no priest, though I
wear a priest's garment."

"Priest or layman," answered Ulrica, "thou art the first I have seen for
twenty years, by whom God was feared or man regarded; and dost thou bid
me despair?"

"I bid thee repent," said Cedric. "Seek to prayer and penance, and
mayest thou find acceptance! But I cannot, I will not, longer abide with
thee."

"Stay yet a moment!" said Ulrica; "leave me not now, son of my father's
friend, lest the demon who has governed my life should tempt me
to avenge myself of thy hard-hearted scorn--Thinkest thou, if
Front-de-Boeuf found Cedric the Saxon in his castle, in such a disguise,
that thy life would be a long one?--Already his eye has been upon thee
like a falcon on his prey."

"And be it so," said Cedric; "and let him tear me with beak and talons,
ere my tongue say one word which my heart doth not warrant. I will die
a Saxon--true in word, open in deed--I bid thee avaunt!--touch me not,
stay me not!--The sight of Front-de-Boeuf himself is less odious to me
than thou, degraded and degenerate as thou art."

"Be it so," said Ulrica, no longer interrupting him; "go thy way, and
forget, in the insolence of thy superority, that the wretch before thee
is the daughter of thy father's friend.--Go thy way--if I am separated
from mankind by my sufferings--separated from those whose aid I might
most justly expect--not less will I be separated from them in my
revenge!--No man shall aid me, but the ears of all men shall tingle to
hear of the deed which I shall dare to do!--Farewell!--thy scorn has
burst the last tie which seemed yet to unite me to my kind--a thought
that my woes might claim the compassion of my people."

"Ulrica," said Cedric, softened by this appeal, "hast thou borne up and
endured to live through so much guilt and so much misery, and wilt thou
now yield to despair when thine eyes are opened to thy crimes, and when
repentance were thy fitter occupation?"

"Cedric," answered Ulrica, "thou little knowest the human heart. To act
as I have acted, to think as I have thought, requires the maddening
love of pleasure, mingled with the keen appetite of revenge, the proud
consciousness of power; droughts too intoxicating for the human heart to
bear, and yet retain the power to prevent. Their force has long passed
away--Age has no pleasures, wrinkles have no influence, revenge itself
dies away in impotent curses. Then comes remorse, with all its vipers,
mixed with vain regrets for the past, and despair for the future!--Then,
when all other strong impulses have ceased, we become like the fiends
in hell, who may feel remorse, but never repentance.--But thy words have
awakened a new soul within me--Well hast thou said, all is possible for
those who dare to die!--Thou hast shown me the means of revenge, and be
assured I will embrace them. It has hitherto shared this wasted bosom
with other and with rival passions--henceforward it shall possess me
wholly, and thou thyself shalt say, that, whatever was the life of
Ulrica, her death well became the daughter of the noble Torquil. There
is a force without beleaguering this accursed castle--hasten to lead
them to the attack, and when thou shalt see a red flag wave from the
turret on the eastern angle of the donjon, press the Normans hard--they
will then have enough to do within, and you may win the wall in spite
both of bow and mangonel.--Begone, I pray thee--follow thine own fate,
and leave me to mine."

Cedric would have enquired farther into the purpose which she thus
darkly announced, but the stern voice of Front-de-Boeuf was heard,
exclaiming, "Where tarries this loitering priest? By the scallop-shell
of Compostella, I will make a martyr of him, if he loiters here to hatch
treason among my domestics!"

"What a true prophet," said Ulrica, "is an evil conscience! But heed him
not--out and to thy people--Cry your Saxon onslaught, and let them sing
their war-song of Rollo, if they will; vengeance shall bear a burden to
it."

As she thus spoke, she vanished through a private door, and Reginald
Front-de-Boeuf entered the apartment. Cedric, with some difficulty,
compelled himself to make obeisance to the haughty Baron, who returned
his courtesy with a slight inclination of the head.

"Thy penitents, father, have made a long shrift--it is the better for
them, since it is the last they shall ever make. Hast thou prepared them
for death?"

"I found them," said Cedric, in such French as he could command,
"expecting the worst, from the moment they knew into whose power they
had fallen."

"How now, Sir Friar," replied Front-de-Boeuf, "thy speech, methinks,
smacks of a Saxon tongue?"

"I was bred in the convent of St Withold of Burton," answered Cedric.

"Ay?" said the Baron; "it had been better for thee to have been a
Norman, and better for my purpose too; but need has no choice of
messengers. That St Withold's of Burton is an owlet's nest worth the
harrying. The day will soon come that the frock shall protect the Saxon
as little as the mail-coat."

"God's will be done," said Cedric, in a voice tremulous with passion,
which Front-de-Boeuf imputed to fear.

"I see," said he, "thou dreamest already that our men-at-arms are in
thy refectory and thy ale-vaults. But do me one cast of thy holy office,
and, come what list of others, thou shalt sleep as safe in thy cell as a
snail within his shell of proof."

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

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

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

"Thou seest, Sir Friar, yon herd of Saxon swine, who have dared to
environ this castle of Torquilstone--Tell them whatever thou hast a mind
of the weakness of this fortalice, or aught else that can detain them
before it for twenty-four hours. Meantime bear thou this scroll--But
soft--canst read, Sir Priest?"

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

"The fitter messenger for my purpose.--Carry thou this scroll to the
castle of Philip de Malvoisin; say it cometh from me, and is written by
the Templar Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and that I pray him to send it to
York with all the speed man and horse can make. Meanwhile, tell him
to doubt nothing, he shall find us whole and sound behind our
battlement--Shame on it, that we should be compelled to hide thus by a
pack of runagates, who are wont to fly even at the flash of our pennons
and the tramp of our horses! I say to thee, priest, contrive some cast
of thine art to keep the knaves where they are, until our friends
bring up their lances. My vengeance is awake, and she is a falcon that
slumbers not till she has been gorged."

"By my patron saint," said Cedric, with deeper energy than became his
character, "and by every saint who has lived and died in England, your
commands shall be obeyed! Not a Saxon shall stir from before these
walls, if I have art and influence to detain them there."

"Ha!" said Front-de-Boeuf, "thou changest thy tone, Sir Priest, and
speakest brief and bold, as if thy heart were in the slaughter of the
Saxon herd; and yet thou art thyself of kindred to the swine?"

Cedric was no ready practiser of the art of dissimulation, and would
at this moment have been much the better of a hint from Wamba's more
fertile brain. But necessity, according to the ancient proverb, sharpens
invention, and he muttered something under his cowl concerning the men
in question being excommunicated outlaws both to church and to kingdom.

"'Despardieux'," answered Front-de-Boeuf, "thou hast spoken the very
truth--I forgot that the knaves can strip a fat abbot, as well as if
they had been born south of yonder salt channel. Was it not he of St
Ives whom they tied to an oak-tree, and compelled to sing a mass while
they were rifling his mails and his wallets?--No, by our Lady--that jest
was played by Gualtier of Middleton, one of our own companions-at-arms.
But they were Saxons who robbed the chapel at St Bees of cup,
candlestick and chalice, were they not?"

"They were godless men," answered Cedric.

"Ay, and they drank out all the good wine and ale that lay in store for
many a secret carousal, when ye pretend ye are but busied with vigils
and primes!--Priest, thou art bound to revenge such sacrilege."

"I am indeed bound to vengeance," murmured Cedric; "Saint Withold knows
my heart."

Front-de-Boeuf, in the meanwhile, led the way to a postern, where,
passing the moat on a single plank, they reached a small barbican,
or exterior defence, which communicated with the open field by a
well-fortified sallyport.

"Begone, then; and if thou wilt do mine errand, and if thou return
hither when it is done, thou shalt see Saxon flesh cheap as ever was
hog's in the shambles of Sheffield. And, hark thee, thou seemest to be a
jolly confessor--come hither after the onslaught, and thou shalt have as
much Malvoisie as would drench thy whole convent."

"Assuredly we shall meet again," answered Cedric.

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

"And full leave will I give thee to do both," answered Cedric, leaving
the postern, and striding forth over the free field with a joyful step,
"if, when we meet next, I deserve not better at thine hand."--Turning
then back towards the castle, he threw the piece of gold towards the
donor, exclaiming at the same time, "False Norman, thy money perish with
thee!"

Front-de-Boeuf heard the words imperfectly, but the action was
suspicious--"Archers," he called to the warders on the outward
battlements, "send me an arrow through yon monk's frock!--yet stay," he
said, as his retainers were bending their bows, "it avails not--we must
thus far trust him since we have no better shift. I think he dares not
betray me--at the worst I can but treat with these Saxon dogs whom
I have safe in kennel.--Ho! Giles jailor, let them bring Cedric of
Rotherwood before me, and the other churl, his companion--him I mean of
Coningsburgh--Athelstane there, or what call they him? Their very names
are an encumbrance to a Norman knight's mouth, and have, as it were, a
flavour of bacon--Give me a stoup of wine, as jolly Prince John said,
that I may wash away the relish--place it in the armoury, and thither
lead the prisoners."

His commands were obeyed; and, upon entering that Gothic apartment, hung
with many spoils won by his own valour and that of his father, he found
a flagon of wine on the massive oaken table, and the two Saxon captives
under the guard of four of his dependants. Front-de-Boeuf took a long
drought of wine, and then addressed his prisoners;--for the manner in
which Wamba drew the cap over his face, the change of dress, the gloomy
and broken light, and the Baron's imperfect acquaintance with the
features of Cedric, (who avoided his Norman neighbours, and seldom
stirred beyond his own domains,) prevented him from discovering that the
most important of his captives had made his escape.

"Gallants of England," said Front-de-Boeuf, "how relish ye your
entertainment at Torquilstone?--Are ye yet aware what your 'surquedy'
and 'outrecuidance' [31] merit, for scoffing at the entertainment of
a prince of the House of Anjou?--Have ye forgotten how ye requited the
unmerited hospitality of the royal John? By God and St Dennis, an ye pay
not the richer ransom, I will hang ye up by the feet from the iron bars
of these windows, till the kites and hooded crows have made skeletons
of you!--Speak out, ye Saxon dogs--what bid ye for your worthless
lives?--How say you, you of Rotherwood?"

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

"Saint Genevieve!" said Front-de-Boeuf, "what have we got here?"

And with the back of his hand he struck Cedric's cap from the head of
the Jester, and throwing open his collar, discovered the fatal badge of
servitude, the silver collar round his neck.

"Giles--Clement--dogs and varlets!" exclaimed the furious Norman, "what
have you brought me here?"

"I think I can tell you," said De Bracy, who just entered the apartment.
"This is Cedric's clown, who fought so manful a skirmish with Isaac of
York about a question of precedence."

"I shall settle it for them both," replied Front-de-Boeuf; "they
shall hang on the same gallows, unless his master and this boar of
Coningsburgh will pay well for their lives. Their wealth is the least
they can surrender; they must also carry off with them the swarms that
are besetting the castle, subscribe a surrender of their pretended
immunities, and live under us as serfs and vassals; too happy if, in
the new world that is about to begin, we leave them the breath of their
nostrils.--Go," said he to two of his attendants, "fetch me the right
Cedric hither, and I pardon your error for once; the rather that you but
mistook a fool for a Saxon franklin."

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

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

"Saints of Heaven!" exclaimed De Bracy, "he must have escaped in the
monk's garments!"

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

"You deal with me better than your word, noble knight," whimpered forth
poor Wamba, whose habits of buffoonery were not to be overcome even
by the immediate prospect of death; "if you give me the red cap you
propose, out of a simple monk you will make a cardinal."

"The poor wretch," said De Bracy, "is resolved to die in his
vocation.--Front-de-Boeuf, you shall not slay him. Give him to me to
make sport for my Free Companions.--How sayst thou, knave? Wilt thou
take heart of grace, and go to the wars with me?"

"Ay, with my master's leave," said Wamba; "for, look you, I must
not slip collar" (and he touched that which he wore) "without his
permission."

"Oh, a Norman saw will soon cut a Saxon collar." said De Bracy.

"Ay, noble sir," said Wamba, "and thence goes the proverb--

     'Norman saw on English oak,
     On English neck a Norman yoke;
     Norman spoon in English dish,
     And England ruled as Normans wish;
     Blithe world to England never will be more,
     Till England's rid of all the four.'"

"Thou dost well, De Bracy," said Front-de-Boeuf, "to stand there
listening to a fool's jargon, when destruction is gaping for us! Seest
thou not we are overreached, and that our proposed mode of communicating
with our friends without has been disconcerted by this same motley
gentleman thou art so fond to brother? What views have we to expect but
instant storm?"

"To the battlements then," said De Bracy; "when didst thou ever see me
the graver for the thoughts of battle? Call the Templar yonder, and
let him fight but half so well for his life as he has done for his
Order--Make thou to the walls thyself with thy huge body--Let me do my
poor endeavour in my own way, and I tell thee the Saxon outlaws may as
well attempt to scale the clouds, as the castle of Torquilstone; or, if
you will treat with the banditti, why not employ the mediation of
this worthy franklin, who seems in such deep contemplation of the
wine-flagon?--Here, Saxon," he continued, addressing Athelstane, and
handing the cup to him, "rinse thy throat with that noble liquor, and
rouse up thy soul to say what thou wilt do for thy liberty."

"What a man of mould may," answered Athelstane, "providing it be what a
man of manhood ought.--Dismiss me free, with my companions, and I will
pay a ransom of a thousand marks."

"And wilt moreover assure us the retreat of that scum of mankind who
are swarming around the castle, contrary to God's peace and the king's?"
said Front-de-Boeuf.

"In so far as I can," answered Athelstane, "I will withdraw them; and I
fear not but that my father Cedric will do his best to assist me."

"We are agreed then," said Front-de-Boeuf--"thou and they are to be set
at freedom, and peace is to be on both sides, for payment of a thousand
marks. It is a trifling ransom, Saxon, and thou wilt owe gratitude to
the moderation which accepts of it in exchange of your persons. But
mark, this extends not to the Jew Isaac."

"Nor to the Jew Isaac's daughter," said the Templar, who had now joined
them.

"Neither," said Front-de-Boeuf, "belong to this Saxon's company."

"I were unworthy to be called Christian, if they did," replied
Athelstane: "deal with the unbelievers as ye list."

"Neither does the ransom include the Lady Rowena," said De Bracy. "It
shall never be said I was scared out of a fair prize without striking a
blow for it."

"Neither," said Front-de-Boeuf, "does our treaty refer to this wretched
Jester, whom I retain, that I may make him an example to every knave who
turns jest into earnest."

"The Lady Rowena," answered Athelstane, with the most steady
countenance, "is my affianced bride. I will be drawn by wild horses
before I consent to part with her. The slave Wamba has this day saved
the life of my father Cedric--I will lose mine ere a hair of his head be
injured."

"Thy affianced bride?--The Lady Rowena the affianced bride of a vassal
like thee?" said De Bracy; "Saxon, thou dreamest that the days of thy
seven kingdoms are returned again. I tell thee, the Princes of the House
of Anjou confer not their wards on men of such lineage as thine."

"My lineage, proud Norman," replied Athelstane, "is drawn from a source
more pure and ancient than that of a beggarly Frenchman, whose living
is won by selling the blood of the thieves whom he assembles under his
paltry standard. Kings were my ancestors, strong in war and wise in
council, who every day feasted in their hall more hundreds than thou
canst number individual followers; whose names have been sung by
minstrels, and their laws recorded by Wittenagemotes; whose bones were
interred amid the prayers of saints, and over whose tombs minsters have
been builded."

"Thou hast it, De Bracy," said Front-de-Boeuf, well pleased with the
rebuff which his companion had received; "the Saxon hath hit thee
fairly."

"As fairly as a captive can strike," said De Bracy, with apparent
carelessness; "for he whose hands are tied should have his tongue at
freedom.--But thy glibness of reply, comrade," rejoined he, speaking to
Athelstane, "will not win the freedom of the Lady Rowena."

To this Athelstane, who had already made a longer speech than was his
custom to do on any topic, however interesting, returned no answer. The
conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a menial, who announced
that a monk demanded admittance at the postern gate.

"In the name of Saint Bennet, the prince of these bull-beggars," said
Front-de-Boeuf, "have we a real monk this time, or another impostor?
Search him, slaves--for an ye suffer a second impostor to be palmed
upon you, I will have your eyes torn out, and hot coals put into the
sockets."

"Let me endure the extremity of your anger, my lord," said Giles, "if
this be not a real shaveling. Your squire Jocelyn knows him well, and
will vouch him to be brother Ambrose, a monk in attendance upon the
Prior of Jorvaulx."

"Admit him," said Front-de-Boeuf; "most likely he brings us news from
his jovial master. Surely the devil keeps holiday, and the priests are
relieved from duty, that they are strolling thus wildly through the
country. Remove these prisoners; and, Saxon, think on what thou hast
heard."

"I claim," said Athelstane, "an honourable imprisonment, with due care
of my board and of my couch, as becomes my rank, and as is due to one
who is in treaty for ransom. Moreover, I hold him that deems himself the
best of you, bound to answer to me with his body for this aggression on
my freedom. This defiance hath already been sent to thee by thy sewer;
thou underliest it, and art bound to answer me--There lies my glove."

"I answer not the challenge of my prisoner," said Front-de-Boeuf;
"nor shalt thou, Maurice de Bracy.--Giles," he continued, "hang the
franklin's glove upon the tine of yonder branched antlers: there shall
it remain until he is a free man. Should he then presume to demand it,
or to affirm he was unlawfully made my prisoner, by the belt of Saint
Christopher, he will speak to one who hath never refused to meet a foe
on foot or on horseback, alone or with his vassals at his back!"

The Saxon prisoners were accordingly removed, just as they introduced
the monk Ambrose, who appeared to be in great perturbation.

"This is the real 'Deus vobiscum'," said Wamba, as he passed the
reverend brother; "the others were but counterfeits."

"Holy Mother," said the monk, as he addressed the assembled knights, "I
am at last safe and in Christian keeping!"

"Safe thou art," replied De Bracy; "and for Christianity, here is the
stout Baron Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, whose utter abomination is a Jew;
and the good Knight Templar, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whose trade is to
slay Saracens--If these are not good marks of Christianity, I know no
other which they bear about them."

"Ye are friends and allies of our reverend father in God, Aymer, Prior
of Jorvaulx," said the monk, without noticing the tone of De Bracy's
reply; "ye owe him aid both by knightly faith and holy charity; for what
saith the blessed Saint Augustin, in his treatise 'De Civitate Dei'---"

"What saith the devil!" interrupted Front-de-Boeuf; "or rather what dost
thou say, Sir Priest? We have little time to hear texts from the holy
fathers."

"'Sancta Maria!'" ejaculated Father Ambrose, "how prompt to ire are
these unhallowed laymen!--But be it known to you, brave knights,
that certain murderous caitiffs, casting behind them fear of God, and
reverence of his church, and not regarding the bull of the holy see, 'Si
quis, suadende Diabolo'---"

"Brother priest," said the Templar, "all this we know or guess at--tell
us plainly, is thy master, the Prior, made prisoner, and to whom?"

"Surely," said Ambrose, "he is in the hands of the men of Belial,
infesters of these woods, and contemners of the holy text, 'Touch not
mine anointed, and do my prophets naught of evil.'"

"Here is a new argument for our swords, sirs," said Front-de-Boeuf,
turning to his companions; "and so, instead of reaching us any
assistance, the Prior of Jorvaulx requests aid at our hands? a man is
well helped of these lazy churchmen when he hath most to do!--But speak
out, priest, and say at once, what doth thy master expect from us?"

"So please you," said Ambrose, "violent hands having been imposed on my
reverend superior, contrary to the holy ordinance which I did already
quote, and the men of Belial having rifled his mails and budgets, and
stripped him of two hundred marks of pure refined gold, they do yet
demand of him a large sum beside, ere they will suffer him to depart
from their uncircumcised hands. Wherefore the reverend father in God
prays you, as his dear friends, to rescue him, either by paying down
the ransom at which they hold him, or by force of arms, at your best
discretion."

"The foul fiend quell the Prior!" said Front-de-Boeuf; "his morning's
drought has been a deep one. When did thy master hear of a Norman baron
unbuckling his purse to relieve a churchman, whose bags are ten times
as weighty as ours?--And how can we do aught by valour to free him, that
are cooped up here by ten times our number, and expect an assault every
moment?"

"And that was what I was about to tell you," said the monk, "had your
hastiness allowed me time. But, God help me, I am old, and these foul
onslaughts distract an aged man's brain. Nevertheless, it is of verity
that they assemble a camp, and raise a bank against the walls of this
castle."

"To the battlements!" cried De Bracy, "and let us mark what these knaves
do without;" and so saying, he opened a latticed window which led to
a sort of bartisan or projecting balcony, and immediately called from
thence to those in the apartment--"Saint Dennis, but the old monk hath
brought true tidings!--They bring forward mantelets and pavisses, [32]
and the archers muster on the skirts of the wood like a dark cloud
before a hailstorm."

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

"De Bracy, look to the eastern side, where the walls are lowest--Noble
Bois-Guilbert, thy trade hath well taught thee how to attack and defend,
look thou to the western side--I myself will take post at the barbican.
Yet, do not confine your exertions to any one spot, noble friends!--we
must this day be everywhere, and multiply ourselves, were it possible,
so as to carry by our presence succour and relief wherever the attack is
hottest. Our numbers are few, but activity and courage may supply that
defect, since we have only to do with rascal clowns."

"But, noble knights," exclaimed Father Ambrose, amidst the bustle and
confusion occasioned by the preparations for defence, "will none of
ye hear the message of the reverend father in God Aymer, Prior of
Jorvaulx?--I beseech thee to hear me, noble Sir Reginald!"

"Go patter thy petitions to heaven," said the fierce Norman, "for we
on earth have no time to listen to them.--Ho! there, Anselm I see that
seething pitch and oil are ready to pour on the heads of these audacious
traitors--Look that the cross-bowmen lack not bolts. [33]--Fling abroad
my banner with the old bull's head--the knaves shall soon find with whom
they have to do this day!"

"But, noble sir," continued the monk, persevering in his endeavours
to draw attention, "consider my vow of obedience, and let me discharge
myself of my Superior's errand."

"Away with this prating dotard," said Front-de Boeuf, "lock him up in
the chapel, to tell his beads till the broil be over. It will be a new
thing to the saints in Torquilstone to hear aves and paters; they have
not been so honoured, I trow, since they were cut out of stone."

"Blaspheme not the holy saints, Sir Reginald," said De Bracy, "we shall
have need of their aid to-day before yon rascal rout disband."

"I expect little aid from their hand," said Front-de-Boeuf, "unless we
were to hurl them from the battlements on the heads of the villains.
There is a huge lumbering Saint Christopher yonder, sufficient to bear a
whole company to the earth."

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

"By the faith of mine order," he said, "these men approach with more
touch of discipline than could have been judged, however they come by
it. See ye how dexterously they avail themselves of every cover which
a tree or bush affords, and shun exposing themselves to the shot of our
cross-bows? I spy neither banner nor pennon among them, and yet will
I gage my golden chain, that they are led on by some noble knight or
gentleman, skilful in the practice of wars."

"I espy him," said De Bracy; "I see the waving of a knight's crest,
and the gleam of his armour. See yon tall man in the black mail, who is
busied marshalling the farther troop of the rascaille yeomen--by Saint
Dennis, I hold him to be the same whom we called 'Le Noir Faineant', who
overthrew thee, Front-de-Boeuf, in the lists at Ashby."

"So much the better," said Front-de-Boeuf, "that he comes here to give
me my revenge. Some hilding fellow he must be, who dared not stay to
assert his claim to the tourney prize which chance had assigned him. I
should in vain have sought for him where knights and nobles seek their
foes, and right glad am I he hath here shown himself among yon villain
yeomanry."

The demonstrations of the enemy's immediate approach cut off all farther
discourse. Each knight repaired to his post, and at the head of the
few followers whom they were able to muster, and who were in numbers
inadequate to defend the whole extent of the walls, they awaited with
calm determination the threatened assault.

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

completion: This chapter's epigraph is two passages from George Crabbe's poem "The Hall of Justice." The first part of the quote is in the voice of a judge condemning the second speaker for his crimes. The second part of the quote is from the criminal, who wants to confess his terrible life. Urfried doesn't lead Cedric out of the castle, as she promised. Instead, she leads him to a room where they can talk. Urfried knows that Cedric is a Saxon, and she wants to tell him her life story. Urfried is the daughter of Torquil Wolfganger, Cedric's father's friend. Urfried realizes that the man in front of her is none other than Cedric of Rotherwood. Cedric is equally shocked to realize that Urfried is none other than Ulrica, whom the Saxons had all mourned as dead. She was taken prisoner by Reginald Front-de-Boeuf Senior, the current Front-de-Boeuf's father. Reginald Front-de-Boeuf Senior murdered Ulrica's father. Throughout her captivity, she has hated the Normans. She has done her best to encourage their rivalries and in-fighting. Her greatest achievement was in provoking Reginald Front-de-Boeuf Junior into killing his father. But with the death of her rapist , Ulrica lost all of her power in the Front-de-Boeuf household. She has been reduced to the status of a servant, and grown aged and vicious. Cedric thinks it would have been better if she had died rather than live this sinful life. Ulrica begs Cedric not to leave her behind. Otherwise she will tell Front-de-Boeuf who Cedric really is underneath his friar disguise. Cedric is so disgusted by her that he won't stand by her side. He tells Ulrica to repent for her evil life. Ulrica resolves to live from now on as a true daughter of Torquil Wolfganger. Reginald Front-de-Boeuf arrives and Ulrica disappears. Front-de-Boeuf asks if the prisoners have been given their last rites. Cedric says they have. Cedric explains that he can only speak Saxon because he is a friar of Saint Withold . Front-de-Boeuf instructs Cedric to tell the outlaws whatever he can think of to make them stay at Torquilstone for 24 hours. Then Front-de-Boeuf asks if Cedric can read. Cedric says he cannot. Front-de-Boeuf instructs Cedric to take a written message to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin. Front-de-Boeuf wants to use his "friar" to delay the outlaws and to bring Norman reinforcements to destroy them. Front-de-Boeuf believes that the "friar" will help, even if he is a Saxon, because the outlaws rob churchmen and ordinary folk alike. Front-de-Boeuf watches Cedric leave the castle. Front-de-Boeuf then goes to Cedric's cell. He quickly realizes that the "Cedric" in the cell is an impostor, Wamba the jester. Front-de-Boeuf finally gets that the "friar" to whom he was just talking was Cedric himself. De Bracy sees that Wamba is willing to die for his master and tells Front-de-Boeuf to have mercy. The Normans turn to Athelstane. Athelstane offers them a thousand marks for his freedom. They agree to let him go if he will pull back the Saxon outlaws from Torquilstone. Also, Athelstane's ransom does not include Rebecca and Isaac. Athelstane is fine with that; he doesn't want to help two Jewish people anyway. De Bracy wants to keep Rowena, and Front-de-Boeuf wants to keep Wamba so he can torture and kill him. Athelstane protests that Rowena is his fiance. A monk arrives at the door of the castle. This time, it's a real monk - Brother Ambrose, a servant of Prior Aymer. Athelstane challenges the best knight among them to a duel, to pay for illegally capturing him. Front-de-Boeuf will agree to a duel once Athelstane is free and the ransom paid. The Saxon prisoners are taken away. Brother Ambrose arrives bringing news that Prior Aymer has been kidnapped by the Saxons. Prior Aymer hopes the Norman knights will ransom him. Brother Ambrose also says that the Saxons outside are preparing to set siege on the castle. Front-de-Boeuf calls his men to arms. De Bracy recognizes the Black Knight among the castle's attackers. Front-de-Boeuf wants revenge against the Black Knight for his defeat during the tournament. The knights arrange themselves for battle.


prompt:
Chapter: This wandering race, sever'd from other men,
     Boast yet their intercourse with human arts;
     The seas, the woods, the deserts, which they haunt,
     Find them acquainted with their secret treasures:
     And unregarded herbs, and flowers, and blossoms,
     Display undreamt-of powers when gather'd by them.
     --The Jew

Our history must needs retrograde for the space of a few pages, to
inform the reader of certain passages material to his understanding the
rest of this important narrative. His own intelligence may indeed have
easily anticipated that, when Ivanhoe sunk down, and seemed abandoned by
all the world, it was the importunity of Rebecca which prevailed on her
father to have the gallant young warrior transported from the lists to
the house which for the time the Jews inhabited in the suburbs of Ashby.

It would not have been difficult to have persuaded Isaac to this step in
any other circumstances, for his disposition was kind and grateful. But
he had also the prejudices and scrupulous timidity of his persecuted
people, and those were to be conquered.

"Holy Abraham!" he exclaimed, "he is a good youth, and my heart bleeds
to see the gore trickle down his rich embroidered hacqueton, and his
corslet of goodly price--but to carry him to our house!--damsel, hast
thou well considered?--he is a Christian, and by our law we may not deal
with the stranger and Gentile, save for the advantage of our commerce."

"Speak not so, my dear father," replied Rebecca; "we may not indeed mix
with them in banquet and in jollity; but in wounds and in misery, the
Gentile becometh the Jew's brother."

"I would I knew what the Rabbi Jacob Ben Tudela would opine on it,"
replied Isaac;--"nevertheless, the good youth must not bleed to death.
Let Seth and Reuben bear him to Ashby."

"Nay, let them place him in my litter," said Rebecca; "I will mount one
of the palfreys."

"That were to expose thee to the gaze of those dogs of Ishmael and of
Edom," whispered Isaac, with a suspicious glance towards the crowd of
knights and squires. But Rebecca was already busied in carrying her
charitable purpose into effect, and listed not what he said, until
Isaac, seizing the sleeve of her mantle, again exclaimed, in a hurried
voice--"Beard of Aaron!--what if the youth perish!--if he die in our
custody, shall we not be held guilty of his blood, and be torn to pieces
by the multitude?"

"He will not die, my father," said Rebecca, gently extricating herself
from the grasp of Isaac "he will not die unless we abandon him; and if
so, we are indeed answerable for his blood to God and to man."

"Nay," said Isaac, releasing his hold, "it grieveth me as much to see
the drops of his blood, as if they were so many golden byzants from mine
own purse; and I well know, that the lessons of Miriam, daughter of the
Rabbi Manasses of Byzantium whose soul is in Paradise, have made thee
skilful in the art of healing, and that thou knowest the craft of herbs,
and the force of elixirs. Therefore, do as thy mind giveth thee--thou
art a good damsel, a blessing, and a crown, and a song of rejoicing unto
me and unto my house, and unto the people of my fathers."

The apprehensions of Isaac, however, were not ill founded; and the
generous and grateful benevolence of his daughter exposed her, on her
return to Ashby, to the unhallowed gaze of Brian de Bois-Guilbert. The
Templar twice passed and repassed them on the road, fixing his bold
and ardent look on the beautiful Jewess; and we have already seen the
consequences of the admiration which her charms excited when accident
threw her into the power of that unprincipled voluptuary.

Rebecca lost no time in causing the patient to be transported to their
temporary dwelling, and proceeded with her own hands to examine and
to bind up his wounds. The youngest reader of romances and romantic
ballads, must recollect how often the females, during the dark ages, as
they are called, were initiated into the mysteries of surgery, and how
frequently the gallant knight submitted the wounds of his person to her
cure, whose eyes had yet more deeply penetrated his heart.

But the Jews, both male and female, possessed and practised the medical
science in all its branches, and the monarchs and powerful barons of the
time frequently committed themselves to the charge of some experienced
sage among this despised people, when wounded or in sickness. The aid
of the Jewish physicians was not the less eagerly sought after, though
a general belief prevailed among the Christians, that the Jewish Rabbins
were deeply acquainted with the occult sciences, and particularly with
the cabalistical art, which had its name and origin in the studies of
the sages of Israel. Neither did the Rabbins disown such acquaintance
with supernatural arts, which added nothing (for what could add aught?)
to the hatred with which their nation was regarded, while it diminished
the contempt with which that malevolence was mingled. A Jewish magician
might be the subject of equal abhorrence with a Jewish usurer, but he
could not be equally despised. It is besides probable, considering the
wonderful cures they are said to have performed, that the Jews possessed
some secrets of the healing art peculiar to themselves, and which, with
the exclusive spirit arising out of their condition, they took great
care to conceal from the Christians amongst whom they dwelt.

The beautiful Rebecca had been heedfully brought up in all the knowledge
proper to her nation, which her apt and powerful mind had retained,
arranged, and enlarged, in the course of a progress beyond her years,
her sex, and even the age in which she lived. Her knowledge of medicine
and of the healing art had been acquired under an aged Jewess, the
daughter of one of their most celebrated doctors, who loved Rebecca as
her own child, and was believed to have communicated to her secrets,
which had been left to herself by her sage father at the same time, and
under the same circumstances. The fate of Miriam had indeed been to fall
a sacrifice to the fanaticism of the times; but her secrets had survived
in her apt pupil.

Rebecca, thus endowed with knowledge as with beauty, was universally
revered and admired by her own tribe, who almost regarded her as one of
those gifted women mentioned in the sacred history. Her father himself,
out of reverence for her talents, which involuntarily mingled itself
with his unbounded affection, permitted the maiden a greater liberty
than was usually indulged to those of her sex by the habits of her
people, and was, as we have just seen, frequently guided by her opinion,
even in preference to his own.

When Ivanhoe reached the habitation of Isaac, he was still in a state
of unconsciousness, owing to the profuse loss of blood which had taken
place during his exertions in the lists. Rebecca examined the wound,
and having applied to it such vulnerary remedies as her art prescribed,
informed her father that if fever could be averted, of which the great
bleeding rendered her little apprehensive, and if the healing balsam of
Miriam retained its virtue, there was nothing to fear for his guest's
life, and that he might with safety travel to York with them on the
ensuing day. Isaac looked a little blank at this annunciation. His
charity would willingly have stopped short at Ashby, or at most would
have left the wounded Christian to be tended in the house where he
was residing at present, with an assurance to the Hebrew to whom it
belonged, that all expenses should be duly discharged. To this, however,
Rebecca opposed many reasons, of which we shall only mention two that
had peculiar weight with Isaac. The one was, that she would on no
account put the phial of precious balsam into the hands of another
physician even of her own tribe, lest that valuable mystery should be
discovered; the other, that this wounded knight, Wilfred of Ivanhoe, was
an intimate favourite of Richard Coeur-de-Lion, and that, in case the
monarch should return, Isaac, who had supplied his brother John with
treasure to prosecute his rebellious purposes, would stand in no small
need of a powerful protector who enjoyed Richard's favour.

"Thou art speaking but sooth, Rebecca," said Isaac, giving way to these
weighty arguments--"it were an offending of Heaven to betray the secrets
of the blessed Miriam; for the good which Heaven giveth, is not rashly
to be squandered upon others, whether it be talents of gold and
shekels of silver, or whether it be the secret mysteries of a wise
physician--assuredly they should be preserved to those to whom
Providence hath vouchsafed them. And him whom the Nazarenes of England
call the Lion's Heart, assuredly it were better for me to fall into the
hands of a strong lion of Idumea than into his, if he shall have got
assurance of my dealing with his brother. Wherefore I will lend ear to
thy counsel, and this youth shall journey with us unto York, and our
house shall be as a home to him until his wounds shall be healed. And if
he of the Lion Heart shall return to the land, as is now noised abroad,
then shall this Wilfred of Ivanhoe be unto me as a wall of defence, when
the king's displeasure shall burn high against thy father. And if he
doth not return, this Wilfred may natheless repay us our charges when he
shall gain treasure by the strength of his spear and of his sword, even
as he did yesterday and this day also. For the youth is a good youth,
and keepeth the day which he appointeth, and restoreth that which he
borroweth, and succoureth the Israelite, even the child of my father's
house, when he is encompassed by strong thieves and sons of Belial."

It was not until evening was nearly closed that Ivanhoe was restored to
consciousness of his situation. He awoke from a broken slumber, under
the confused impressions which are naturally attendant on the recovery
from a state of insensibility. He was unable for some time to recall
exactly to memory the circumstances which had preceded his fall in the
lists, or to make out any connected chain of the events in which he had
been engaged upon the yesterday. A sense of wounds and injury, joined
to great weakness and exhaustion, was mingled with the recollection
of blows dealt and received, of steeds rushing upon each other,
overthrowing and overthrown--of shouts and clashing of arms, and all the
heady tumult of a confused fight. An effort to draw aside the curtain of
his couch was in some degree successful, although rendered difficult by
the pain of his wound.

To his great surprise he found himself in a room magnificently
furnished, but having cushions instead of chairs to rest upon, and in
other respects partaking so much of Oriental costume, that he began to
doubt whether he had not, during his sleep, been transported back
again to the land of Palestine. The impression was increased, when,
the tapestry being drawn aside, a female form, dressed in a rich habit,
which partook more of the Eastern taste than that of Europe, glided
through the door which it concealed, and was followed by a swarthy
domestic.

As the wounded knight was about to address this fair apparition, she
imposed silence by placing her slender finger upon her ruby lips, while
the attendant, approaching him, proceeded to uncover Ivanhoe's side, and
the lovely Jewess satisfied herself that the bandage was in its place,
and the wound doing well. She performed her task with a graceful and
dignified simplicity and modesty, which might, even in more civilized
days, have served to redeem it from whatever might seem repugnant to
female delicacy. The idea of so young and beautiful a person engaged in
attendance on a sick-bed, or in dressing the wound of one of a different
sex, was melted away and lost in that of a beneficent being contributing
her effectual aid to relieve pain, and to avert the stroke of death.
Rebecca's few and brief directions were given in the Hebrew language
to the old domestic; and he, who had been frequently her assistant in
similar cases, obeyed them without reply.

The accents of an unknown tongue, however harsh they might have sounded
when uttered by another, had, coming from the beautiful Rebecca,
the romantic and pleasing effect which fancy ascribes to the charms
pronounced by some beneficent fairy, unintelligible, indeed, to the ear,
but, from the sweetness of utterance, and benignity of aspect, which
accompanied them, touching and affecting to the heart. Without making
an attempt at further question, Ivanhoe suffered them in silence to take
the measures they thought most proper for his recovery; and it was not
until those were completed, and this kind physician about to retire,
that his curiosity could no longer be suppressed.--"Gentle maiden," he
began in the Arabian tongue, with which his Eastern travels had rendered
him familiar, and which he thought most likely to be understood by the
turban'd and caftan'd damsel who stood before him--"I pray you, gentle
maiden, of your courtesy---"

But here he was interrupted by his fair physician, a smile which she
could scarce suppress dimpling for an instant a face, whose general
expression was that of contemplative melancholy. "I am of England, Sir
Knight, and speak the English tongue, although my dress and my lineage
belong to another climate."

"Noble damsel,"--again the Knight of Ivanhoe began; and again Rebecca
hastened to interrupt him.

"Bestow not on me, Sir Knight," she said, "the epithet of noble. It is
well you should speedily know that your handmaiden is a poor Jewess, the
daughter of that Isaac of York, to whom you were so lately a good and
kind lord. It well becomes him, and those of his household, to render to
you such careful tendance as your present state necessarily demands."

I know not whether the fair Rowena would have been altogether satisfied
with the species of emotion with which her devoted knight had hitherto
gazed on the beautiful features, and fair form, and lustrous eyes, of
the lovely Rebecca; eyes whose brilliancy was shaded, and, as it were,
mellowed, by the fringe of her long silken eyelashes, and which a
minstrel would have compared to the evening star darting its rays
through a bower of jessamine. But Ivanhoe was too good a Catholic to
retain the same class of feelings towards a Jewess. This Rebecca had
foreseen, and for this very purpose she had hastened to mention her
father's name and lineage; yet--for the fair and wise daughter of Isaac
was not without a touch of female weakness--she could not but sigh
internally when the glance of respectful admiration, not altogether
unmixed with tenderness, with which Ivanhoe had hitherto regarded his
unknown benefactress, was exchanged at once for a manner cold, composed,
and collected, and fraught with no deeper feeling than that which
expressed a grateful sense of courtesy received from an unexpected
quarter, and from one of an inferior race. It was not that Ivanhoe's
former carriage expressed more than that general devotional homage which
youth always pays to beauty; yet it was mortifying that one word should
operate as a spell to remove poor Rebecca, who could not be supposed
altogether ignorant of her title to such homage, into a degraded class,
to whom it could not be honourably rendered.

But the gentleness and candour of Rebecca's nature imputed no fault to
Ivanhoe for sharing in the universal prejudices of his age and religion.
On the contrary the fair Jewess, though sensible her patient now
regarded her as one of a race of reprobation, with whom it was
disgraceful to hold any beyond the most necessary intercourse, ceased
not to pay the same patient and devoted attention to his safety and
convalescence. She informed him of the necessity they were under of
removing to York, and of her father's resolution to transport him
thither, and tend him in his own house until his health should be
restored. Ivanhoe expressed great repugnance to this plan, which he
grounded on unwillingness to give farther trouble to his benefactors.

"Was there not," he said, "in Ashby, or near it, some Saxon franklin,
or even some wealthy peasant, who would endure the burden of a wounded
countryman's residence with him until he should be again able to bear
his armour?--Was there no convent of Saxon endowment, where he could be
received?--Or could he not be transported as far as Burton, where he was
sure to find hospitality with Waltheoff, the Abbot of St Withold's, to
whom he was related?"

"Any, the worst of these harbourages," said Rebecca, with a melancholy
smile, "would unquestionably be more fitting for your residence than the
abode of a despised Jew; yet, Sir Knight, unless you would dismiss your
physician, you cannot change your lodging. Our nation, as you well know,
can cure wounds, though we deal not in inflicting them; and in our own
family, in particular, are secrets which have been handed down since
the days of Solomon, and of which you have already experienced the
advantages. No Nazarene--I crave your forgiveness, Sir Knight--no
Christian leech, within the four seas of Britain, could enable you to
bear your corslet within a month."

"And how soon wilt THOU enable me to brook it?" said Ivanhoe,
impatiently.

"Within eight days, if thou wilt be patient and conformable to my
directions," replied Rebecca.

"By Our Blessed Lady," said Wilfred, "if it be not a sin to name her
here, it is no time for me or any true knight to be bedridden; and if
thou accomplish thy promise, maiden, I will pay thee with my casque full
of crowns, come by them as I may."

"I will accomplish my promise," said Rebecca, "and thou shalt bear thine
armour on the eighth day from hence, if thou will grant me but one boon
in the stead of the silver thou dost promise me."

"If it be within my power, and such as a true Christian knight may yield
to one of thy people," replied Ivanhoe, "I will grant thy boon blithely
and thankfully."

"Nay," answered Rebecca, "I will but pray of thee to believe
henceforward that a Jew may do good service to a Christian, without
desiring other guerdon than the blessing of the Great Father who made
both Jew and Gentile."

"It were sin to doubt it, maiden," replied Ivanhoe; "and I repose myself
on thy skill without further scruple or question, well trusting you will
enable me to bear my corslet on the eighth day. And now, my kind leech,
let me enquire of the news abroad. What of the noble Saxon Cedric and
his household?--what of the lovely Lady--" He stopt, as if unwilling
to speak Rowena's name in the house of a Jew--"Of her, I mean, who was
named Queen of the tournament?"

"And who was selected by you, Sir Knight, to hold that dignity, with
judgment which was admired as much as your valour," replied Rebecca.

The blood which Ivanhoe had lost did not prevent a flush from crossing
his cheek, feeling that he had incautiously betrayed a deep interest in
Rowena by the awkward attempt he had made to conceal it.

"It was less of her I would speak," said he, "than of Prince John; and I
would fain know somewhat of a faithful squire, and why he now attends me
not?"

"Let me use my authority as a leech," answered Rebecca, "and enjoin you
to keep silence, and avoid agitating reflections, whilst I apprize you
of what you desire to know. Prince John hath broken off the tournament,
and set forward in all haste towards York, with the nobles, knights, and
churchmen of his party, after collecting such sums as they could wring,
by fair means or foul, from those who are esteemed the wealthy of the
land. It is said he designs to assume his brother's crown."

"Not without a blow struck in its defence," said Ivanhoe, raising
himself upon the couch, "if there were but one true subject in England I
will fight for Richard's title with the best of them--ay, one or two, in
his just quarrel!"

"But that you may be able to do so," said Rebecca touching his shoulder
with her hand, "you must now observe my directions, and remain quiet."

"True, maiden," said Ivanhoe, "as quiet as these disquieted times will
permit--And of Cedric and his household?"

"His steward came but brief while since," said the Jewess, "panting with
haste, to ask my father for certain monies, the price of wool the growth
of Cedric's flocks, and from him I learned that Cedric and Athelstane
of Coningsburgh had left Prince John's lodging in high displeasure, and
were about to set forth on their return homeward."

"Went any lady with them to the banquet?" said Wilfred.

"The Lady Rowena," said Rebecca, answering the question with more
precision than it had been asked--"The Lady Rowena went not to the
Prince's feast, and, as the steward reported to us, she is now on her
journey back to Rotherwood, with her guardian Cedric. And touching your
faithful squire Gurth---"

"Ha!" exclaimed the knight, "knowest thou his name?--But thou dost," he
immediately added, "and well thou mayst, for it was from thy hand, and,
as I am now convinced, from thine own generosity of spirit, that he
received but yesterday a hundred zecchins."

"Speak not of that," said Rebecca, blushing deeply; "I see how easy it
is for the tongue to betray what the heart would gladly conceal."

"But this sum of gold," said Ivanhoe, gravely, "my honour is concerned
in repaying it to your father."

"Let it be as thou wilt," said Rebecca, "when eight days have passed
away; but think not, and speak not now, of aught that may retard thy
recovery."

"Be it so, kind maiden," said Ivanhoe; "I were most ungrateful to
dispute thy commands. But one word of the fate of poor Gurth, and I have
done with questioning thee."

"I grieve to tell thee, Sir Knight," answered the Jewess, "that he is in
custody by the order of Cedric."--And then observing the distress which
her communication gave to Wilfred, she instantly added, "But the steward
Oswald said, that if nothing occurred to renew his master's displeasure
against him, he was sure that Cedric would pardon Gurth, a faithful
serf, and one who stood high in favour, and who had but committed
this error out of the love which he bore to Cedric's son. And he said,
moreover, that he and his comrades, and especially Wamba the Jester,
were resolved to warn Gurth to make his escape by the way, in case
Cedric's ire against him could not be mitigated."

"Would to God they may keep their purpose!" said Ivanhoe; "but it seems
as if I were destined to bring ruin on whomsoever hath shown kindness to
me. My king, by whom I was honoured and distinguished, thou seest
that the brother most indebted to him is raising his arms to grasp his
crown;--my regard hath brought restraint and trouble on the fairest of
her sex;--and now my father in his mood may slay this poor bondsman
but for his love and loyal service to me!--Thou seest, maiden, what an
ill-fated wretch thou dost labour to assist; be wise, and let me go, ere
the misfortunes which track my footsteps like slot-hounds, shall involve
thee also in their pursuit."

"Nay," said Rebecca, "thy weakness and thy grief, Sir Knight, make thee
miscalculate the purposes of Heaven. Thou hast been restored to thy
country when it most needed the assistance of a strong hand and a true
heart, and thou hast humbled the pride of thine enemies and those of thy
king, when their horn was most highly exalted, and for the evil which
thou hast sustained, seest thou not that Heaven has raised thee a helper
and a physician, even among the most despised of the land?--Therefore,
be of good courage, and trust that thou art preserved for some marvel
which thine arm shall work before this people. Adieu--and having taken
the medicine which I shall send thee by the hand of Reuben, compose
thyself again to rest, that thou mayest be the more able to endure the
journey on the succeeding day."

Ivanhoe was convinced by the reasoning, and obeyed the directions, of
Rebecca. The drought which Reuben administered was of a sedative
and narcotic quality, and secured the patient sound and undisturbed
slumbers. In the morning his kind physician found him entirely free from
feverish symptoms, and fit to undergo the fatigue of a journey.

He was deposited in the horse-litter which had brought him from the
lists, and every precaution taken for his travelling with ease. In one
circumstance only even the entreaties of Rebecca were unable to secure
sufficient attention to the accommodation of the wounded knight. Isaac,
like the enriched traveller of Juvenal's tenth satire, had ever the fear
of robbery before his eyes, conscious that he would be alike accounted
fair game by the marauding Norman noble, and by the Saxon outlaw. He
therefore journeyed at a great rate, and made short halts, and shorter
repasts, so that he passed by Cedric and Athelstane who had several
hours the start of him, but who had been delayed by their protracted
feasting at the convent of Saint Withold's. Yet such was the virtue of
Miriam's balsam, or such the strength of Ivanhoe's constitution, that
he did not sustain from the hurried journey that inconvenience which his
kind physician had apprehended.

In another point of view, however, the Jew's haste proved somewhat more
than good speed. The rapidity with which he insisted on travelling, bred
several disputes between him and the party whom he had hired to attend
him as a guard. These men were Saxons, and not free by any means from
the national love of ease and good living which the Normans stigmatized
as laziness and gluttony. Reversing Shylock's position, they had
accepted the employment in hopes of feeding upon the wealthy Jew, and
were very much displeased when they found themselves disappointed,
by the rapidity with which he insisted on their proceeding. They
remonstrated also upon the risk of damage to their horses by these
forced marches. Finally, there arose betwixt Isaac and his satellites a
deadly feud, concerning the quantity of wine and ale to be allowed for
consumption at each meal. And thus it happened, that when the alarm of
danger approached, and that which Isaac feared was likely to come upon
him, he was deserted by the discontented mercenaries on whose protection
he had relied, without using the means necessary to secure their
attachment.

In this deplorable condition the Jew, with his daughter and her wounded
patient, were found by Cedric, as has already been noticed, and soon
afterwards fell into the power of De Bracy and his confederates.
Little notice was at first taken of the horse-litter, and it might have
remained behind but for the curiosity of De Bracy, who looked into it
under the impression that it might contain the object of his enterprise,
for Rowena had not unveiled herself. But De Bracy's astonishment was
considerable, when he discovered that the litter contained a wounded
man, who, conceiving himself to have fallen into the power of Saxon
outlaws, with whom his name might be a protection for himself and his
friends, frankly avowed himself to be Wilfred of Ivanhoe.

The ideas of chivalrous honour, which, amidst his wildness and levity,
never utterly abandoned De Bracy, prohibited him from doing the knight
any injury in his defenceless condition, and equally interdicted his
betraying him to Front-de-Boeuf, who would have had no scruples to put
to death, under any circumstances, the rival claimant of the fief of
Ivanhoe. On the other hand, to liberate a suitor preferred by the Lady
Rowena, as the events of the tournament, and indeed Wilfred's previous
banishment from his father's house, had made matter of notoriety, was
a pitch far above the flight of De Bracy's generosity. A middle
course betwixt good and evil was all which he found himself capable of
adopting, and he commanded two of his own squires to keep close by the
litter, and to suffer no one to approach it. If questioned, they were
directed by their master to say, that the empty litter of the Lady
Rowena was employed to transport one of their comrades who had been
wounded in the scuffle. On arriving at Torquilstone, while the Knight
Templar and the lord of that castle were each intent upon their own
schemes, the one on the Jew's treasure, and the other on his daughter,
De Bracy's squires conveyed Ivanhoe, still under the name of a wounded
comrade, to a distant apartment. This explanation was accordingly
returned by these men to Front-de-Boeuf, when he questioned them why
they did not make for the battlements upon the alarm.

"A wounded companion!" he replied in great wrath and astonishment. "No
wonder that churls and yeomen wax so presumptuous as even to lay leaguer
before castles, and that clowns and swineherds send defiances to nobles,
since men-at-arms have turned sick men's nurses, and Free Companions are
grown keepers of dying folk's curtains, when the castle is about to be
assailed.--To the battlements, ye loitering villains!" he exclaimed,
raising his stentorian voice till the arches around rung again, "to the
battlements, or I will splinter your bones with this truncheon!"

The men sulkily replied, "that they desired nothing better than to go to
the battlements, providing Front-de-Boeuf would bear them out with their
master, who had commanded them to tend the dying man."

"The dying man, knaves!" rejoined the Baron; "I promise thee we shall
all be dying men an we stand not to it the more stoutly. But I
will relieve the guard upon this caitiff companion of yours.--Here,
Urfried--hag--fiend of a Saxon witch--hearest me not?--tend me this
bedridden fellow since he must needs be tended, whilst these knaves
use their weapons.--Here be two arblasts, comrades, with windlaces and
quarrells [34]--to the barbican with you, and see you drive each bolt
through a Saxon brain."

The men, who, like most of their description, were fond of enterprise
and detested inaction, went joyfully to the scene of danger as they were
commanded, and thus the charge of Ivanhoe was transferred to Urfried,
or Ulrica. But she, whose brain was burning with remembrance of injuries
and with hopes of vengeance, was readily induced to devolve upon Rebecca
the care of her patient.

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

completion: This chapter starts with another set of lines from Scott himself, from a poem called "The Jew." The poem describes the Jewish people's great knowledge and learning, particularly in medicine. Our story backtracks quite a bit, to the end of the tournament at Ashby. Rebecca convinces her father to bring the injured Ivanhoe to their temporary home south of Ashby. Isaac knows that Rebecca is a skilled healer, but he worries what will happen if the Christians see a group of Jews carrying Ivanhoe away. Indeed, it's while Rebecca is rescuing Ivanhoe that Bois-Guilbert first sees her, with the consequences that we see in Chapter 24. As soon as Rebecca gets Ivanhoe to her house, she starts to treat his injuries. He regains consciousness that evening. Ivanhoe is totally confused about where he is, but he is very attracted to the beautiful woman tending his wounds. Rebecca introduces herself as the daughter of Isaac of York. As soon as Ivanhoe realizes that Rebecca is a Jew, he grows distant with her. Rebecca understands that Ivanhoe has the prejudices of his people . Rebecca explains that her medicine will heal him more quickly than a Christian doctor's. With Rebecca's help, Ivanhoe will be able to fight again in eight days. Ivanhoe asks for news of everyone at the tournament. Rebecca tells him what she has heard: Prince John plans to go to York to claim King Richard's crown. Cedric and Athelstane have left Prince's John's banquet in a fury. Rowena did not go to dinner with Prince John. She is on her way home from Ashby to Rotherwood. And as for Gurth... Ivanhoe guesses rightly correctly Rebecca is the one who gave Gurth a hundred coins for Ivanhoe's armor and horse, after Ivanhoe tried to repay Isaac. Rebecca tells Ivanhoe not to worry about the money. She adds that Gurth has been arrested by Cedric for running away. Cedric will certainly pardon Gurth, though, and if Cedric doesn't, Gurth's friend Wamba will help him escape. Ivanhoe is miserable at all of this bad news, but Rebecca tells him to be calm. Ivanhoe can travel with Rebecca and Isaac when they return to York the following day. That way, when he's better, he'll be in York to help prevent Prince John from stealing King Richard's throne. Ivanhoe agrees. Rebecca sedates Ivanhoe and places him in a horse-litter for the trip to York. Isaac continues to worry that Ivanhoe's presence will slow them down and make them more vulnerable to robbery, so Isaac hires six guards to help escort them. This doesn't work out so well because, as we saw in Chapter 19, these guards all desert Isaac when he needs them. It's in this sorry state that Cedric and Athelstane find Isaac and Rebecca as they travel back to Rotherwood. And when De Bracy ambushes the Saxons, he is completely surprised to find Ivanhoe, unconscious, in the horse-litter. De Bracy's code of honor prevents him from injuring Ivanhoe while he's too weak to defend himself. De Bracy also cannot betray Ivanhoe to Front-de-Boeuf in his current condition, so he claims that Ivanhoe is a wounded comrade of his. Front-de-Boeuf orders Ulrica to look after the wounded man, but Ulrica happily lets Rebecca take on Ivanhoe's care.