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.

     Ascend the watch-tower yonder, valiant soldier,
     Look on the field, and say how goes the battle.
     --Schiller's Maid of Orleans

A moment of peril is often also a moment of open-hearted kindness and
affection. We are thrown off our guard by the general agitation of our
feelings, and betray the intensity of those, which, at more tranquil
periods, our prudence at least conceals, if it cannot altogether
suppress them. In finding herself once more by the side of Ivanhoe,
Rebecca was astonished at the keen sensation of pleasure which she
experienced, even at a time when all around them both was danger, if not
despair. As she felt his pulse, and enquired after his health, there was
a softness in her touch and in her accents implying a kinder interest
than she would herself have been pleased to have voluntarily expressed.
Her voice faltered and her hand trembled, and it was only the cold
question of Ivanhoe, "Is it you, gentle maiden?" which recalled her to
herself, and reminded her the sensations which she felt were not and
could not be mutual. A sigh escaped, but it was scarce audible; and the
questions which she asked the knight concerning his state of health were
put in the tone of calm friendship. Ivanhoe answered her hastily that
he was, in point of health, as well, and better than he could have
expected--"Thanks," he said, "dear Rebecca, to thy helpful skill."

"He calls me DEAR Rebecca," said the maiden to herself, "but it is in
the cold and careless tone which ill suits the word. His war-horse--his
hunting hound, are dearer to him than the despised Jewess!"

"My mind, gentle maiden," continued Ivanhoe, "is more disturbed by
anxiety, than my body with pain. From the speeches of those men who
were my warders just now, I learn that I am a prisoner, and, if I judge
aright of the loud hoarse voice which even now dispatched them hence
on some military duty, I am in the castle of Front-de-Boeuf--If so, how
will this end, or how can I protect Rowena and my father?"

"He names not the Jew or Jewess," said Rebecca internally; "yet what is
our portion in him, and how justly am I punished by Heaven for
letting my thoughts dwell upon him!" She hastened after this brief
self-accusation to give Ivanhoe what information she could; but it
amounted only to this, that the Templar Bois-Guilbert, and the
Baron Front-de-Boeuf, were commanders within the castle; that it was
beleaguered from without, but by whom she knew not. She added, that
there was a Christian priest within the castle who might be possessed of
more information.

"A Christian priest!" said the knight, joyfully; "fetch him hither,
Rebecca, if thou canst--say a sick man desires his ghostly counsel--say
what thou wilt, but bring him--something I must do or attempt, but how
can I determine until I know how matters stand without?"

Rebecca in compliance with the wishes of Ivanhoe, made that attempt to
bring Cedric into the wounded Knight's chamber, which was defeated as we
have already seen by the interference of Urfried, who had also been on
the watch to intercept the supposed monk. Rebecca retired to communicate
to Ivanhoe the result of her errand.

They had not much leisure to regret the failure of this source of
intelligence, or to contrive by what means it might be supplied; for the
noise within the castle, occasioned by the defensive preparations which
had been considerable for some time, now increased into tenfold bustle
and clamour. The heavy, yet hasty step of the men-at-arms, traversed the
battlements or resounded on the narrow and winding passages and stairs
which led to the various bartisans and points of defence. The voices of
the knights were heard, animating their followers, or directing means
of defence, while their commands were often drowned in the clashing of
armour, or the clamorous shouts of those whom they addressed. Tremendous
as these sounds were, and yet more terrible from the awful event which
they presaged, there was a sublimity mixed with them, which Rebecca's
high-toned mind could feel even in that moment of terror. Her eye
kindled, although the blood fled from her cheeks; and there was a
strong mixture of fear, and of a thrilling sense of the sublime, as she
repeated, half whispering to herself, half speaking to her companion,
the sacred text,--"The quiver rattleth--the glittering spear and the
shield--the noise of the captains and the shouting!"

But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime passage, glowing with
impatience at his inactivity, and with his ardent desire to mingle in
the affray of which these sounds were the introduction. "If I could
but drag myself," he said, "to yonder window, that I might see how
this brave game is like to go--If I had but bow to shoot a shaft, or
battle-axe to strike were it but a single blow for our deliverance!--It
is in vain--it is in vain--I am alike nerveless and weaponless!"

"Fret not thyself, noble knight," answered Rebecca, "the sounds have
ceased of a sudden--it may be they join not battle."

"Thou knowest nought of it," said Wilfred, impatiently; "this dead pause
only shows that the men are at their posts on the walls, and expecting
an instant attack; what we have heard was but the instant muttering of
the storm--it will burst anon in all its fury.--Could I but reach yonder
window!"

"Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt, noble knight," replied his
attendant. Observing his extreme solicitude, she firmly added, "I myself
will stand at the lattice, and describe to you as I can what passes
without."

"You must not--you shall not!" exclaimed Ivanhoe; "each lattice, each
aperture, will be soon a mark for the archers; some random shaft--"

"It shall be welcome!" murmured Rebecca, as with firm pace she ascended
two or three steps, which led to the window of which they spoke.

"Rebecca, dear Rebecca!" exclaimed Ivanhoe, "this is no maiden's
pastime--do not expose thyself to wounds and death, and render me for
ever miserable for having given the occasion; at least, cover thyself
with yonder ancient buckler, and show as little of your person at the
lattice as may be."

Following with wonderful promptitude the directions of Ivanhoe, and
availing herself of the protection of the large ancient shield, which
she placed against the lower part of the window, Rebecca, with tolerable
security to herself, could witness part of what was passing without the
castle, and report to Ivanhoe the preparations which the assailants were
making for the storm. Indeed the situation which she thus obtained was
peculiarly favourable for this purpose, because, being placed on an
angle of the main building, Rebecca could not only see what passed
beyond the precincts of the castle, but also commanded a view of the
outwork likely to be the first object of the meditated assault. It was
an exterior fortification of no great height or strength, intended
to protect the postern-gate, through which Cedric had been recently
dismissed by Front-de-Boeuf. The castle moat divided this species of
barbican from the rest of the fortress, so that, in case of its being
taken, it was easy to cut off the communication with the main building,
by withdrawing the temporary bridge. In the outwork was a sallyport
corresponding to the postern of the castle, and the whole was surrounded
by a strong palisade. Rebecca could observe, from the number of men
placed for the defence of this post, that the besieged entertained
apprehensions for its safety; and from the mustering of the assailants
in a direction nearly opposite to the outwork, it seemed no less plain
that it had been selected as a vulnerable point of attack.

These appearances she hastily communicated to Ivanhoe, and added, "The
skirts of the wood seem lined with archers, although only a few are
advanced from its dark shadow."

"Under what banner?" asked Ivanhoe.

"Under no ensign of war which I can observe," answered Rebecca.

"A singular novelty," muttered the knight, "to advance to storm such a
castle without pennon or banner displayed!--Seest thou who they be that
act as leaders?"

"A knight, clad in sable armour, is the most conspicuous," said the
Jewess; "he alone is armed from head to heel, and seems to assume the
direction of all around him."

"What device does he bear on his shield?" replied Ivanhoe.

"Something resembling a bar of iron, and a padlock painted blue on the
black shield." [35]

"A fetterlock and shacklebolt azure," said Ivanhoe; "I know not who may
bear the device, but well I ween it might now be mine own. Canst thou
not see the motto?"

"Scarce the device itself at this distance," replied Rebecca; "but when
the sun glances fair upon his shield, it shows as I tell you."

"Seem there no other leaders?" exclaimed the anxious enquirer.

"None of mark and distinction that I can behold from this station," said
Rebecca; "but, doubtless, the other side of the castle is also assailed.
They appear even now preparing to advance--God of Zion, protect
us!--What a dreadful sight!--Those who advance first bear huge shields
and defences made of plank; the others follow, bending their bows
as they come on.--They raise their bows!--God of Moses, forgive the
creatures thou hast made!"

Her description was here suddenly interrupted by the signal for assault,
which was given by the blast of a shrill bugle, and at once answered by
a flourish of the Norman trumpets from the battlements, which,
mingled with the deep and hollow clang of the nakers, (a species of
kettle-drum,) retorted in notes of defiance the challenge of the enemy.
The shouts of both parties augmented the fearful din, the assailants
crying, "Saint George for merry England!" and the Normans answering
them with loud cries of "En avant De Bracy!--Beau-seant!
Beau-seant!--Front-de-Boeuf a la rescousse!" according to the war-cries
of their different commanders.

It was not, however, by clamour that the contest was to be decided, and
the desperate efforts of the assailants were met by an equally vigorous
defence on the part of the besieged. The archers, trained by their
woodland pastimes to the most effective use of the long-bow, shot, to
use the appropriate phrase of the time, so "wholly together," that
no point at which a defender could show the least part of his person,
escaped their cloth-yard shafts. By this heavy discharge, which
continued as thick and sharp as hail, while, notwithstanding, every
arrow had its individual aim, and flew by scores together against each
embrasure and opening in the parapets, as well as at every window where
a defender either occasionally had post, or might be suspected to be
stationed,--by this sustained discharge, two or three of the garrison
were slain, and several others wounded. But, confident in their armour
of proof, and in the cover which their situation afforded, the followers
of Front-de-Boeuf, and his allies, showed an obstinacy in defence
proportioned to the fury of the attack and replied with the discharge
of their large cross-bows, as well as with their long-bows, slings, and
other missile weapons, to the close and continued shower of arrows;
and, as the assailants were necessarily but indifferently protected, did
considerably more damage than they received at their hand. The whizzing
of shafts and of missiles, on both sides, was only interrupted by the
shouts which arose when either side inflicted or sustained some notable
loss.

"And I must lie here like a bedridden monk," exclaimed Ivanhoe, "while
the game that gives me freedom or death is played out by the hand of
others!--Look from the window once again, kind maiden, but beware that
you are not marked by the archers beneath--Look out once more, and tell
me if they yet advance to the storm."

With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which she had
employed in mental devotion, Rebecca again took post at the lattice,
sheltering herself, however, so as not to be visible from beneath.

"What dost thou see, Rebecca?" again demanded the wounded knight.

"Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle mine eyes,
and to hide the bowmen who shoot them."

"That cannot endure," said Ivanhoe; "if they press not right on to
carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but little
against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the Knight of the Fetterlock,
fair Rebecca, and see how he bears himself; for as the leader is, so
will his followers be."

"I see him not," said Rebecca.

"Foul craven!" exclaimed Ivanhoe; "does he blench from the helm when the
wind blows highest?"

"He blenches not! he blenches not!" said Rebecca, "I see him now; he
leads a body of men close under the outer barrier of the barbican. [36]
--They pull down the piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers
with axes.--His high black plume floats abroad over the throng, like
a raven over the field of the slain.--They have made a breach in the
barriers--they rush in--they are thrust back!--Front-de-Boeuf heads the
defenders; I see his gigantic form above the press. They throng again to
the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand, and man to man. God
of Jacob! it is the meeting of two fierce tides--the conflict of two
oceans moved by adverse winds!"

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer to endure a
sight so terrible.

"Look forth again, Rebecca," said Ivanhoe, mistaking the cause of her
retiring; "the archery must in some degree have ceased, since they are
now fighting hand to hand.--Look again, there is now less danger."

Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately exclaimed, "Holy
prophets of the law! Front-de-Boeuf and the Black Knight fight hand
to hand on the breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch the
progress of the strife--Heaven strike with the cause of the oppressed
and of the captive!" She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed, "He
is down!--he is down!"

"Who is down?" cried Ivanhoe; "for our dear Lady's sake, tell me which
has fallen?"

"The Black Knight," answered Rebecca, faintly; then instantly again
shouted with joyful eagerness--"But no--but no!--the name of the Lord
of Hosts be blessed!--he is on foot again, and fights as if there
were twenty men's strength in his single arm--His sword is broken--he
snatches an axe from a yeoman--he presses Front-de-Boeuf with blow on
blow--The giant stoops and totters like an oak under the steel of the
woodman--he falls--he falls!"

"Front-de-Boeuf?" exclaimed Ivanhoe.

"Front-de-Boeuf!" answered the Jewess; "his men rush to the rescue,
headed by the haughty Templar--their united force compels the champion
to pause--They drag Front-de-Boeuf within the walls."

"The assailants have won the barriers, have they not?" said Ivanhoe.

"They have--they have!" exclaimed Rebecca--"and they press the besieged
hard upon the outer wall; some plant ladders, some swarm like bees, and
endeavour to ascend upon the shoulders of each other--down go stones,
beams, and trunks of trees upon their heads, and as fast as they
bear the wounded to the rear, fresh men supply their places in the
assault--Great God! hast thou given men thine own image, that it should
be thus cruelly defaced by the hands of their brethren!"

"Think not of that," said Ivanhoe; "this is no time for such
thoughts--Who yield?--who push their way?"

"The ladders are thrown down," replied Rebecca, shuddering; "the
soldiers lie grovelling under them like crushed reptiles--The besieged
have the better."

"Saint George strike for us!" exclaimed the knight; "do the false yeomen
give way?"

"No!" exclaimed Rebecca, "they bear themselves right yeomanly--the Black
Knight approaches the postern with his huge axe--the thundering blows
which he deals, you may hear them above all the din and shouts of
the battle--Stones and beams are hailed down on the bold champion--he
regards them no more than if they were thistle-down or feathers!"

"By Saint John of Acre," said Ivanhoe, raising himself joyfully on his
couch, "methought there was but one man in England that might do such a
deed!"

"The postern gate shakes," continued Rebecca; "it crashes--it is
splintered by his blows--they rush in--the outwork is won--Oh,
God!--they hurl the defenders from the battlements--they throw them
into the moat--O men, if ye be indeed men, spare them that can resist no
longer!"

"The bridge--the bridge which communicates with the castle--have they
won that pass?" exclaimed Ivanhoe.

"No," replied Rebecca, "The Templar has destroyed the plank on which
they crossed--few of the defenders escaped with him into the castle--the
shrieks and cries which you hear tell the fate of the others--Alas!--I
see it is still more difficult to look upon victory than upon battle."

"What do they now, maiden?" said Ivanhoe; "look forth yet again--this is
no time to faint at bloodshed."

"It is over for the time," answered Rebecca; "our friends strengthen
themselves within the outwork which they have mastered, and it affords
them so good a shelter from the foemen's shot, that the garrison only
bestow a few bolts on it from interval to interval, as if rather to
disquiet than effectually to injure them."

"Our friends," said Wilfred, "will surely not abandon an enterprise so
gloriously begun and so happily attained.--O no! I will put my faith
in the good knight whose axe hath rent heart-of-oak and bars of
iron.--Singular," he again muttered to himself, "if there be two who can
do a deed of such derring-do! [37]--a fetterlock, and a shacklebolt on
a field sable--what may that mean?--seest thou nought else, Rebecca, by
which the Black Knight may be distinguished?"

"Nothing," said the Jewess; "all about him is black as the wing of the
night raven. Nothing can I spy that can mark him further--but having
once seen him put forth his strength in battle, methinks I could know
him again among a thousand warriors. He rushes to the fray as if he were
summoned to a banquet. There is more than mere strength, there seems as
if the whole soul and spirit of the champion were given to every
blow which he deals upon his enemies. God assoilize him of the sin of
bloodshed!--it is fearful, yet magnificent, to behold how the arm and
heart of one man can triumph over hundreds."

"Rebecca," said Ivanhoe, "thou hast painted a hero; surely they rest
but to refresh their force, or to provide the means of crossing the
moat--Under such a leader as thou hast spoken this knight to be, there
are no craven fears, no cold-blooded delays, no yielding up a gallant
emprize; since the difficulties which render it arduous render it also
glorious. I swear by the honour of my house--I vow by the name of my
bright lady-love, I would endure ten years' captivity to fight one day
by that good knight's side in such a quarrel as this!"

"Alas," said Rebecca, leaving her station at the window, and approaching
the couch of the wounded knight, "this impatient yearning after
action--this struggling with and repining at your present weakness,
will not fail to injure your returning health--How couldst thou hope
to inflict wounds on others, ere that be healed which thou thyself hast
received?"

"Rebecca," he replied, "thou knowest not how impossible it is for one
trained to actions of chivalry to remain passive as a priest, or a
woman, when they are acting deeds of honour around him. The love of
battle is the food upon which we live--the dust of the 'melee' is the
breath of our nostrils! We live not--we wish not to live--longer than
while we are victorious and renowned--Such, maiden, are the laws of
chivalry to which we are sworn, and to which we offer all that we hold
dear."

"Alas!" said the fair Jewess, "and what is it, valiant knight, save an
offering of sacrifice to a demon of vain glory, and a passing through
the fire to Moloch?--What remains to you as the prize of all the blood
you have spilled--of all the travail and pain you have endured--of
all the tears which your deeds have caused, when death hath broken the
strong man's spear, and overtaken the speed of his war-horse?"

"What remains?" cried Ivanhoe; "Glory, maiden, glory! which gilds our
sepulchre and embalms our name."

"Glory?" continued Rebecca; "alas, is the rusted mail which hangs as a
hatchment over the champion's dim and mouldering tomb--is the defaced
sculpture of the inscription which the ignorant monk can hardly read to
the enquiring pilgrim--are these sufficient rewards for the sacrifice
of every kindly affection, for a life spent miserably that ye may
make others miserable? Or is there such virtue in the rude rhymes of
a wandering bard, that domestic love, kindly affection, peace and
happiness, are so wildly bartered, to become the hero of those ballads
which vagabond minstrels sing to drunken churls over their evening ale?"

"By the soul of Hereward!" replied the knight impatiently, "thou
speakest, maiden, of thou knowest not what. Thou wouldst quench the pure
light of chivalry, which alone distinguishes the noble from the base,
the gentle knight from the churl and the savage; which rates our life
far, far beneath the pitch of our honour; raises us victorious over
pain, toil, and suffering, and teaches us to fear no evil but disgrace.
Thou art no Christian, Rebecca; and to thee are unknown those high
feelings which swell the bosom of a noble maiden when her lover hath
done some deed of emprize which sanctions his flame. Chivalry!--why,
maiden, she is the nurse of pure and high affection--the stay of the
oppressed, the redresser of grievances, the curb of the power of the
tyrant--Nobility were but an empty name without her, and liberty finds
the best protection in her lance and her sword."

"I am, indeed," said Rebecca, "sprung from a race whose courage was
distinguished in the defence of their own land, but who warred not, even
while yet a nation, save at the command of the Deity, or in defending
their country from oppression. The sound of the trumpet wakes Judah no
longer, and her despised children are now but the unresisting victims
of hostile and military oppression. Well hast thou spoken, Sir
Knight,--until the God of Jacob shall raise up for his chosen people a
second Gideon, or a new Maccabeus, it ill beseemeth the Jewish damsel to
speak of battle or of war."

The high-minded maiden concluded the argument in a tone of sorrow, which
deeply expressed her sense of the degradation of her people, embittered
perhaps by the idea that Ivanhoe considered her as one not entitled
to interfere in a case of honour, and incapable of entertaining or
expressing sentiments of honour and generosity.

"How little he knows this bosom," she said, "to imagine that cowardice
or meanness of soul must needs be its guests, because I have censured
the fantastic chivalry of the Nazarenes! Would to heaven that the
shedding of mine own blood, drop by drop, could redeem the captivity of
Judah! Nay, would to God it could avail to set free my father, and this
his benefactor, from the chains of the oppressor! The proud Christian
should then see whether the daughter of God's chosen people dared not to
die as bravely as the vainest Nazarene maiden, that boasts her descent
from some petty chieftain of the rude and frozen north!"

She then looked towards the couch of the wounded knight.

"He sleeps," she said; "nature exhausted by sufferance and the waste
of spirits, his wearied frame embraces the first moment of temporary
relaxation to sink into slumber. Alas! is it a crime that I should look
upon him, when it may be for the last time?--When yet but a short space,
and those fair features will be no longer animated by the bold and
buoyant spirit which forsakes them not even in sleep!--When the nostril
shall be distended, the mouth agape, the eyes fixed and bloodshot; and
when the proud and noble knight may be trodden on by the lowest caitiff
of this accursed castle, yet stir not when the heel is lifted up against
him!--And my father!--oh, my father! evil is it with his daughter,
when his grey hairs are not remembered because of the golden locks of
youth!--What know I but that these evils are the messengers of Jehovah's
wrath to the unnatural child, who thinks of a stranger's captivity
before a parent's? who forgets the desolation of Judah, and looks upon
the comeliness of a Gentile and a stranger?--But I will tear this folly
from my heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend it away!"

She wrapped herself closely in her veil, and sat down at a distance
from the couch of the wounded knight, with her back turned towards it,
fortifying, or endeavouring to fortify her mind, not only against
the impending evils from without, but also against those treacherous
feelings which assailed her from within.

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

completion: Scott uses a flashback to supply missing information about the wounded Ivanhoe from the time of the tournament until the battle of Torquilstone. When Rebecca gave up her litter to the invalid and exposed herself on horseback, Brian de Bois-Guilbert noted her beauty and desired her. Regaining consciousness, Ivanhoe was surprised to find himself in the company of the Jewess. She told him of her healing knowledge and promised to make him well in eight days. On the journey toward York Cedric's party overtook that of Isaac, and when all were captured by De Bracy, Ivanhoe was also taken to Torquilstone. Ivanhoe is left in the care of Rebecca and when the fighting begins she, although in peril from the flying arrows and stones, stands at a window and describes the struggle to the wounded knight. As the besiegers appear to have won, Ivanhoe, exhausted from the excitement, falls asleep and Rebecca muses over her feeling for him.