text:
Chapter: I'll woo her as the lion woos his bride.
     --Douglas

While the scenes we have described were passing in other parts of the
castle, the Jewess Rebecca awaited her fate in a distant and sequestered
turret. Hither she had been led by two of her disguised ravishers, and
on being thrust into the little cell, she found herself in the presence
of an old sibyl, who kept murmuring to herself a Saxon rhyme, as if to
beat time to the revolving dance which her spindle was performing upon
the floor. The hag raised her head as Rebecca entered, and scowled at
the fair Jewess with the malignant envy with which old age and ugliness,
when united with evil conditions, are apt to look upon youth and beauty.

"Thou must up and away, old house-cricket," said one of the men; "our
noble master commands it--Thou must e'en leave this chamber to a fairer
guest."

"Ay," grumbled the hag, "even thus is service requited. I have known
when my bare word would have cast the best man-at-arms among ye out of
saddle and out of service; and now must I up and away at the command of
every groom such as thou."

"Good Dame Urfried," said the other man, "stand not to reason on it,
but up and away. Lords' hests must be listened to with a quick ear. Thou
hast had thy day, old dame, but thy sun has long been set. Thou art now
the very emblem of an old war-horse turned out on the barren heath--thou
hast had thy paces in thy time, but now a broken amble is the best of
them--Come, amble off with thee."

"Ill omens dog ye both!" said the old woman; "and a kennel be your
burying-place! May the evil demon Zernebock tear me limb from limb, if I
leave my own cell ere I have spun out the hemp on my distaff!"

"Answer it to our lord, then, old housefiend," said the man, and
retired; leaving Rebecca in company with the old woman, upon whose
presence she had been thus unwillingly forced.

"What devil's deed have they now in the wind?" said the old hag,
murmuring to herself, yet from time to time casting a sidelong and
malignant glance at Rebecca; "but it is easy to guess--Bright eyes,
black locks, and a skin like paper, ere the priest stains it with his
black unguent--Ay, it is easy to guess why they send her to this lone
turret, whence a shriek could no more be heard than at the depth of
five hundred fathoms beneath the earth.--Thou wilt have owls for thy
neighbours, fair one; and their screams will be heard as far, and as
much regarded, as thine own. Outlandish, too," she said, marking the
dress and turban of Rebecca--"What country art thou of?--a Saracen?
or an Egyptian?--Why dost not answer?--thou canst weep, canst thou not
speak?"

"Be not angry, good mother," said Rebecca.

"Thou needst say no more," replied Urfried "men know a fox by the train,
and a Jewess by her tongue."

"For the sake of mercy," said Rebecca, "tell me what I am to expect as
the conclusion of the violence which hath dragged me hither! Is it
my life they seek, to atone for my religion? I will lay it down
cheerfully."

"Thy life, minion?" answered the sibyl; "what would taking thy life
pleasure them?--Trust me, thy life is in no peril. Such usage shalt thou
have as was once thought good enough for a noble Saxon maiden. And shall
a Jewess, like thee, repine because she hath no better? Look at me--I
was as young and twice as fair as thou, when Front-de-Boeuf, father of
this Reginald, and his Normans, stormed this castle. My father and his
seven sons defended their inheritance from story to story, from chamber
to chamber--There was not a room, not a step of the stair, that was not
slippery with their blood. They died--they died every man; and ere their
bodies were cold, and ere their blood was dried, I had become the prey
and the scorn of the conqueror!"

"Is there no help?--Are there no means of escape?" said
Rebecca--"Richly, richly would I requite thine aid."

"Think not of it," said the hag; "from hence there is no escape but
through the gates of death; and it is late, late," she added, shaking
her grey head, "ere these open to us--Yet it is comfort to think that we
leave behind us on earth those who shall be wretched as ourselves. Fare
thee well, Jewess!--Jew or Gentile, thy fate would be the same; for thou
hast to do with them that have neither scruple nor pity. Fare thee well,
I say. My thread is spun out--thy task is yet to begin."

"Stay! stay! for Heaven's sake!" said Rebecca; "stay, though it be to
curse and to revile me--thy presence is yet some protection."

"The presence of the mother of God were no protection," answered the old
woman. "There she stands," pointing to a rude image of the Virgin Mary,
"see if she can avert the fate that awaits thee."

She left the room as she spoke, her features writhed into a sort of
sneering laugh, which made them seem even more hideous than their
habitual frown. She locked the door behind her, and Rebecca might hear
her curse every step for its steepness, as slowly and with difficulty
she descended the turret-stair.

Rebecca was now to expect a fate even more dreadful than that of Rowena;
for what probability was there that either softness or ceremony would be
used towards one of her oppressed race, whatever shadow of these might
be preserved towards a Saxon heiress? Yet had the Jewess this advantage,
that she was better prepared by habits of thought, and by natural
strength of mind, to encounter the dangers to which she was exposed. Of
a strong and observing character, even from her earliest years, the pomp
and wealth which her father displayed within his walls, or which she
witnessed in the houses of other wealthy Hebrews, had not been able to
blind her to the precarious circumstances under which they were enjoyed.
Like Damocles at his celebrated banquet, Rebecca perpetually beheld,
amid that gorgeous display, the sword which was suspended over the heads
of her people by a single hair. These reflections had tamed and brought
down to a pitch of sounder judgment a temper, which, under other
circumstances, might have waxed haughty, supercilious, and obstinate.

From her father's example and injunctions, Rebecca had learnt to bear
herself courteously towards all who approached her. She could not indeed
imitate his excess of subservience, because she was a stranger to the
meanness of mind, and to the constant state of timid apprehension, by
which it was dictated; but she bore herself with a proud humility, as
if submitting to the evil circumstances in which she was placed as
the daughter of a despised race, while she felt in her mind the
consciousness that she was entitled to hold a higher rank from her
merit, than the arbitrary despotism of religious prejudice permitted her
to aspire to.

Thus prepared to expect adverse circumstances, she had acquired the
firmness necessary for acting under them. Her present situation required
all her presence of mind, and she summoned it up accordingly.

Her first care was to inspect the apartment; but it afforded few hopes
either of escape or protection. It contained neither secret passage nor
trap-door, and unless where the door by which she had entered joined the
main building, seemed to be circumscribed by the round exterior wall of
the turret. The door had no inside bolt or bar. The single window opened
upon an embattled space surmounting the turret, which gave Rebecca,
at first sight, some hopes of escaping; but she soon found it had no
communication with any other part of the battlements, being an isolated
bartisan, or balcony, secured, as usual, by a parapet, with embrasures,
at which a few archers might be stationed for defending the turret, and
flanking with their shot the wall of the castle on that side.

There was therefore no hope but in passive fortitude, and in that strong
reliance on Heaven natural to great and generous characters. Rebecca,
however erroneously taught to interpret the promises of Scripture to
the chosen people of Heaven, did not err in supposing the present to be
their hour of trial, or in trusting that the children of Zion would be
one day called in with the fulness of the Gentiles. In the meanwhile,
all around her showed that their present state was that of punishment
and probation, and that it was their especial duty to suffer without
sinning. Thus prepared to consider herself as the victim of misfortune,
Rebecca had early reflected upon her own state, and schooled her mind to
meet the dangers which she had probably to encounter.

The prisoner trembled, however, and changed colour, when a step was
heard on the stair, and the door of the turret-chamber slowly opened,
and a tall man, dressed as one of those banditti to whom they owed
their misfortune, slowly entered, and shut the door behind him; his cap,
pulled down upon his brows, concealed the upper part of his face, and he
held his mantle in such a manner as to muffle the rest. In this guise,
as if prepared for the execution of some deed, at the thought of which
he was himself ashamed, he stood before the affrighted prisoner; yet,
ruffian as his dress bespoke him, he seemed at a loss to express what
purpose had brought him thither, so that Rebecca, making an effort
upon herself, had time to anticipate his explanation. She had already
unclasped two costly bracelets and a collar, which she hastened to
proffer to the supposed outlaw, concluding naturally that to gratify his
avarice was to bespeak his favour.

"Take these," she said, "good friend, and for God's sake be merciful
to me and my aged father! These ornaments are of value, yet are they
trifling to what he would bestow to obtain our dismissal from this
castle, free and uninjured."

"Fair flower of Palestine," replied the outlaw, "these pearls are
orient, but they yield in whiteness to your teeth; the diamonds are
brilliant, but they cannot match your eyes; and ever since I have taken
up this wild trade, I have made a vow to prefer beauty to wealth."

"Do not do yourself such wrong," said Rebecca; "take ransom, and have
mercy!--Gold will purchase you pleasure,--to misuse us, could only bring
thee remorse. My father will willingly satiate thy utmost wishes; and
if thou wilt act wisely, thou mayst purchase with our spoils thy
restoration to civil society--mayst obtain pardon for past errors, and
be placed beyond the necessity of committing more."

"It is well spoken," replied the outlaw in French, finding it difficult
probably to sustain, in Saxon, a conversation which Rebecca had opened
in that language; "but know, bright lily of the vale of Baca! that thy
father is already in the hands of a powerful alchemist, who knows how to
convert into gold and silver even the rusty bars of a dungeon grate. The
venerable Isaac is subjected to an alembic, which will distil from
him all he holds dear, without any assistance from my requests or thy
entreaty. The ransom must be paid by love and beauty, and in no other
coin will I accept it."

"Thou art no outlaw," said Rebecca, in the same language in which he
addressed her; "no outlaw had refused such offers. No outlaw in this
land uses the dialect in which thou hast spoken. Thou art no outlaw, but
a Norman--a Norman, noble perhaps in birth--O, be so in thy actions, and
cast off this fearful mask of outrage and violence!"

"And thou, who canst guess so truly," said Brian de Bois-Guilbert,
dropping the mantle from his face, "art no true daughter of Israel,
but in all, save youth and beauty, a very witch of Endor. I am not an
outlaw, then, fair rose of Sharon. And I am one who will be more prompt
to hang thy neck and arms with pearls and diamonds, which so well become
them, than to deprive thee of these ornaments."

"What wouldst thou have of me," said Rebecca, "if not my wealth?--We
can have nought in common between us--you are a Christian--I am a
Jewess.--Our union were contrary to the laws, alike of the church and
the synagogue."

"It were so, indeed," replied the Templar, laughing; "wed with a Jewess?
'Despardieux!'--Not if she were the Queen of Sheba! And know, besides,
sweet daughter of Zion, that were the most Christian king to offer me
his most Christian daughter, with Languedoc for a dowery, I could not
wed her. It is against my vow to love any maiden, otherwise than 'par
amours', as I will love thee. I am a Templar. Behold the cross of my
Holy Order."

"Darest thou appeal to it," said Rebecca, "on an occasion like the
present?"

"And if I do so," said the Templar, "it concerns not thee, who art no
believer in the blessed sign of our salvation."

"I believe as my fathers taught," said Rebecca; "and may God forgive my
belief if erroneous! But you, Sir Knight, what is yours, when you appeal
without scruple to that which you deem most holy, even while you are
about to transgress the most solemn of your vows as a knight, and as a
man of religion?"

"It is gravely and well preached, O daughter of Sirach!" answered the
Templar; "but, gentle Ecclesiastics, thy narrow Jewish prejudices make
thee blind to our high privilege. Marriage were an enduring crime on
the part of a Templar; but what lesser folly I may practise, I shall
speedily be absolved from at the next Preceptory of our Order. Not the
wisest of monarchs, not his father, whose examples you must needs allow
are weighty, claimed wider privileges than we poor soldiers of the
Temple of Zion have won by our zeal in its defence. The protectors of
Solomon's Temple may claim license by the example of Solomon."

"If thou readest the Scripture," said the Jewess, "and the lives of the
saints, only to justify thine own license and profligacy, thy crime
is like that of him who extracts poison from the most healthful and
necessary herbs."

The eyes of the Templar flashed fire at this reproof--"Hearken," he
said, "Rebecca; I have hitherto spoken mildly to thee, but now my
language shall be that of a conqueror. Thou art the captive of my bow
and spear--subject to my will by the laws of all nations; nor will I
abate an inch of my right, or abstain from taking by violence what thou
refusest to entreaty or necessity."

"Stand back," said Rebecca--"stand back, and hear me ere thou offerest
to commit a sin so deadly! My strength thou mayst indeed overpower for
God made women weak, and trusted their defence to man's generosity. But
I will proclaim thy villainy, Templar, from one end of Europe to
the other. I will owe to the superstition of thy brethren what their
compassion might refuse me, Each Preceptory--each Chapter of thy Order,
shall learn, that, like a heretic, thou hast sinned with a Jewess. Those
who tremble not at thy crime, will hold thee accursed for having so
far dishonoured the cross thou wearest, as to follow a daughter of my
people."

"Thou art keen-witted, Jewess," replied the Templar, well aware of the
truth of what she spoke, and that the rules of his Order condemned in
the most positive manner, and under high penalties, such intrigues as
he now prosecuted, and that, in some instances, even degradation had
followed upon it--"thou art sharp-witted," he said; "but loud must be
thy voice of complaint, if it is heard beyond the iron walls of this
castle; within these, murmurs, laments, appeals to justice, and screams
for help, die alike silent away. One thing only can save thee, Rebecca.
Submit to thy fate--embrace our religion, and thou shalt go forth in
such state, that many a Norman lady shall yield as well in pomp as in
beauty to the favourite of the best lance among the defenders of the
Temple."

"Submit to my fate!" said Rebecca--"and, sacred Heaven! to what
fate?--embrace thy religion! and what religion can it be that
harbours such a villain?--THOU the best lance of the Templars!--Craven
knight!--forsworn priest! I spit at thee, and I defy thee.--The God of
Abraham's promise hath opened an escape to his daughter--even from this
abyss of infamy!"

As she spoke, she threw open the latticed window which led to the
bartisan, and in an instant after, stood on the very verge of the
parapet, with not the slightest screen between her and the tremendous
depth below. Unprepared for such a desperate effort, for she had
hitherto stood perfectly motionless, Bois-Guilbert had neither time
to intercept nor to stop her. As he offered to advance, she exclaimed,
"Remain where thou art, proud Templar, or at thy choice advance!--one
foot nearer, and I plunge myself from the precipice; my body shall
be crushed out of the very form of humanity upon the stones of that
court-yard, ere it become the victim of thy brutality!"

As she spoke this, she clasped her hands and extended them towards
heaven, as if imploring mercy on her soul before she made the final
plunge. The Templar hesitated, and a resolution which had never yielded
to pity or distress, gave way to his admiration of her fortitude. "Come
down," he said, "rash girl!--I swear by earth, and sea, and sky, I will
offer thee no offence."

"I will not trust thee, Templar," said Rebecca; "thou hast taught me
better how to estimate the virtues of thine Order. The next Preceptory
would grant thee absolution for an oath, the keeping of which concerned
nought but the honour or the dishonour of a miserable Jewish maiden."

"You do me injustice," exclaimed the Templar fervently; "I swear to you
by the name which I bear--by the cross on my bosom--by the sword on my
side--by the ancient crest of my fathers do I swear, I will do thee
no injury whatsoever! If not for thyself, yet for thy father's sake
forbear! I will be his friend, and in this castle he will need a
powerful one."

"Alas!" said Rebecca, "I know it but too well--dare I trust thee?"

"May my arms be reversed, and my name dishonoured," said Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, "if thou shalt have reason to complain of me! Many a law,
many a commandment have I broken, but my word never."

"I will then trust thee," said Rebecca, "thus far;" and she descended
from the verge of the battlement, but remained standing close by one of
the embrasures, or "machicolles", as they were then called.--"Here," she
said, "I take my stand. Remain where thou art, and if thou shalt attempt
to diminish by one step the distance now between us, thou shalt see that
the Jewish maiden will rather trust her soul with God, than her honour
to the Templar!"

While Rebecca spoke thus, her high and firm resolve, which corresponded
so well with the expressive beauty of her countenance, gave to her
looks, air, and manner, a dignity that seemed more than mortal. Her
glance quailed not, her cheek blanched not, for the fear of a fate so
instant and so horrible; on the contrary, the thought that she had her
fate at her command, and could escape at will from infamy to death,
gave a yet deeper colour of carnation to her complexion, and a yet
more brilliant fire to her eye. Bois-Guilbert, proud himself and
high-spirited, thought he had never beheld beauty so animated and so
commanding.

"Let there be peace between us, Rebecca," he said.

"Peace, if thou wilt," answered Rebecca--"Peace--but with this space
between."

"Thou needst no longer fear me," said Bois-Guilbert.

"I fear thee not," replied she; "thanks to him that reared this dizzy
tower so high, that nought could fall from it and live--thanks to him,
and to the God of Israel!--I fear thee not."

"Thou dost me injustice," said the Templar; "by earth, sea, and sky,
thou dost me injustice! I am not naturally that which you have seen me,
hard, selfish, and relentless. It was woman that taught me cruelty, and
on woman therefore I have exercised it; but not upon such as thou. Hear
me, Rebecca--Never did knight take lance in his hand with a heart more
devoted to the lady of his love than Brian de Bois-Guilbert. She, the
daughter of a petty baron, who boasted for all his domains but a ruinous
tower, and an unproductive vineyard, and some few leagues of the barren
Landes of Bourdeaux, her name was known wherever deeds of arms were
done, known wider than that of many a lady's that had a county for a
dowery.--Yes," he continued, pacing up and down the little platform,
with an animation in which he seemed to lose all consciousness of
Rebecca's presence--"Yes, my deeds, my danger, my blood, made the name
of Adelaide de Montemare known from the court of Castile to that of
Byzantium. And how was I requited?--When I returned with my dear-bought
honours, purchased by toil and blood, I found her wedded to a Gascon
squire, whose name was never heard beyond the limits of his own paltry
domain! Truly did I love her, and bitterly did I revenge me of her
broken faith! But my vengeance has recoiled on myself. Since that day
I have separated myself from life and its ties--My manhood must know no
domestic home--must be soothed by no affectionate wife--My age must
know no kindly hearth--My grave must be solitary, and no offspring must
outlive me, to bear the ancient name of Bois-Guilbert. At the feet of
my Superior I have laid down the right of self-action--the privilege
of independence. The Templar, a serf in all but the name, can possess
neither lands nor goods, and lives, moves, and breathes, but at the will
and pleasure of another."

"Alas!" said Rebecca, "what advantages could compensate for such an
absolute sacrifice?"

"The power of vengeance, Rebecca," replied the Templar, "and the
prospects of ambition."

"An evil recompense," said Rebecca, "for the surrender of the rights
which are dearest to humanity."

"Say not so, maiden," answered the Templar; "revenge is a feast for the
gods! And if they have reserved it, as priests tell us, to themselves,
it is because they hold it an enjoyment too precious for the possession
of mere mortals.--And ambition? it is a temptation which could disturb
even the bliss of heaven itself."--He paused a moment, and then added,
"Rebecca! she who could prefer death to dishonour, must have a proud and
a powerful soul. Mine thou must be!--Nay, start not," he added, "it must
be with thine own consent, and on thine own terms. Thou must consent to
share with me hopes more extended than can be viewed from the throne
of a monarch!--Hear me ere you answer and judge ere you refuse.--The
Templar loses, as thou hast said, his social rights, his power of free
agency, but he becomes a member and a limb of a mighty body, before
which thrones already tremble,--even as the single drop of rain which
mixes with the sea becomes an individual part of that resistless ocean,
which undermines rocks and ingulfs royal armadas. Such a swelling flood
is that powerful league. Of this mighty Order I am no mean member, but
already one of the Chief Commanders, and may well aspire one day to hold
the batoon of Grand Master. The poor soldiers of the Temple will not
alone place their foot upon the necks of kings--a hemp-sandall'd monk
can do that. Our mailed step shall ascend their throne--our gauntlet
shall wrench the sceptre from their gripe. Not the reign of your
vainly-expected Messiah offers such power to your dispersed tribes as my
ambition may aim at. I have sought but a kindred spirit to share it, and
I have found such in thee."

"Sayest thou this to one of my people?" answered Rebecca. "Bethink
thee--"

"Answer me not," said the Templar, "by urging the difference of our
creeds; within our secret conclaves we hold these nursery tales in
derision. Think not we long remained blind to the idiotical folly of our
founders, who forswore every delight of life for the pleasure of dying
martyrs by hunger, by thirst, and by pestilence, and by the swords of
savages, while they vainly strove to defend a barren desert, valuable
only in the eyes of superstition. Our Order soon adopted bolder and
wider views, and found out a better indemnification for our sacrifices.
Our immense possessions in every kingdom of Europe, our high military
fame, which brings within our circle the flower of chivalry from every
Christian clime--these are dedicated to ends of which our pious founders
little dreamed, and which are equally concealed from such weak spirits
as embrace our Order on the ancient principles, and whose superstition
makes them our passive tools. But I will not further withdraw the veil
of our mysteries. That bugle-sound announces something which may require
my presence. Think on what I have said.--Farewell!--I do not say forgive
me the violence I have threatened, for it was necessary to the display
of thy character. Gold can be only known by the application of the
touchstone. I will soon return, and hold further conference with thee."

He re-entered the turret-chamber, and descended the stair, leaving
Rebecca scarcely more terrified at the prospect of the death to which
she had been so lately exposed, than at the furious ambition of the bold
bad man in whose power she found herself so unhappily placed. When she
entered the turret-chamber, her first duty was to return thanks to
the God of Jacob for the protection which he had afforded her, and to
implore its continuance for her and for her father. Another name glided
into her petition--it was that of the wounded Christian, whom fate had
placed in the hands of bloodthirsty men, his avowed enemies. Her heart
indeed checked her, as if, even in communing with the Deity in prayer,
she mingled in her devotions the recollection of one with whose fate
hers could have no alliance--a Nazarene, and an enemy to her faith. But
the petition was already breathed, nor could all the narrow prejudices
of her sect induce Rebecca to wish it recalled.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A: This epigraph is a creepy one: "I'll woo her as the lion woos his bride." This line comes from a play called <em>Douglas: A Tragedy</em> by Scottish writer John Home. The evil character Glenalvon plans to kidnap a married woman, Lady Randolph. In other words, it's a line about forcing a woman into a sexual relationship. In another part of the castle, Rebecca has been locked in a tower. There is an old woman in her cell, Urfried, who doesn't want to leave. Urfried hates Rebecca for her youth and beauty. She mocks Rebecca, telling her that the Normans won't kill her. She strongly implies that they'll rape her instead. Urfried leaves Rebecca to her fate. Rebecca looks around the room and sees no hope of escaping. She decides to stay as strong as she can, no matter what happens. A man appears at the door of her cell. He's dressed like one of the outlaws of the forest, with a cap half hiding his face. Rebecca offers him the ornaments she is wearing to ransom herself and her father. The outlaw refuses. He is not interested in money. The outlaw is none other than Brian de Bois-Guilbert. He wants Rebecca. Rebecca doesn't understand how a man sworn to fight on behalf of the cross can treat her this way. But Bois-Guilbert doesn't feel bad about breaking his vow of chastity. He has gone to the Holy Land to fight for the Temple of Solomon. After that, a small sin like sex is not going to damage his righteousness, he thinks. Rebecca swears to cross all of Europe and tell everyone that Bois-Guilbert raped her and broke his vows if he goes through with this. Bois-Guilbert worries about this potential loss of reputation. He demands that Rebecca convert to Christianity. Then he will keep her as a Norman lady. Rebecca defies Bois-Guilbert: how can she convert to Christianity when <em>he </em>is her example of what it means to be Christian? Rebecca runs to the window and stands ready to throw herself out. Bois-Guilbert feels bad and promises not to harm her. He is moved by her beauty and pride, and apologizes. Bois-Guilbert explains that heartbreak has made him this cruel. When he returned from the Crusades, having won fame and glory, he found that his ladylove had married an ordinary squire. Ever since, he has sworn to follow the solitary life of a Knight Templar. Bois-Guilbert hears the horn blowing at the gate. He asks Rebecca to think about what he has said.

prompt:
Chapter: I'll woo her as the lion woos his bride.
     --Douglas

While the scenes we have described were passing in other parts of the
castle, the Jewess Rebecca awaited her fate in a distant and sequestered
turret. Hither she had been led by two of her disguised ravishers, and
on being thrust into the little cell, she found herself in the presence
of an old sibyl, who kept murmuring to herself a Saxon rhyme, as if to
beat time to the revolving dance which her spindle was performing upon
the floor. The hag raised her head as Rebecca entered, and scowled at
the fair Jewess with the malignant envy with which old age and ugliness,
when united with evil conditions, are apt to look upon youth and beauty.

"Thou must up and away, old house-cricket," said one of the men; "our
noble master commands it--Thou must e'en leave this chamber to a fairer
guest."

"Ay," grumbled the hag, "even thus is service requited. I have known
when my bare word would have cast the best man-at-arms among ye out of
saddle and out of service; and now must I up and away at the command of
every groom such as thou."

"Good Dame Urfried," said the other man, "stand not to reason on it,
but up and away. Lords' hests must be listened to with a quick ear. Thou
hast had thy day, old dame, but thy sun has long been set. Thou art now
the very emblem of an old war-horse turned out on the barren heath--thou
hast had thy paces in thy time, but now a broken amble is the best of
them--Come, amble off with thee."

"Ill omens dog ye both!" said the old woman; "and a kennel be your
burying-place! May the evil demon Zernebock tear me limb from limb, if I
leave my own cell ere I have spun out the hemp on my distaff!"

"Answer it to our lord, then, old housefiend," said the man, and
retired; leaving Rebecca in company with the old woman, upon whose
presence she had been thus unwillingly forced.

"What devil's deed have they now in the wind?" said the old hag,
murmuring to herself, yet from time to time casting a sidelong and
malignant glance at Rebecca; "but it is easy to guess--Bright eyes,
black locks, and a skin like paper, ere the priest stains it with his
black unguent--Ay, it is easy to guess why they send her to this lone
turret, whence a shriek could no more be heard than at the depth of
five hundred fathoms beneath the earth.--Thou wilt have owls for thy
neighbours, fair one; and their screams will be heard as far, and as
much regarded, as thine own. Outlandish, too," she said, marking the
dress and turban of Rebecca--"What country art thou of?--a Saracen?
or an Egyptian?--Why dost not answer?--thou canst weep, canst thou not
speak?"

"Be not angry, good mother," said Rebecca.

"Thou needst say no more," replied Urfried "men know a fox by the train,
and a Jewess by her tongue."

"For the sake of mercy," said Rebecca, "tell me what I am to expect as
the conclusion of the violence which hath dragged me hither! Is it
my life they seek, to atone for my religion? I will lay it down
cheerfully."

"Thy life, minion?" answered the sibyl; "what would taking thy life
pleasure them?--Trust me, thy life is in no peril. Such usage shalt thou
have as was once thought good enough for a noble Saxon maiden. And shall
a Jewess, like thee, repine because she hath no better? Look at me--I
was as young and twice as fair as thou, when Front-de-Boeuf, father of
this Reginald, and his Normans, stormed this castle. My father and his
seven sons defended their inheritance from story to story, from chamber
to chamber--There was not a room, not a step of the stair, that was not
slippery with their blood. They died--they died every man; and ere their
bodies were cold, and ere their blood was dried, I had become the prey
and the scorn of the conqueror!"

"Is there no help?--Are there no means of escape?" said
Rebecca--"Richly, richly would I requite thine aid."

"Think not of it," said the hag; "from hence there is no escape but
through the gates of death; and it is late, late," she added, shaking
her grey head, "ere these open to us--Yet it is comfort to think that we
leave behind us on earth those who shall be wretched as ourselves. Fare
thee well, Jewess!--Jew or Gentile, thy fate would be the same; for thou
hast to do with them that have neither scruple nor pity. Fare thee well,
I say. My thread is spun out--thy task is yet to begin."

"Stay! stay! for Heaven's sake!" said Rebecca; "stay, though it be to
curse and to revile me--thy presence is yet some protection."

"The presence of the mother of God were no protection," answered the old
woman. "There she stands," pointing to a rude image of the Virgin Mary,
"see if she can avert the fate that awaits thee."

She left the room as she spoke, her features writhed into a sort of
sneering laugh, which made them seem even more hideous than their
habitual frown. She locked the door behind her, and Rebecca might hear
her curse every step for its steepness, as slowly and with difficulty
she descended the turret-stair.

Rebecca was now to expect a fate even more dreadful than that of Rowena;
for what probability was there that either softness or ceremony would be
used towards one of her oppressed race, whatever shadow of these might
be preserved towards a Saxon heiress? Yet had the Jewess this advantage,
that she was better prepared by habits of thought, and by natural
strength of mind, to encounter the dangers to which she was exposed. Of
a strong and observing character, even from her earliest years, the pomp
and wealth which her father displayed within his walls, or which she
witnessed in the houses of other wealthy Hebrews, had not been able to
blind her to the precarious circumstances under which they were enjoyed.
Like Damocles at his celebrated banquet, Rebecca perpetually beheld,
amid that gorgeous display, the sword which was suspended over the heads
of her people by a single hair. These reflections had tamed and brought
down to a pitch of sounder judgment a temper, which, under other
circumstances, might have waxed haughty, supercilious, and obstinate.

From her father's example and injunctions, Rebecca had learnt to bear
herself courteously towards all who approached her. She could not indeed
imitate his excess of subservience, because she was a stranger to the
meanness of mind, and to the constant state of timid apprehension, by
which it was dictated; but she bore herself with a proud humility, as
if submitting to the evil circumstances in which she was placed as
the daughter of a despised race, while she felt in her mind the
consciousness that she was entitled to hold a higher rank from her
merit, than the arbitrary despotism of religious prejudice permitted her
to aspire to.

Thus prepared to expect adverse circumstances, she had acquired the
firmness necessary for acting under them. Her present situation required
all her presence of mind, and she summoned it up accordingly.

Her first care was to inspect the apartment; but it afforded few hopes
either of escape or protection. It contained neither secret passage nor
trap-door, and unless where the door by which she had entered joined the
main building, seemed to be circumscribed by the round exterior wall of
the turret. The door had no inside bolt or bar. The single window opened
upon an embattled space surmounting the turret, which gave Rebecca,
at first sight, some hopes of escaping; but she soon found it had no
communication with any other part of the battlements, being an isolated
bartisan, or balcony, secured, as usual, by a parapet, with embrasures,
at which a few archers might be stationed for defending the turret, and
flanking with their shot the wall of the castle on that side.

There was therefore no hope but in passive fortitude, and in that strong
reliance on Heaven natural to great and generous characters. Rebecca,
however erroneously taught to interpret the promises of Scripture to
the chosen people of Heaven, did not err in supposing the present to be
their hour of trial, or in trusting that the children of Zion would be
one day called in with the fulness of the Gentiles. In the meanwhile,
all around her showed that their present state was that of punishment
and probation, and that it was their especial duty to suffer without
sinning. Thus prepared to consider herself as the victim of misfortune,
Rebecca had early reflected upon her own state, and schooled her mind to
meet the dangers which she had probably to encounter.

The prisoner trembled, however, and changed colour, when a step was
heard on the stair, and the door of the turret-chamber slowly opened,
and a tall man, dressed as one of those banditti to whom they owed
their misfortune, slowly entered, and shut the door behind him; his cap,
pulled down upon his brows, concealed the upper part of his face, and he
held his mantle in such a manner as to muffle the rest. In this guise,
as if prepared for the execution of some deed, at the thought of which
he was himself ashamed, he stood before the affrighted prisoner; yet,
ruffian as his dress bespoke him, he seemed at a loss to express what
purpose had brought him thither, so that Rebecca, making an effort
upon herself, had time to anticipate his explanation. She had already
unclasped two costly bracelets and a collar, which she hastened to
proffer to the supposed outlaw, concluding naturally that to gratify his
avarice was to bespeak his favour.

"Take these," she said, "good friend, and for God's sake be merciful
to me and my aged father! These ornaments are of value, yet are they
trifling to what he would bestow to obtain our dismissal from this
castle, free and uninjured."

"Fair flower of Palestine," replied the outlaw, "these pearls are
orient, but they yield in whiteness to your teeth; the diamonds are
brilliant, but they cannot match your eyes; and ever since I have taken
up this wild trade, I have made a vow to prefer beauty to wealth."

"Do not do yourself such wrong," said Rebecca; "take ransom, and have
mercy!--Gold will purchase you pleasure,--to misuse us, could only bring
thee remorse. My father will willingly satiate thy utmost wishes; and
if thou wilt act wisely, thou mayst purchase with our spoils thy
restoration to civil society--mayst obtain pardon for past errors, and
be placed beyond the necessity of committing more."

"It is well spoken," replied the outlaw in French, finding it difficult
probably to sustain, in Saxon, a conversation which Rebecca had opened
in that language; "but know, bright lily of the vale of Baca! that thy
father is already in the hands of a powerful alchemist, who knows how to
convert into gold and silver even the rusty bars of a dungeon grate. The
venerable Isaac is subjected to an alembic, which will distil from
him all he holds dear, without any assistance from my requests or thy
entreaty. The ransom must be paid by love and beauty, and in no other
coin will I accept it."

"Thou art no outlaw," said Rebecca, in the same language in which he
addressed her; "no outlaw had refused such offers. No outlaw in this
land uses the dialect in which thou hast spoken. Thou art no outlaw, but
a Norman--a Norman, noble perhaps in birth--O, be so in thy actions, and
cast off this fearful mask of outrage and violence!"

"And thou, who canst guess so truly," said Brian de Bois-Guilbert,
dropping the mantle from his face, "art no true daughter of Israel,
but in all, save youth and beauty, a very witch of Endor. I am not an
outlaw, then, fair rose of Sharon. And I am one who will be more prompt
to hang thy neck and arms with pearls and diamonds, which so well become
them, than to deprive thee of these ornaments."

"What wouldst thou have of me," said Rebecca, "if not my wealth?--We
can have nought in common between us--you are a Christian--I am a
Jewess.--Our union were contrary to the laws, alike of the church and
the synagogue."

"It were so, indeed," replied the Templar, laughing; "wed with a Jewess?
'Despardieux!'--Not if she were the Queen of Sheba! And know, besides,
sweet daughter of Zion, that were the most Christian king to offer me
his most Christian daughter, with Languedoc for a dowery, I could not
wed her. It is against my vow to love any maiden, otherwise than 'par
amours', as I will love thee. I am a Templar. Behold the cross of my
Holy Order."

"Darest thou appeal to it," said Rebecca, "on an occasion like the
present?"

"And if I do so," said the Templar, "it concerns not thee, who art no
believer in the blessed sign of our salvation."

"I believe as my fathers taught," said Rebecca; "and may God forgive my
belief if erroneous! But you, Sir Knight, what is yours, when you appeal
without scruple to that which you deem most holy, even while you are
about to transgress the most solemn of your vows as a knight, and as a
man of religion?"

"It is gravely and well preached, O daughter of Sirach!" answered the
Templar; "but, gentle Ecclesiastics, thy narrow Jewish prejudices make
thee blind to our high privilege. Marriage were an enduring crime on
the part of a Templar; but what lesser folly I may practise, I shall
speedily be absolved from at the next Preceptory of our Order. Not the
wisest of monarchs, not his father, whose examples you must needs allow
are weighty, claimed wider privileges than we poor soldiers of the
Temple of Zion have won by our zeal in its defence. The protectors of
Solomon's Temple may claim license by the example of Solomon."

"If thou readest the Scripture," said the Jewess, "and the lives of the
saints, only to justify thine own license and profligacy, thy crime
is like that of him who extracts poison from the most healthful and
necessary herbs."

The eyes of the Templar flashed fire at this reproof--"Hearken," he
said, "Rebecca; I have hitherto spoken mildly to thee, but now my
language shall be that of a conqueror. Thou art the captive of my bow
and spear--subject to my will by the laws of all nations; nor will I
abate an inch of my right, or abstain from taking by violence what thou
refusest to entreaty or necessity."

"Stand back," said Rebecca--"stand back, and hear me ere thou offerest
to commit a sin so deadly! My strength thou mayst indeed overpower for
God made women weak, and trusted their defence to man's generosity. But
I will proclaim thy villainy, Templar, from one end of Europe to
the other. I will owe to the superstition of thy brethren what their
compassion might refuse me, Each Preceptory--each Chapter of thy Order,
shall learn, that, like a heretic, thou hast sinned with a Jewess. Those
who tremble not at thy crime, will hold thee accursed for having so
far dishonoured the cross thou wearest, as to follow a daughter of my
people."

"Thou art keen-witted, Jewess," replied the Templar, well aware of the
truth of what she spoke, and that the rules of his Order condemned in
the most positive manner, and under high penalties, such intrigues as
he now prosecuted, and that, in some instances, even degradation had
followed upon it--"thou art sharp-witted," he said; "but loud must be
thy voice of complaint, if it is heard beyond the iron walls of this
castle; within these, murmurs, laments, appeals to justice, and screams
for help, die alike silent away. One thing only can save thee, Rebecca.
Submit to thy fate--embrace our religion, and thou shalt go forth in
such state, that many a Norman lady shall yield as well in pomp as in
beauty to the favourite of the best lance among the defenders of the
Temple."

"Submit to my fate!" said Rebecca--"and, sacred Heaven! to what
fate?--embrace thy religion! and what religion can it be that
harbours such a villain?--THOU the best lance of the Templars!--Craven
knight!--forsworn priest! I spit at thee, and I defy thee.--The God of
Abraham's promise hath opened an escape to his daughter--even from this
abyss of infamy!"

As she spoke, she threw open the latticed window which led to the
bartisan, and in an instant after, stood on the very verge of the
parapet, with not the slightest screen between her and the tremendous
depth below. Unprepared for such a desperate effort, for she had
hitherto stood perfectly motionless, Bois-Guilbert had neither time
to intercept nor to stop her. As he offered to advance, she exclaimed,
"Remain where thou art, proud Templar, or at thy choice advance!--one
foot nearer, and I plunge myself from the precipice; my body shall
be crushed out of the very form of humanity upon the stones of that
court-yard, ere it become the victim of thy brutality!"

As she spoke this, she clasped her hands and extended them towards
heaven, as if imploring mercy on her soul before she made the final
plunge. The Templar hesitated, and a resolution which had never yielded
to pity or distress, gave way to his admiration of her fortitude. "Come
down," he said, "rash girl!--I swear by earth, and sea, and sky, I will
offer thee no offence."

"I will not trust thee, Templar," said Rebecca; "thou hast taught me
better how to estimate the virtues of thine Order. The next Preceptory
would grant thee absolution for an oath, the keeping of which concerned
nought but the honour or the dishonour of a miserable Jewish maiden."

"You do me injustice," exclaimed the Templar fervently; "I swear to you
by the name which I bear--by the cross on my bosom--by the sword on my
side--by the ancient crest of my fathers do I swear, I will do thee
no injury whatsoever! If not for thyself, yet for thy father's sake
forbear! I will be his friend, and in this castle he will need a
powerful one."

"Alas!" said Rebecca, "I know it but too well--dare I trust thee?"

"May my arms be reversed, and my name dishonoured," said Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, "if thou shalt have reason to complain of me! Many a law,
many a commandment have I broken, but my word never."

"I will then trust thee," said Rebecca, "thus far;" and she descended
from the verge of the battlement, but remained standing close by one of
the embrasures, or "machicolles", as they were then called.--"Here," she
said, "I take my stand. Remain where thou art, and if thou shalt attempt
to diminish by one step the distance now between us, thou shalt see that
the Jewish maiden will rather trust her soul with God, than her honour
to the Templar!"

While Rebecca spoke thus, her high and firm resolve, which corresponded
so well with the expressive beauty of her countenance, gave to her
looks, air, and manner, a dignity that seemed more than mortal. Her
glance quailed not, her cheek blanched not, for the fear of a fate so
instant and so horrible; on the contrary, the thought that she had her
fate at her command, and could escape at will from infamy to death,
gave a yet deeper colour of carnation to her complexion, and a yet
more brilliant fire to her eye. Bois-Guilbert, proud himself and
high-spirited, thought he had never beheld beauty so animated and so
commanding.

"Let there be peace between us, Rebecca," he said.

"Peace, if thou wilt," answered Rebecca--"Peace--but with this space
between."

"Thou needst no longer fear me," said Bois-Guilbert.

"I fear thee not," replied she; "thanks to him that reared this dizzy
tower so high, that nought could fall from it and live--thanks to him,
and to the God of Israel!--I fear thee not."

"Thou dost me injustice," said the Templar; "by earth, sea, and sky,
thou dost me injustice! I am not naturally that which you have seen me,
hard, selfish, and relentless. It was woman that taught me cruelty, and
on woman therefore I have exercised it; but not upon such as thou. Hear
me, Rebecca--Never did knight take lance in his hand with a heart more
devoted to the lady of his love than Brian de Bois-Guilbert. She, the
daughter of a petty baron, who boasted for all his domains but a ruinous
tower, and an unproductive vineyard, and some few leagues of the barren
Landes of Bourdeaux, her name was known wherever deeds of arms were
done, known wider than that of many a lady's that had a county for a
dowery.--Yes," he continued, pacing up and down the little platform,
with an animation in which he seemed to lose all consciousness of
Rebecca's presence--"Yes, my deeds, my danger, my blood, made the name
of Adelaide de Montemare known from the court of Castile to that of
Byzantium. And how was I requited?--When I returned with my dear-bought
honours, purchased by toil and blood, I found her wedded to a Gascon
squire, whose name was never heard beyond the limits of his own paltry
domain! Truly did I love her, and bitterly did I revenge me of her
broken faith! But my vengeance has recoiled on myself. Since that day
I have separated myself from life and its ties--My manhood must know no
domestic home--must be soothed by no affectionate wife--My age must
know no kindly hearth--My grave must be solitary, and no offspring must
outlive me, to bear the ancient name of Bois-Guilbert. At the feet of
my Superior I have laid down the right of self-action--the privilege
of independence. The Templar, a serf in all but the name, can possess
neither lands nor goods, and lives, moves, and breathes, but at the will
and pleasure of another."

"Alas!" said Rebecca, "what advantages could compensate for such an
absolute sacrifice?"

"The power of vengeance, Rebecca," replied the Templar, "and the
prospects of ambition."

"An evil recompense," said Rebecca, "for the surrender of the rights
which are dearest to humanity."

"Say not so, maiden," answered the Templar; "revenge is a feast for the
gods! And if they have reserved it, as priests tell us, to themselves,
it is because they hold it an enjoyment too precious for the possession
of mere mortals.--And ambition? it is a temptation which could disturb
even the bliss of heaven itself."--He paused a moment, and then added,
"Rebecca! she who could prefer death to dishonour, must have a proud and
a powerful soul. Mine thou must be!--Nay, start not," he added, "it must
be with thine own consent, and on thine own terms. Thou must consent to
share with me hopes more extended than can be viewed from the throne
of a monarch!--Hear me ere you answer and judge ere you refuse.--The
Templar loses, as thou hast said, his social rights, his power of free
agency, but he becomes a member and a limb of a mighty body, before
which thrones already tremble,--even as the single drop of rain which
mixes with the sea becomes an individual part of that resistless ocean,
which undermines rocks and ingulfs royal armadas. Such a swelling flood
is that powerful league. Of this mighty Order I am no mean member, but
already one of the Chief Commanders, and may well aspire one day to hold
the batoon of Grand Master. The poor soldiers of the Temple will not
alone place their foot upon the necks of kings--a hemp-sandall'd monk
can do that. Our mailed step shall ascend their throne--our gauntlet
shall wrench the sceptre from their gripe. Not the reign of your
vainly-expected Messiah offers such power to your dispersed tribes as my
ambition may aim at. I have sought but a kindred spirit to share it, and
I have found such in thee."

"Sayest thou this to one of my people?" answered Rebecca. "Bethink
thee--"

"Answer me not," said the Templar, "by urging the difference of our
creeds; within our secret conclaves we hold these nursery tales in
derision. Think not we long remained blind to the idiotical folly of our
founders, who forswore every delight of life for the pleasure of dying
martyrs by hunger, by thirst, and by pestilence, and by the swords of
savages, while they vainly strove to defend a barren desert, valuable
only in the eyes of superstition. Our Order soon adopted bolder and
wider views, and found out a better indemnification for our sacrifices.
Our immense possessions in every kingdom of Europe, our high military
fame, which brings within our circle the flower of chivalry from every
Christian clime--these are dedicated to ends of which our pious founders
little dreamed, and which are equally concealed from such weak spirits
as embrace our Order on the ancient principles, and whose superstition
makes them our passive tools. But I will not further withdraw the veil
of our mysteries. That bugle-sound announces something which may require
my presence. Think on what I have said.--Farewell!--I do not say forgive
me the violence I have threatened, for it was necessary to the display
of thy character. Gold can be only known by the application of the
touchstone. I will soon return, and hold further conference with thee."

He re-entered the turret-chamber, and descended the stair, leaving
Rebecca scarcely more terrified at the prospect of the death to which
she had been so lately exposed, than at the furious ambition of the bold
bad man in whose power she found herself so unhappily placed. When she
entered the turret-chamber, her first duty was to return thanks to
the God of Jacob for the protection which he had afforded her, and to
implore its continuance for her and for her father. Another name glided
into her petition--it was that of the wounded Christian, whom fate had
placed in the hands of bloodthirsty men, his avowed enemies. Her heart
indeed checked her, as if, even in communing with the Deity in prayer,
she mingled in her devotions the recollection of one with whose fate
hers could have no alliance--a Nazarene, and an enemy to her faith. But
the petition was already breathed, nor could all the narrow prejudices
of her sect induce Rebecca to wish it recalled.

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

completion: This epigraph is a creepy one: "I'll woo her as the lion woos his bride." This line comes from a play called Douglas: A Tragedy by Scottish writer John Home. The evil character Glenalvon plans to kidnap a married woman, Lady Randolph. In other words, it's a line about forcing a woman into a sexual relationship. In another part of the castle, Rebecca has been locked in a tower. There is an old woman in her cell, Urfried, who doesn't want to leave. Urfried hates Rebecca for her youth and beauty. She mocks Rebecca, telling her that the Normans won't kill her. She strongly implies that they'll rape her instead. Urfried leaves Rebecca to her fate. Rebecca looks around the room and sees no hope of escaping. She decides to stay as strong as she can, no matter what happens. A man appears at the door of her cell. He's dressed like one of the outlaws of the forest, with a cap half hiding his face. Rebecca offers him the ornaments she is wearing to ransom herself and her father. The outlaw refuses. He is not interested in money. The outlaw is none other than Brian de Bois-Guilbert. He wants Rebecca. Rebecca doesn't understand how a man sworn to fight on behalf of the cross can treat her this way. But Bois-Guilbert doesn't feel bad about breaking his vow of chastity. He has gone to the Holy Land to fight for the Temple of Solomon. After that, a small sin like sex is not going to damage his righteousness, he thinks. Rebecca swears to cross all of Europe and tell everyone that Bois-Guilbert raped her and broke his vows if he goes through with this. Bois-Guilbert worries about this potential loss of reputation. He demands that Rebecca convert to Christianity. Then he will keep her as a Norman lady. Rebecca defies Bois-Guilbert: how can she convert to Christianity when he is her example of what it means to be Christian? Rebecca runs to the window and stands ready to throw herself out. Bois-Guilbert feels bad and promises not to harm her. He is moved by her beauty and pride, and apologizes. Bois-Guilbert explains that heartbreak has made him this cruel. When he returned from the Crusades, having won fame and glory, he found that his ladylove had married an ordinary squire. Ever since, he has sworn to follow the solitary life of a Knight Templar. Bois-Guilbert hears the horn blowing at the gate. He asks Rebecca to think about what he has said.


prompt:
Chapter: A damn'd cramp piece of penmanship as ever I saw in my life!
  --She Stoops to Conquer

When the Templar reached the hall of the castle, he found De Bracy
already there. "Your love-suit," said De Bracy, "hath, I suppose, been
disturbed, like mine, by this obstreperous summons. But you have come
later and more reluctantly, and therefore I presume your interview has
proved more agreeable than mine."

"Has your suit, then, been unsuccessfully paid to the Saxon heiress?"
said the Templar.

"By the bones of Thomas a Becket," answered De Bracy, "the Lady Rowena
must have heard that I cannot endure the sight of women's tears."

"Away!" said the Templar; "thou a leader of a Free Company, and regard
a woman's tears! A few drops sprinkled on the torch of love, make the
flame blaze the brighter."

"Gramercy for the few drops of thy sprinkling," replied De Bracy; "but
this damsel hath wept enough to extinguish a beacon-light. Never was
such wringing of hands and such overflowing of eyes, since the days of
St Niobe, of whom Prior Aymer told us. [30] A water-fiend hath possessed
the fair Saxon."

"A legion of fiends have occupied the bosom of the Jewess," replied the
Templar; "for, I think no single one, not even Apollyon himself, could
have inspired such indomitable pride and resolution.--But where is
Front-de-Boeuf? That horn is sounded more and more clamorously."

"He is negotiating with the Jew, I suppose," replied De Bracy, coolly;
"probably the howls of Isaac have drowned the blast of the bugle.
Thou mayst know, by experience, Sir Brian, that a Jew parting with his
treasures on such terms as our friend Front-de-Boeuf is like to offer,
will raise a clamour loud enough to be heard over twenty horns and
trumpets to boot. But we will make the vassals call him."

They were soon after joined by Front-de-Boeuf, who had been disturbed in
his tyrannic cruelty in the manner with which the reader is acquainted,
and had only tarried to give some necessary directions.

"Let us see the cause of this cursed clamour," said
Front-de-Boeuf--"here is a letter, and, if I mistake not, it is in
Saxon."

He looked at it, turning it round and round as if he had had really some
hopes of coming at the meaning by inverting the position of the paper,
and then handed it to De Bracy.

"It may be magic spells for aught I know," said De Bracy, who possessed
his full proportion of the ignorance which characterised the chivalry of
the period. "Our chaplain attempted to teach me to write," he said, "but
all my letters were formed like spear-heads and sword-blades, and so the
old shaveling gave up the task."

"Give it me," said the Templar. "We have that of the priestly character,
that we have some knowledge to enlighten our valour."

"Let us profit by your most reverend knowledge, then," said De Bracy;
"what says the scroll?"

"It is a formal letter of defiance," answered the Templar; "but, by
our Lady of Bethlehem, if it be not a foolish jest, it is the most
extraordinary cartel that ever was sent across the drawbridge of a
baronial castle."

"Jest!" said Front-de-Boeuf, "I would gladly know who dares jest with me
in such a matter!--Read it, Sir Brian."

The Templar accordingly read it as follows:--"I, Wamba, the son of
Witless, Jester to a noble and free-born man, Cedric of Rotherwood,
called the Saxon,--And I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph, the swineherd---"

"Thou art mad," said Front-de-Boeuf, interrupting the reader.

"By St Luke, it is so set down," answered the Templar. Then resuming his
task, he went on,--"I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph, swineherd unto the
said Cedric, with the assistance of our allies and confederates, who
make common cause with us in this our feud, namely, the good knight,
called for the present 'Le Noir Faineant', and the stout yeoman, Robert
Locksley, called Cleave-the-Wand. Do you, Reginald Front de-Boeuf, and
your allies and accomplices whomsoever, to wit, that whereas you have,
without cause given or feud declared, wrongfully and by mastery seized
upon the person of our lord and master the said Cedric; also upon
the person of a noble and freeborn damsel, the Lady Rowena of
Hargottstandstede; also upon the person of a noble and freeborn man,
Athelstane of Coningsburgh; also upon the persons of certain freeborn
men, their 'cnichts'; also upon certain serfs, their born bondsmen; also
upon a certain Jew, named Isaac of York, together with his daughter, a
Jewess, and certain horses and mules: Which noble persons, with their
'cnichts' and slaves, and also with the horses and mules, Jew and Jewess
beforesaid, were all in peace with his majesty, and travelling as liege
subjects upon the king's highway; therefore we require and demand
that the said noble persons, namely, Cedric of Rotherwood, Rowena of
Hargottstandstede, Athelstane of Coningsburgh, with their servants,
'cnichts', and followers, also the horses and mules, Jew and Jewess
aforesaid, together with all goods and chattels to them pertaining, be,
within an hour after the delivery hereof, delivered to us, or to those
whom we shall appoint to receive the same, and that untouched and
unharmed in body and goods. Failing of which, we do pronounce to you,
that we hold ye as robbers and traitors, and will wager our bodies
against ye in battle, siege, or otherwise, and do our utmost to
your annoyance and destruction. Wherefore may God have you in his
keeping.--Signed by us upon the eve of St Withold's day, under the great
trysting oak in the Hart-hill Walk, the above being written by a
holy man, Clerk to God, our Lady, and St Dunstan, in the Chapel of
Copmanhurst."

At the bottom of this document was scrawled, in the first place, a
rude sketch of a cock's head and comb, with a legend expressing this
hieroglyphic to be the sign-manual of Wamba, son of Witless. Under this
respectable emblem stood a cross, stated to be the mark of Gurth, the
son of Beowulph. Then was written, in rough bold characters, the words,
"Le Noir Faineant". And, to conclude the whole, an arrow, neatly enough
drawn, was described as the mark of the yeoman Locksley.

The knights heard this uncommon document read from end to end, and then
gazed upon each other in silent amazement, as being utterly at a loss to
know what it could portend. De Bracy was the first to break silence by
an uncontrollable fit of laughter, wherein he was joined, though with
more moderation, by the Templar. Front-de-Boeuf, on the contrary, seemed
impatient of their ill-timed jocularity.

"I give you plain warning," he said, "fair sirs, that you had better
consult how to bear yourselves under these circumstances, than give way
to such misplaced merriment."

"Front-de-Boeuf has not recovered his temper since his late overthrow,"
said De Bracy to the Templar; "he is cowed at the very idea of a cartel,
though it come but from a fool and a swineherd."

"By St Michael," answered Front-de-Boeuf, "I would thou couldst stand
the whole brunt of this adventure thyself, De Bracy. These fellows dared
not have acted with such inconceivable impudence, had they not been
supported by some strong bands. There are enough of outlaws in this
forest to resent my protecting the deer. I did but tie one fellow, who
was taken redhanded and in the fact, to the horns of a wild stag, which
gored him to death in five minutes, and I had as many arrows shot at me
as there were launched against yonder target at Ashby.--Here, fellow,"
he added, to one of his attendants, "hast thou sent out to see by what
force this precious challenge is to be supported?"

"There are at least two hundred men assembled in the woods," answered a
squire who was in attendance.

"Here is a proper matter!" said Front-de-Boeuf, "this comes of lending
you the use of my castle, that cannot manage your undertaking quietly,
but you must bring this nest of hornets about my ears!"

"Of hornets?" said De Bracy; "of stingless drones rather; a band of lazy
knaves, who take to the wood, and destroy the venison rather than labour
for their maintenance."

"Stingless!" replied Front-de-Boeuf; "fork-headed shafts of a cloth-yard
in length, and these shot within the breadth of a French crown, are
sting enough."

"For shame, Sir Knight!" said the Templar. "Let us summon our people,
and sally forth upon them. One knight--ay, one man-at-arms, were enough
for twenty such peasants."

"Enough, and too much," said De Bracy; "I should only be ashamed to
couch lance against them."

"True," answered Front-de-Boeuf; "were they black Turks or Moors, Sir
Templar, or the craven peasants of France, most valiant De Bracy; but
these are English yeomen, over whom we shall have no advantage, save
what we may derive from our arms and horses, which will avail us little
in the glades of the forest. Sally, saidst thou? we have scarce men
enough to defend the castle. The best of mine are at York; so is all
your band, De Bracy; and we have scarcely twenty, besides the handful
that were engaged in this mad business."

"Thou dost not fear," said the Templar, "that they can assemble in force
sufficient to attempt the castle?"

"Not so, Sir Brian," answered Front-de-Boeuf. "These outlaws have indeed
a daring captain; but without machines, scaling ladders, and experienced
leaders, my castle may defy them."

"Send to thy neighbours," said the Templar, "let them assemble their
people, and come to the rescue of three knights, besieged by a jester
and a swineherd in the baronial castle of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf!"

"You jest, Sir Knight," answered the baron; "but to whom should I
send?--Malvoisin is by this time at York with his retainers, and so
are my other allies; and so should I have been, but for this infernal
enterprise."

"Then send to York, and recall our people," said De Bracy. "If they
abide the shaking of my standard, or the sight of my Free Companions,
I will give them credit for the boldest outlaws ever bent bow in
green-wood."

"And who shall bear such a message?" said Front-de-Boeuf; "they will
beset every path, and rip the errand out of his bosom.--I have it," he
added, after pausing for a moment--"Sir Templar, thou canst write
as well as read, and if we can but find the writing materials of my
chaplain, who died a twelvemonth since in the midst of his Christmas
carousals--"

"So please ye," said the squire, who was still in attendance, "I think
old Urfried has them somewhere in keeping, for love of the confessor.
He was the last man, I have heard her tell, who ever said aught to her,
which man ought in courtesy to address to maid or matron."

"Go, search them out, Engelred," said Front-de-Boeuf; "and then, Sir
Templar, thou shalt return an answer to this bold challenge."

"I would rather do it at the sword's point than at that of the pen,"
said Bois-Guilbert; "but be it as you will."

He sat down accordingly, and indited, in the French language, an epistle
of the following tenor:--"Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, with his noble
and knightly allies and confederates, receive no defiances at the hands
of slaves, bondsmen, or fugitives. If the person calling himself the
Black Knight have indeed a claim to the honours of chivalry, he ought
to know that he stands degraded by his present association, and has no
right to ask reckoning at the hands of good men of noble blood. Touching
the prisoners we have made, we do in Christian charity require you to
send a man of religion, to receive their confession, and reconcile them
with God; since it is our fixed intention to execute them this morning
before noon, so that their heads being placed on the battlements,
shall show to all men how lightly we esteem those who have bestirred
themselves in their rescue. Wherefore, as above, we require you to send
a priest to reconcile them to God, in doing which you shall render them
the last earthly service."

This letter being folded, was delivered to the squire, and by him to
the messenger who waited without, as the answer to that which he had
brought.

The yeoman having thus accomplished his mission, returned to the
head-quarters of the allies, which were for the present established
under a venerable oak-tree, about three arrow-flights distant from the
castle. Here Wamba and Gurth, with their allies the Black Knight and
Locksley, and the jovial hermit, awaited with impatience an answer to
their summons. Around, and at a distance from them, were seen many a
bold yeoman, whose silvan dress and weatherbeaten countenances showed
the ordinary nature of their occupation. More than two hundred had
already assembled, and others were fast coming in. Those whom they
obeyed as leaders were only distinguished from the others by a feather
in the cap, their dress, arms, and equipments being in all other
respects the same.

Besides these bands, a less orderly and a worse armed force, consisting
of the Saxon inhabitants of the neighbouring township, as well as
many bondsmen and servants from Cedric's extensive estate, had already
arrived, for the purpose of assisting in his rescue. Few of these were
armed otherwise than with such rustic weapons as necessity sometimes
converts to military purposes. Boar-spears, scythes, flails, and the
like, were their chief arms; for the Normans, with the usual policy
of conquerors, were jealous of permitting to the vanquished Saxons the
possession or the use of swords and spears. These circumstances rendered
the assistance of the Saxons far from being so formidable to the
besieged, as the strength of the men themselves, their superior numbers,
and the animation inspired by a just cause, might otherwise well have
made them. It was to the leaders of this motley army that the letter of
the Templar was now delivered.

Reference was at first made to the chaplain for an exposition of its
contents.

"By the crook of St Dunstan," said that worthy ecclesiastic, "which hath
brought more sheep within the sheepfold than the crook of e'er another
saint in Paradise, I swear that I cannot expound unto you this jargon,
which, whether it be French or Arabic, is beyond my guess."

He then gave the letter to Gurth, who shook his head gruffly, and passed
it to Wamba. The Jester looked at each of the four corners of the paper
with such a grin of affected intelligence as a monkey is apt to assume
upon similar occasions, then cut a caper, and gave the letter to
Locksley.

"If the long letters were bows, and the short letters broad arrows, I
might know something of the matter," said the brave yeoman; "but as the
matter stands, the meaning is as safe, for me, as the stag that's at
twelve miles distance."

"I must be clerk, then," said the Black Knight; and taking the letter
from Locksley, he first read it over to himself, and then explained the
meaning in Saxon to his confederates.

"Execute the noble Cedric!" exclaimed Wamba; "by the rood, thou must be
mistaken, Sir Knight."

"Not I, my worthy friend," replied the knight, "I have explained the
words as they are here set down."

"Then, by St Thomas of Canterbury," replied Gurth, "we will have the
castle, should we tear it down with our hands!"

"We have nothing else to tear it with," replied Wamba; "but mine are
scarce fit to make mammocks of freestone and mortar."

"'Tis but a contrivance to gain time," said Locksley; "they dare not do
a deed for which I could exact a fearful penalty."

"I would," said the Black Knight, "there were some one among us who
could obtain admission into the castle, and discover how the case stands
with the besieged. Methinks, as they require a confessor to be sent,
this holy hermit might at once exercise his pious vocation, and procure
us the information we desire."

"A plague on thee, and thy advice!" said the pious hermit; "I tell thee,
Sir Slothful Knight, that when I doff my friar's frock, my priesthood,
my sanctity, my very Latin, are put off along with it; and when in my
green jerkin, I can better kill twenty deer than confess one Christian."

"I fear," said the Black Knight, "I fear greatly, there is no one here
that is qualified to take upon him, for the nonce, this same character
of father confessor?"

All looked on each other, and were silent.

"I see," said Wamba, after a short pause, "that the fool must be still
the fool, and put his neck in the venture which wise men shrink from.
You must know, my dear cousins and countrymen, that I wore russet before
I wore motley, and was bred to be a friar, until a brain-fever came
upon me and left me just wit enough to be a fool. I trust, with the
assistance of the good hermit's frock, together with the priesthood,
sanctity, and learning which are stitched into the cowl of it, I shall
be found qualified to administer both worldly and ghostly comfort to our
worthy master Cedric, and his companions in adversity."

"Hath he sense enough, thinkst thou?" said the Black Knight, addressing
Gurth.

"I know not," said Gurth; "but if he hath not, it will be the first time
he hath wanted wit to turn his folly to account."

"On with the frock, then, good fellow," quoth the Knight, "and let thy
master send us an account of their situation within the castle. Their
numbers must be few, and it is five to one they may be accessible by a
sudden and bold attack. Time wears--away with thee."

"And, in the meantime," said Locksley, "we will beset the place so
closely, that not so much as a fly shall carry news from thence. So
that, my good friend," he continued, addressing Wamba, "thou mayst
assure these tyrants, that whatever violence they exercise on the
persons of their prisoners, shall be most severely repaid upon their
own."

"Pax vobiscum," said Wamba, who was now muffled in his religious
disguise.

And so saying he imitated the solemn and stately deportment of a friar,
and departed to execute his mission.

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

completion: This chapter's epigraph comes from Oliver Goldsmith's play She Stoops to Conquer . It's a line from one of the play's main characters, Tony Lumpkin. He pretends to be unable to read a letter that will get someone else in the play into trouble. De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert meet in the main hall of the castle. They both complain about their failed love affairs. Front-de-Boeuf comes to join them. A messenger delivers a letter in Saxon to the Normans. Bois-Guilbert reads it, but at first he thinks it's a joke. It's written by Wamba and Gurth on behalf of Locksley and the Black Knight. The letter demands that Reginald Front-de-Boeuf free Rowena, Cedric, Athelstane, Isaac, Rebecca, and their pack animals. The letter is signed with a drawing of a rooster's head , a cross , an arrow , and the words "Le Noir Faineant" . De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert burst out laughing. Reginald Front-de-Boeuf is not amused. This whole business is causing him more trouble than it's worth. One of the squires informs Reginald Front-de-Boeuf that there are about two hundred outlaws waiting in the woods. Bois-Guilbert and De Bracy want to ride out immediately to fight. But Front-de-Boeuf reminds them that the outlaws know the forest and have ten times their numbers. Front-de-Boeuf decides to write them a nasty letter. In the letter, he suggests that they send one churchman into Torquilstone Castle to hear a last confession from the captives. The next day, Front-de-Boeuf is going to execute all the captives and place their heads on spikes outside the castle. The heads will prove what he thinks of outlaws trying to bully him. The Normans send this letter out to the outlaws. The Black Knight reads the letter to his friends. They are enraged at the idea that the Normans plan to execute Cedric. Locksley thinks the Normans are just trying to buy time. They decide to send Wamba into Torquilstone, dressed as a friar.


prompt:
Chapter: The hottest horse will oft be cool,
     The dullest will show fire;
     The friar will often play the fool,
     The fool will play the friar.
     --Old Song

When the Jester, arrayed in the cowl and frock of the hermit, and having
his knotted cord twisted round his middle, stood before the portal of
the castle of Front-de-Boeuf, the warder demanded of him his name and
errand.

"Pax vobiscum," answered the Jester, "I am a poor brother of the Order
of St Francis, who come hither to do my office to certain unhappy
prisoners now secured within this castle."

"Thou art a bold friar," said the warder, "to come hither, where, saving
our own drunken confessor, a cock of thy feather hath not crowed these
twenty years."

"Yet I pray thee, do mine errand to the lord of the castle," answered
the pretended friar; "trust me it will find good acceptance with him,
and the cock shall crow, that the whole castle shall hear him."

"Gramercy," said the warder; "but if I come to shame for leaving my
post upon thine errand, I will try whether a friar's grey gown be proof
against a grey-goose shaft."

With this threat he left his turret, and carried to the hall of the
castle his unwonted intelligence, that a holy friar stood before the
gate and demanded instant admission. With no small wonder he received
his master's commands to admit the holy man immediately; and, having
previously manned the entrance to guard against surprise, he obeyed,
without further scruple, the commands which he had received. The
harebrained self-conceit which had emboldened Wamba to undertake this
dangerous office, was scarce sufficient to support him when he found
himself in the presence of a man so dreadful, and so much dreaded, as
Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, and he brought out his "pax vobiscum", to which
he, in a good measure, trusted for supporting his character, with
more anxiety and hesitation than had hitherto accompanied it. But
Front-de-Boeuf was accustomed to see men of all ranks tremble in his
presence, so that the timidity of the supposed father did not give him
any cause of suspicion.

"Who and whence art thou, priest?" said he.

"'Pax vobiscum'," reiterated the Jester, "I am a poor servant of St
Francis, who, travelling through this wilderness, have fallen among
thieves, (as Scripture hath it,) 'quidam viator incidit in latrones',
which thieves have sent me unto this castle in order to do my ghostly
office on two persons condemned by your honourable justice."

"Ay, right," answered Front-de-Boeuf; "and canst thou tell me, holy
father, the number of those banditti?"

"Gallant sir," answered the Jester, "'nomen illis legio', their name is
legion."

"Tell me in plain terms what numbers there are, or, priest, thy cloak
and cord will ill protect thee."

"Alas!" said the supposed friar, "'cor meum eructavit', that is to
say, I was like to burst with fear! but I conceive they may be--what of
yeomen--what of commons, at least five hundred men."

"What!" said the Templar, who came into the hall that moment, "muster
the wasps so thick here? it is time to stifle such a mischievous brood."
Then taking Front-de-Boeuf aside "Knowest thou the priest?"

"He is a stranger from a distant convent," said Front-de-Boeuf; "I know
him not."

"Then trust him not with thy purpose in words," answered the Templar.
"Let him carry a written order to De Bracy's company of Free Companions,
to repair instantly to their master's aid. In the meantime, and that the
shaveling may suspect nothing, permit him to go freely about his task of
preparing these Saxon hogs for the slaughter-house."

"It shall be so," said Front-de-Boeuf. And he forthwith appointed a
domestic to conduct Wamba to the apartment where Cedric and Athelstane
were confined.

The impatience of Cedric had been rather enhanced than diminished by his
confinement. He walked from one end of the hall to the other, with the
attitude of one who advances to charge an enemy, or to storm the breach
of a beleaguered place, sometimes ejaculating to himself, sometimes
addressing Athelstane, who stoutly and stoically awaited the issue of
the adventure, digesting, in the meantime, with great composure, the
liberal meal which he had made at noon, and not greatly interesting
himself about the duration of his captivity, which he concluded, would,
like all earthly evils, find an end in Heaven's good time.

"'Pax vobiscum'," said the Jester, entering the apartment; "the blessing
of St Dunstan, St Dennis, St Duthoc, and all other saints whatsoever, be
upon ye and about ye."

"Enter freely," answered Cedric to the supposed friar; "with what intent
art thou come hither?"

"To bid you prepare yourselves for death," answered the Jester.

"It is impossible!" replied Cedric, starting. "Fearless and wicked as
they are, they dare not attempt such open and gratuitous cruelty!"

"Alas!" said the Jester, "to restrain them by their sense of humanity,
is the same as to stop a runaway horse with a bridle of silk thread.
Bethink thee, therefore, noble Cedric, and you also, gallant Athelstane,
what crimes you have committed in the flesh; for this very day will ye
be called to answer at a higher tribunal."

"Hearest thou this, Athelstane?" said Cedric; "we must rouse up our
hearts to this last action, since better it is we should die like men,
than live like slaves."

"I am ready," answered Athelstane, "to stand the worst of their malice,
and shall walk to my death with as much composure as ever I did to my
dinner."

"Let us then unto our holy gear, father," said Cedric.

"Wait yet a moment, good uncle," said the Jester, in his natural tone;
"better look long before you leap in the dark."

"By my faith," said Cedric, "I should know that voice!"

"It is that of your trusty slave and jester," answered Wamba, throwing
back his cowl. "Had you taken a fool's advice formerly, you would not
have been here at all. Take a fool's advice now, and you will not be
here long."

"How mean'st thou, knave?" answered the Saxon.

"Even thus," replied Wamba; "take thou this frock and cord, which are
all the orders I ever had, and march quietly out of the castle, leaving
me your cloak and girdle to take the long leap in thy stead."

"Leave thee in my stead!" said Cedric, astonished at the proposal; "why,
they would hang thee, my poor knave."

"E'en let them do as they are permitted," said Wamba; "I trust--no
disparagement to your birth--that the son of Witless may hang in a chain
with as much gravity as the chain hung upon his ancestor the alderman."

"Well, Wamba," answered Cedric, "for one thing will I grant thy request.
And that is, if thou wilt make the exchange of garments with Lord
Athelstane instead of me."

"No, by St Dunstan," answered Wamba; "there were little reason in that.
Good right there is, that the son of Witless should suffer to save
the son of Hereward; but little wisdom there were in his dying for the
benefit of one whose fathers were strangers to his."

"Villain," said Cedric, "the fathers of Athelstane were monarchs of
England!"

"They might be whomsoever they pleased," replied Wamba; "but my neck
stands too straight upon my shoulders to have it twisted for their sake.
Wherefore, good my master, either take my proffer yourself, or suffer me
to leave this dungeon as free as I entered."

"Let the old tree wither," continued Cedric, "so the stately hope of the
forest be preserved. Save the noble Athelstane, my trusty Wamba! it is
the duty of each who has Saxon blood in his veins. Thou and I will abide
together the utmost rage of our injurious oppressors, while he, free and
safe, shall arouse the awakened spirits of our countrymen to avenge us."

"Not so, father Cedric," said Athelstane, grasping his hand,--for, when
roused to think or act, his deeds and sentiments were not unbecoming his
high race--"Not so," he continued; "I would rather remain in this hall
a week without food save the prisoner's stinted loaf, or drink save
the prisoner's measure of water, than embrace the opportunity to escape
which the slave's untaught kindness has purveyed for his master."

"You are called wise men, sirs," said the Jester, "and I a crazed fool;
but, uncle Cedric, and cousin Athelstane, the fool shall decide this
controversy for ye, and save ye the trouble of straining courtesies any
farther. I am like John-a-Duck's mare, that will let no man mount
her but John-a-Duck. I came to save my master, and if he will not
consent--basta--I can but go away home again. Kind service cannot be
chucked from hand to hand like a shuttlecock or stool-ball. I'll hang
for no man but my own born master."

"Go, then, noble Cedric," said Athelstane, "neglect not this
opportunity. Your presence without may encourage friends to our
rescue--your remaining here would ruin us all."

"And is there any prospect, then, of rescue from without?" said Cedric,
looking to the Jester.

"Prospect, indeed!" echoed Wamba; "let me tell you, when you fill my
cloak, you are wrapped in a general's cassock. Five hundred men are
there without, and I was this morning one of the chief leaders. My
fool's cap was a casque, and my bauble a truncheon. Well, we shall see
what good they will make by exchanging a fool for a wise man. Truly, I
fear they will lose in valour what they may gain in discretion. And so
farewell, master, and be kind to poor Gurth and his dog Fangs; and let
my cockscomb hang in the hall at Rotherwood, in memory that I flung away
my life for my master, like a faithful---fool."

The last word came out with a sort of double expression, betwixt jest
and earnest. The tears stood in Cedric's eyes.

"Thy memory shall be preserved," he said, "while fidelity and affection
have honour upon earth! But that I trust I shall find the means of
saving Rowena, and thee, Athelstane, and thee, also, my poor Wamba, thou
shouldst not overbear me in this matter."

The exchange of dress was now accomplished, when a sudden doubt struck
Cedric.

"I know no language," he said, "but my own, and a few words of their
mincing Norman. How shall I bear myself like a reverend brother?"

"The spell lies in two words," replied Wamba--"'Pax vobiscum' will
answer all queries. If you go or come, eat or drink, bless or ban, 'Pax
vobiscum' carries you through it all. It is as useful to a friar as a
broomstick to a witch, or a wand to a conjurer. Speak it but thus, in a
deep grave tone,--'Pax vobiscum!'--it is irresistible--Watch and ward,
knight and squire, foot and horse, it acts as a charm upon them all.
I think, if they bring me out to be hanged to-morrow, as is much to
be doubted they may, I will try its weight upon the finisher of the
sentence."

"If such prove the case," said the master, "my religious orders are soon
taken--'Pax vobiscum'. I trust I shall remember the pass-word.--Noble
Athelstane, farewell; and farewell, my poor boy, whose heart might make
amends for a weaker head--I will save you, or return and die with you.
The royal blood of our Saxon kings shall not be spilt while mine beats
in my veins; nor shall one hair fall from the head of the kind knave
who risked himself for his master, if Cedric's peril can prevent
it.--Farewell."

"Farewell, noble Cedric," said Athelstane; "remember it is the true part
of a friar to accept refreshment, if you are offered any."

"Farewell, uncle," added Wamba; "and remember 'Pax vobiscum'."

Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his expedition; and it was not
long ere he had occasion to try the force of that spell which his Jester
had recommended as omnipotent. In a low-arched and dusky passage, by
which he endeavoured to work his way to the hall of the castle, he was
interrupted by a female form.

"'Pax vobiscum!'" said the pseudo friar, and was endeavouring to
hurry past, when a soft voice replied, "'Et vobis--quaso, domine
reverendissime, pro misericordia vestra'."

"I am somewhat deaf," replied Cedric, in good Saxon, and at the same
time muttered to himself, "A curse on the fool and his 'Pax vobiscum!' I
have lost my javelin at the first cast."

It was, however, no unusual thing for a priest of those days to be deaf
of his Latin ear, and this the person who now addressed Cedric knew full
well.

"I pray you of dear love, reverend father," she replied in his own
language, "that you will deign to visit with your ghostly comfort a
wounded prisoner of this castle, and have such compassion upon him and
us as thy holy office teaches--Never shall good deed so highly advantage
thy convent."

"Daughter," answered Cedric, much embarrassed, "my time in this castle
will not permit me to exercise the duties of mine office--I must
presently forth--there is life and death upon my speed."

"Yet, father, let me entreat you by the vow you have taken on you,"
replied the suppliant, "not to leave the oppressed and endangered
without counsel or succour."

"May the fiend fly away with me, and leave me in Ifrin with the souls of
Odin and of Thor!" answered Cedric impatiently, and would probably
have proceeded in the same tone of total departure from his spiritual
character, when the colloquy was interrupted by the harsh voice of
Urfried, the old crone of the turret.

"How, minion," said she to the female speaker, "is this the manner
in which you requite the kindness which permitted thee to leave thy
prison-cell yonder?--Puttest thou the reverend man to use ungracious
language to free himself from the importunities of a Jewess?"

"A Jewess!" said Cedric, availing himself of the information to get
clear of their interruption,--"Let me pass, woman! stop me not at your
peril. I am fresh from my holy office, and would avoid pollution."

"Come this way, father," said the old hag, "thou art a stranger in this
castle, and canst not leave it without a guide. Come hither, for I would
speak with thee.--And you, daughter of an accursed race, go to the sick
man's chamber, and tend him until my return; and woe betide you if you
again quit it without my permission!"

Rebecca retreated. Her importunities had prevailed upon Urfried to
suffer her to quit the turret, and Urfried had employed her services
where she herself would most gladly have paid them, by the bedside of
the wounded Ivanhoe. With an understanding awake to their dangerous
situation, and prompt to avail herself of each means of safety which
occurred, Rebecca had hoped something from the presence of a man of
religion, who, she learned from Urfried, had penetrated into this
godless castle. She watched the return of the supposed ecclesiastic,
with the purpose of addressing him, and interesting him in favour of
the prisoners; with what imperfect success the reader has been just
acquainted.

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

completion: The epigraph for this chapter is an "Old Song," probably written by Scott himself. The song is all about opposites, including friars and fools. It foreshadows the topic of the chapter: Wamba, the fool, is going to play the friar. Wamba arrives at Torquilstone. The guard lets him in on special orders from Reginald Front-de-Boeuf. Front-de-Boeuf asks Wamba his business. Wamba claims that he is a traveling friar. He keeps throwing in the words "Pax vobiscum" and phrases of nonsense Latin to convince Front-de-Boeuf of his learning. Bois-Guilbert wants to send the friar with a message to De Bracy's allies so the Normans can get reinforcements. But first the Normans have to convince the friar of their honesty. So Bois-Guilbert suggests allowing the friar to give Cedric his last rites . Wamba enters Cedric and Athelstane's cell. Wamba announces that he's there to prepare Cedric and Athelstane for death. Cedric is freaked out for a moment, but then he recognizes that this "friar" is, in fact, his jester Wamba. Wamba offers to die in Cedric's place. If Cedric wears Wamba's friar's disguise, he can escape the castle. But Cedric refuses: let Athelstane be rescued instead! Cedric is totally invested in the idea that Athelstane is the future hope of the Saxon people. But Wamba refuses to die for Athelstane. He will only die for Cedric, who he actually cares about. Athelstane insists that Cedric take this opportunity to escape. Cedric agrees to Wamba's plan, but only because there's a chance he can rescue Athelstane, Rowena, and Wamba from the outside, with the help of the band of outlaws. But there's one snag: Cedric only speaks Saxon. Wamba tells him not to worry about it - just keep repeating "Pax vobiscum," and everyone will believe he's a friar. As Cedric is hurrying out of the castle, he passes a female figure. He says "Pax vobiscum," just as Wamba instructed. But the woman responds, in Latin, "And with you, O most reverend master, I beseech you, in your mercy." Cedric says in Saxon that he is deaf. The woman begs Cedric to go and minister to a wounded man in the castle. Cedric refuses. He is in too much of a hurry. Another woman's voice intrudes. It's Urfried, the cruel old woman who taunted Rebecca in Chapter 24. We find out that Urfried released Rebecca from her cell so she could look after the wounded Ivanhoe. Urfried scolds Rebecca for bothering the nice friar. Urfried promises to show Cedric a secret way out of the castle. Rebecca is disappointed that the "friar" won't help Ivanhoe.