Part 19

"I espy him," said De Bracy; "I see the waving of a knight's crest and the gleam of his armor. See yon tall man in the black mail who is busied marshaling the farther troop of the rascally yeomen. By Saint Dennis, I hold him to be the knight who did so well in the tournament at Ashby."

The demonstrations of the enemy's approach cut off all farther discourse. The Templar and De Bracy repaired to their posts and, at the head of the few followers they were able to muster, awaited with calm determination the threatened assault, while Front-de-Boeuf went to see that all was secure in the besieged fortress.

V

In the meantime, the wounded Wilfred of Ivanhoe had been gradually recovering his strength. Taken into her litter by Rebecca when his own father hesitated to succor him, the young knight had lain in a stupor through all the experiences of the journey and the capture of Cedric's party by the Normans. De Bracy, who, bad as he was, was not without some [v]compunction, on finding the occupant of the litter to be Ivanhoe, had placed the invalid under the charge of two of his squires, who were directed to state to any inquirers that he was a wounded comrade. This explanation was now accordingly returned by these men to Front-de-Boeuf, when, in going the round of the castle, he questioned them why they did not make for the battlements upon the alarm of the attack.

"A wounded comrade!" he exclaimed in great wrath and astonishment. "No wonder that churls and yeomen wax so presumptuous as even to lay leaguer before castles, and that clowns and swineherds send defiances to nobles, since men-at-arms have turned sick men's nurses. To the battlements, ye loitering villains!" he cried, raising his [v]stentorian voice till the arches rang again; "to the battlements, or I will splinter your bones with this truncheon."

The men, who, like most of their description, were fond of enterprise and detested inaction, went joyfully to the scene of danger, and the care of Ivanhoe fell to Rebecca, who occupied a neighboring apartment and who was not kept in close confinement.

The beautiful young Jewess rejoined the knight, whom she had so signally befriended, at the moment of the beginning of the attack on the castle. Ivanhoe, already much better and chafing at his enforced inaction, resembled the war-horse who scenteth the battle afar.

"If I could but drag myself to yonder window," he said, "that I might see how this brave game is like to go--if I could strike but a single blow for our deliverance! It is in vain; I am alike nerveless and weaponless!"

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

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

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

"You must not; you shall not!" exclaimed Ivanhoe. "Each lattice will soon be a mark for the archers; some random shaft may strike you. At least cover thy body with yonder ancient buckler and show as little of thyself as may be."

Availing herself of the protection of the large, ancient shield, which she placed against the lower part of the window, Rebecca, with tolerable security, could witness part of what was passing without the castle and report to Ivanhoe the preparations being made for the storming. From where she stood she had a full view of the outwork likely to be the first object of the assault. It was a fortification of no great height or strength, intended to protect the postern-gate through which Cedric had been recently dismissed by Front-de-Boeuf. The castle moat divided this species of barbican from the rest of the fortress, so that, in case of its being taken, it was easy to cut off the communication with the main building by withdrawing the temporary bridge. In the outwork was a sally-port corresponding to the postern of the castle, and the whole was surrounded by a strong palisade. From the mustering of the assailants in a direction nearly opposite the outwork, it seemed plain that this point had been selected for attack.

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

"Under what banner?" asked Ivanhoe.

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

"A singular novelty," muttered the knight, "to advance to storm such a castle without pennon or banner displayed! Seest thou who they are that act as leaders? Or, are all of them but stout yeomen?"

"A knight clad in sable armor is the most conspicuous," she replied; "he alone is armed from head to foot, and he seems to assume the direction of all around him."

"Seem there no other leaders?" demanded the anxious inquirer.

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

Her description was suddenly interrupted by the signal for assault, which was the blast of a shrill bugle, at once answered by a flourish of the Norman trumpets from the battlements. The shouts of both parties augmented the fearful din, the assailants crying, "Saint George for merry England!" and the Normans answering them with cries of "[v]_Beauseant! Beauseant!_"

It was not, however, by clamor that the contest was to be decided, and the desperate efforts of the assailants were met by an equally vigorous defense on the part of the besieged. The archers, trained by their woodland pastimes to the most effective use of the longbow, shot so rapidly and accurately that no point at which a defender could show the least part of his person escaped their [v]cloth-yard shafts. By this heavy discharge, which continued as thick and sharp as hail, two or three of the garrison were slain and several others wounded. But, confident in their armor of proof and in the cover which their situation afforded, the followers of Front-de-Boeuf, and his allies, showed an obstinacy in defense proportioned to the fury of the attack, replying with the discharge of their large cross-bows to the close and continued shower of arrows. As the assailants were necessarily but indifferently protected, they received more damage than they did.

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

With patient courage, Rebecca again took post at the lattice.

"What dost thou see?" demanded the wounded knight.

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

"That cannot endure," remarked Ivanhoe. "If they press not on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but little against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the sable knight and see how he bears himself, for as the leader is, so will his followers be."

"I see him not," said Rebecca.

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

"He blenches not! he blenches not!" cried Rebecca. "I see him now; he heads a body of men close under the outer barrier of the barbican. They pull down the piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers with axes. His high black plume floats over the throng, like a raven over the field of the slain. They have made a breach in the barriers--they rush in--they are thrust back! Front-de-Boeuf heads the defenders; I see his gigantic form above the press. They throng again to the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand, and man to man. Have mercy, God!"

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

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

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

"Who is down?" cried Ivanhoe; "tell me which has fallen?"

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

"Front-de-Boeuf?" exclaimed Ivanhoe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Our friends," said Wilfred, "will surely not abandon an enterprise so gloriously begun and so happily attained. Oh, no! I will put my faith in the good knight whose ax hath rent heart-of-oak and bars of iron."

VI

During the interval of quiet which followed the first success of the besiegers, the Black Knight was employed in causing to be constructed a sort of floating bridge, or long raft, by means of which he hoped to cross the moat in despite of the resistance of the enemy. This was a work of some time.

When the raft was completed, the Black Knight addressed the besiegers: "It avails not waiting here longer, my friends; the sun is descending in the west, and I may not tarry for another day. Besides, it will be a marvel if the horsemen do not come upon us from York, unless we speedily accomplish our purpose. Wherefore, one of you go to Locksley and bid him commence a discharge of arrows on the opposite side of the castle, and move forward as if about to assault it; while you, true Englishmen, stand by me and be ready to thrust the raft end-long over the moat whenever the postern on our side is thrown open. Follow me boldly across, and aid me to burst yon sally-port in the main wall of the castle. As many of you as like not this service, or are but ill-armed, do you man the top of the outwork, draw your bowstrings to your ears and quell with your shot whoever shall appear upon the rampant. Noble Cedric, wilt thou take the direction of those that remain?"

"Not so," answered the Saxon. "Lead I cannot, but my posterity curse me in my grave if I follow not with the foremost wherever thou shalt point the way!"

"Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon," said the knight, "thou hast neither hauberk nor corslet, nor aught but that light helmet, [v]target, and sword."

"The better," replied Cedric; "I shall be the lighter to climb these walls. And--forgive the boast, sir knight--thou shalt this day see the naked breast of a Saxon as boldly presented to the battle as ever you beheld the steel corslet of a Norman warrior."

"In the name of God, then," said the knight, "fling open the door and launch the floating bridge!"

The portal which led from the inner wall of the barbican, now held by the besiegers, to the moat and corresponded with a sally-port in the main wall of the castle was suddenly opened. The temporary bridge was immediately thrust forward and extended its length between the castle and outwork, forming a slippery and precarious passage for two men abreast to cross the moat. Well aware of the importance of taking the foe by surprise, the Black Knight, closely followed by Cedric, threw himself upon the bridge and reached the opposite shore. Here he began to thunder with his ax on the gate of the castle, protected in part from the shot and stones cast by the defenders by the ruins of the former drawbridge, which the Templar had demolished in his retreat from the barbican, leaving the [v]counterpoise still attached to the upper part of the portal. The followers of the knight had no such shelter; two were instantly shot with cross-bow bolts, and two more fell into the moat. The others retreated back into the barbican.

[Illustration: [See page 323]

He Began to Thunder on the Gate]

The situation of Cedric and the Black Knight was now truly dangerous and would have been still more so but for the constancy of the archers in the barbican, who ceased not to shower their arrows on the battlements, distracting the attention of those by whom they were manned and thus affording a respite to their two chiefs from the storm of missiles, which must otherwise have overwhelmed them. But their situation was eminently perilous, and was becoming more so with every moment.

"Shame on ye all!" cried De Bracy to the soldiers around him; "do ye call yourselves cross-bowmen and let these two dogs keep their station under the walls of the castle? Heave over the coping stones from the battlement, an better may not be. Get pick-ax and levers and down with that huge pinnacle!" pointing to a heavy piece of stone-carved work that projected from the parapet.

At this moment Locksley whipped up the courage of his men.

"Saint George for England!" he cried. "To the charge, bold yeomen! Why leave ye the good knight and noble Cedric to storm the pass alone? Make in, yeomen! The castle is taken. Think of honor; think of spoil. One effort and the place is ours."

With that he bent his good bow and sent a shaft right through the breast of one of the men-at-arms, who, under De Bracy's direction, was loosening a fragment from one of the battlements to precipitate on the heads of Cedric and the Black Knight. A second soldier caught from the hands of the dying man the iron crow, with which he had heaved up and loosened the stone pinnacle, when, receiving an arrow through his headpiece, he dropped from the battlement into the moat a dead man. The men-at-arms were daunted, for no armor seemed proof against the shot of this tremendous archer.

"Do you give ground, base knaves?" cried De Bracy. "[v]_Mountjoy Saint Dennis_! Give me the lever."

Snatching it up, he again assailed the loosened pinnacle, which was of weight enough, if thrown down, not only to have destroyed the remnant of the drawbridge, which sheltered the two foremost assailants, but also to have sunk the rude float of planks over which they had crossed. All saw the danger, and the boldest, even the stout friar himself, avoided setting a foot on the raft. Thrice did Locksley bend his shaft against De Bracy, and thrice did his arrow bound back from the knight's armor of proof.

"Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat!" said Locksley; "had English smith forged it, these arrows had gone through it as if it had been silk." He then began to call out: "Comrades! friends! noble Cedric! bear back and let the ruin fall."

His warning voice was unheard, for the din which the Black Knight himself occasioned by his strokes upon the postern would have drowned twenty war-trumpets. The faithful Gurth indeed sprang forward on the planked bridge to warn Cedric of his impending fate, or to share it with him. But his warning would have come too late; the massive pinnacle already tottered, and De Bracy, who still heaved at his task, would have accomplished it, had not the voice of the Templar sounded close in his ear.

"All is lost, De Bracy; the castle burns."

"Thou art mad to say so," replied the knight.

"It is all in a light flame on the western side," returned Bois-Guilbert. "I have striven in vain to extinguish it."

"What is to be done?" cried De Bracy. "I vow to Saint Nicholas of Limoges a candlestick of pure gold--"

"Spare thy vow," said the Templar, "and mark me. Lead thy men down, as if to a sally; throw the postern-gate open. There are but two men who occupy the float; fling them into the moat and push across to the barbican. I will charge from the main gate and attack the barbican on the outside. If we can regain that post, we shall defend ourselves until we are relieved or, at least, until they grant us fair quarter."

"It is well thought upon," replied De Bracy; "I will play my part."

De Bracy hastily drew his men together and rushed down to the postern-gate, which he caused instantly to be thrown open. Scarce was this done ere the portentous strength of the Black Knight forced his way inward in despite of De Bracy and his followers. Two of the foremost instantly fell, and the rest gave way, notwithstanding all their leader's efforts to stop them.

"Dogs!" cried De Bracy; "will ye let two men win our only pass for safety?"

"He is the devil!" replied a veteran man-at-arms, bearing back from the blows of their sable antagonist.

"And if he be the devil," said De Bracy, "would you fly from him into the mouth of hell? The castle burns behind us, villains! Let despair give you courage, or let me forward. I will cope with this champion myself."

And well and chivalrously did De Bracy that day maintain the fame he had acquired in the civil wars of that dreadful period. The vaulted passages in which the two redoubted champions were now fighting hand to hand rang with the furious blows they dealt each other, De Bracy with his sword, the Black Knight with his ponderous ax. At length the Norman received a blow, which, though its force was partly parried by his shield, descended yet with such violence on his crest that he measured his length on the paved floor.

"Yield thee, De Bracy," said the Black Knight, stooping over him and holding against the bars of his helmet the fatal poniard with which knights despatched their enemies; "yield thee, Maurice de Bracy, rescue or no rescue, or thou art but a dead man. Speak!"

The gallant Norman, seeing the hopelessness of further resistance, yielded, and was allowed to rise.

"Let me tell thee what it imports thee to know," he said. "Wilfred of Ivanhoe is wounded and a prisoner, and will perish in the burning castle without present help."

"Wilfred of Ivanhoe!" exclaimed the Black Knight. "The life of every man in the castle shall answer if a hair of his head be singed. Show me his chamber!"

"Ascend yonder stair," directed De Bracy. "It leads to his apartment."

The turret was now in bright flames, which flashed out furiously from window and shot-hole. But, in other parts, the great thickness of the walls and the vaulted roofs of the apartments resisted the progress of the fire, and there the rage of man still triumphed; for the besiegers pursued the defenders of the castle from chamber to chamber. Most of the garrison resisted to the uttermost; few of them asked quarter--none received it. The air was filled with groans and the clashing of arms.

Through this scene of confusion the Black Knight rushed in quest of Ivanhoe, whom he found in Rebecca's charge. The knight, picking up the wounded man as if he were a child, bore him quickly to safety. In the meantime, Cedric had gone in search of Rowena, followed by the faithful Gurth. The noble Saxon was so fortunate as to reach his ward's apartment just as she had abandoned all hope of safety and sat in expectation of instant death. He committed her to the charge of Gurth, to be carried without the castle. The loyal Cedric then hastened in quest of his friend Athelstane, determined at every risk to himself to save the prince. But ere Cedric penetrated as far as the old hall in which he himself had been a prisoner, the inventive genius of Wamba had procured liberation for himself and his companion.

When the noise of the conflict announced that it was at the hottest, the jester began to shout with the utmost power of his lungs, "Saint George and the Dragon! Bonny Saint George for merry England! The castle is won!" These sounds he rendered yet more fearful by banging against each other two or three pieces of rusty armor which lay scattered around the hall.