dying man, knaves!” rejoined the Baron; “I promise thee we shall all be dying men an we stand not to it the more stoutly. But I will relieve the guard upon this caitiff companion of yours. — Here, Urfried — hag — fiend of a Saxon witch — hearest me not? — tend me this bedridden fellow since he must needs be tended, whilst these knaves use their weapons. — Here be two arblasts, comrades, with windlaces and quarrells33 — to the barbican with you, and see you drive each bolt through a Saxon brain.”
The men, who, like most of their description, were fond of enterprise and detested inaction, went joyfully to the scene of danger as they were commanded, and thus the charge of Ivanhoe was transferred to Urfried, or Ulrica. But she, whose brain was burning with remembrance of injuries and with hopes of vengeance, was readily induced to devolve upon Rebecca the care of her patient.
33 The arblast was a cross-bow, the windlace the machine used in bending that weapon, and the quarrell, so called from its square or diamond-shaped head, was the bolt adapted to it.
Chapter 29
Ascend the watch-tower yonder, valiant soldier,
Look on the field, and say how goes the battle.
Schiller’s Maid of Orleans
A moment of peril is often also a moment of open-hearted kindness and affection. We are thrown off our guard by the general agitation of our feelings, and betray the intensity of those, which, at more tranquil periods, our prudence at least conceals, if it cannot altogether suppress them. In finding herself once more by the side of Ivanhoe, Rebecca was astonished at the keen sensation of pleasure which she experienced, even at a time when all around them both was danger, if not despair. As she felt his pulse, and enquired after his health, there was a softness in her touch and in her accents implying a kinder interest than she would herself have been pleased to have voluntarily expressed. Her voice faltered and her hand trembled, and it was only the cold question of Ivanhoe, “Is it you, gentle maiden?” which recalled her to herself, and reminded her the sensations which she felt were not and could not be mutual. A sigh escaped, but it was scarce audible; and the questions which she asked the knight concerning his state of health were put in the tone of calm friendship. Ivanhoe answered her hastily that he was, in point of health, as well, and better than he could have expected — “Thanks,” he said, “dear Rebecca, to thy helpful skill.”
“He calls me DEAR Rebecca,” said the maiden to herself, “but it is in the cold and careless tone which ill suits the word. His war-horse — his hunting hound, are dearer to him than the despised Jewess!”
“My mind, gentle maiden,” continued Ivanhoe, “is more disturbed by anxiety, than my body with pain. From the speeches of those men who were my warders just now, I learn that I am a prisoner, and, if I judge aright of the loud hoarse voice which even now dispatched them hence on some military duty, I am in the castle of Front-de-Boeuf — If so, how will this end, or how can I protect Rowena and my father?”
“He names not the Jew or Jewess,” said Rebecca internally; “yet what is our portion in him, and how justly am I punished by Heaven for letting my thoughts dwell upon him!” She hastened after this brief self-accusation to give Ivanhoe what information she could; but it amounted only to this, that the Templar Bois-Guilbert, and the Baron Front-de-Boeuf, were commanders within the castle; that it was beleaguered from without, but by whom she knew not. She added, that there was a Christian priest within the castle who might be possessed of more information.
“A Christian priest!” said the knight, joyfully; “fetch him hither, Rebecca, if thou canst — say a sick man desires his ghostly counsel — say what thou wilt, but bring him — something I must do or attempt, but how can I determine until I know how matters stand without?”
Rebecca in compliance with the wishes of Ivanhoe, made that attempt to bring Cedric into the wounded Knight’s chamber, which was defeated as we have already seen by the interference of Urfried, who had also been on the watch to intercept the supposed monk. Rebecca retired to communicate to Ivanhoe the result of her errand.
They had not much leisure to regret the failure of this source of intelligence, or to contrive by what means it might be supplied; for the noise within the castle, occasioned by the defensive preparations which had been considerable for some time, now increased into tenfold bustle and clamour. The heavy, yet hasty step of the men-at-arms, traversed the battlements or resounded on the narrow and winding passages and stairs which led to the various bartisans and points of defence. The voices of the knights were heard, animating their followers, or directing means of defence, while their commands were often drowned in the clashing of armour, or the clamorous shouts of those whom they addressed. Tremendous as these sounds were, and yet more terrible from the awful event which they presaged, there was a sublimity mixed with them, which Rebecca’s high-toned mind could feel even in that moment of terror. Her eye kindled, although the blood fled from her cheeks; and there was a strong mixture of fear, and of a thrilling sense of the sublime, as she repeated, half whispering to herself, half speaking to her companion, the sacred text, — “The quiver rattleth — the glittering spear and the shield — the noise of the captains and the shouting!”
But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime passage, glowing with impatience at his inactivity, and with his ardent desire to mingle in the affray of which these sounds were the introduction. “If I could but drag myself,” he said, “to yonder window, that I might see how this brave game is like to go — If I had but bow to shoot a shaft, or battle-axe to strike were it but a single blow for our deliverance! — It is in vain — it is in vain — I am alike nerveless and weaponless!”
“Fret not thyself, noble knight,” answered Rebecca, “the sounds have ceased of a sudden — it may be they join not battle.”
“Thou knowest nought of it,” said Wilfred, impatiently; “this dead pause only shows that the men are at their posts on the walls, and expecting an instant attack; what we have heard was but the instant muttering of the storm — it will burst anon in all its fury. — Could I but reach yonder window!”
“Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt, noble knight,” replied his attendant. Observing his extreme solicitude, she firmly added, “I myself will stand at the lattice, and describe to you as I can what passes without.”
“You must not — you shall not!” exclaimed Ivanhoe; “each lattice, each aperture, will be soon a mark for the archers; some random shaft — ”
“It shall be welcome!” murmured Rebecca, as with firm pace she ascended two or three steps, which led to the window of which they spoke.
“Rebecca, dear Rebecca!” exclaimed Ivanhoe, “this is no maiden’s pastime — do not expose thyself to wounds and death, and render me for ever miserable for having given the occasion; at least, cover thyself with yonder ancient buckler, and show as little of your person at the lattice as may be.”
Following with wonderful promptitude the directions of Ivanhoe, and availing herself of the protection of the large ancient shield, which she placed against the lower part of the window, Rebecca, with tolerable security to herself, could witness part of what was passing without the castle, and report to Ivanhoe the preparations which the assailants were making for the storm. Indeed the situation which she thus obtained was peculiarly favourable for this purpose, because, being placed on an angle of the main building,
