Ivanhoe (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (57 page)

“Now, priest,” said the Knight, pulling off his gauntlet, “if I had vantage on my head, I will have none on my hand; stand fast as a true man.”

“Genam meam dedi vapulatori—I
have given my cheek to the smiter,” said the priest; “an thou canst stir me from the spot, fellow, I will freely bestow on thee the Jew’s ransom.”

So spoke the burly priest, assuming, on his part, high defiance. But who may resist his fate? The buffet of the Knight was given with such strength and good-will that the Friar rolled head over heels upon the plain, to the great amazement of all the spectators. But he arose neither angry nor crestfallen.

“Brother,” said he to the Knight, “thou shouldst have used thy strength with more discretion. I had mumbled but a lame mass an thou hadst broken my jaw, for the piper plays ill that wants the nether chops. Nevertheless, there is my hand, in friendly witness that I will exchange no more cuffs with thee, having been a loser by the barter. End now all unkindness. Let us put the Jew to ransom, since the leopard will not change his spots, and a Jew he will continue to be.”

“The priest,” said Clement,
^ek
“is not half so confident of the Jew’s conversion since he received that buffet on the ear.”

“Go to, knave, what pratest thou of conversion? What, is there no respect?—all masters and no men? I tell thee, fellow, I was somewhat totty
^el
when I received the good knight’s blow, or I had kept my ground under it. But an thou gibest more of it, thou shalt learn I can give as well as take.”

“Peace all!” said the captain. “And thou, Jew, think of thy ransom; thou needest not to be told that thy race are held to be accursed in all Christian communities, and trust me that we cannot endure thy presence among us. Think, therefore, of an offer, while I examine a prisoner of another cast.”

“Were many of Front-de-Bœuf’s men taken?” demanded the Black Knight.

“None of note enough to be put to ransom,” answered the captain; “a set of hilding fellows there were, whom we dismissed to find them a new master; enough had been done for revenge and profit; the bunch of them were not worth a cardecu.
^em
The prisoner I speak of is better booty—a jolly monk riding to visit his leman, an I may judge by his horsegear and wearing apparel. Here cometh the worthy prelate, as pert as a pyet.”
^en
And between two yeomen was brought before the silvan throne of the outlaw chief our old friend, Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx.

The captive Abbot’s features and manners exhibited a whimsical mixture of offended pride, and deranged foppery, and bodily terror.

“Why, how now, my masters?” said he, with a voice in which all three emotions were blended. “What order is this among ye? Be ye Turks or Christians, that handle a churchman? Know ye what
it is, manus imponere in servos Domini
^eo
Ye have plundered my
mails, torn my cope of curious cut lace, which might have served a cardinal. Another in my place would have been at his
excommunicabo
vos;
^ep
but I am placable, and if ye order forth my palfreys, release my brethren, and restore my mails, tell down with all speed an hundred crowns to be expended in masses at the high altar of Jorvaulx Abbey, and make your vow to eat no venison until next Pentecost, it may be you shall hear little more of this mad frolic.”

“Holy father,” said the chief outlaw, “it grieves me to think that you have met with such usage from any of my followers as calls for your fatherly reprehension.”

“Usage!” echoed the priest, encouraged by the mild tone of the silvan leader; “it were usage fit for no hound of good race, much less for a Christian, far less for a priest, and least of all for the prior of the holy community of Jorvaulx. Here is a profane and drunken minstrel, called Allan-a-Dale—
nebulo quidam
^eq
—who has menaced me with corporal punishment—nay, with death itself, an I pay not down four hundred crowns of ransom, to the boot of all the treasure he hath already robbed me of—gold chains and gymmal rings to an unknown value; besides what is broken and spoiled among their rude hands, such as my pouncet-box and silver crisping-tongs.”
^er

“It is impossible that Allan-a-Dale can have thus treated a man of your reverend bearing,” replied the captain.

“It is true as the gospel of St. Nicodemus,” said the Prior; “he swore, with many a cruel north-country oath, that he would hang me up on the highest tree in the greenwood.”

“Did he so in very deed? Nay, then, reverend father, I think you had better comply with his demands, for Allan-a-Dale is the very man to abide by his word when he has so pledged it.”
^es

“You do but jest with me,” said the astounded Prior, with a forced laugh; “and I love a good jest with all my heart. But, ha! ha! ha! when the mirth has lasted the livelong night, it is time to be grave in the morning.”

“And I am as grave as a father confessor,” replied the outlaw; “you must pay a round ransom, Sir Prior, or your convent is likely to be called to a new election; for your place will know you no more.”

“Are ye Christians,” said the Prior, “and hold this language to a churchman?”

“Christians! ay, marry are we, and have divinity among us to boot,” answered the outlaw. “Let our buxom chaplain stand forth, and expound to this reverend father the texts which concern this matter.”

The Friar, half-drunk, half-sober, had huddled a friar’s frock over his green cassock, and now summoning together whatever scraps of learning he had acquired by rote in former days—“Holy father,” said he,
“Deus faciat salvam benignitatem vestram
^et
—you are welcome to the greenwood.”

“What profane mummery is this?” said the Prior. “Friend, if thou be’st indeed of the church, it were a better deed to show me how I may escape from these men’s hands than to stand ducking and grinning here like a morris-dancer.”
²

“Truly, reverend father,” said the Friar, “I know but one mode in which thou mayst escape. This is St. Andrew’s day with us: we are taking our tithes.”
^eu

“But not of the church, then, I trust, my good brother?” said the Prior.

“Of church and lay,” said the Friar; “and therefore, Sir Prior,
facite vobis amicos de mammone iniquitatis
—make yourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness, for no other friendship is like to serve your turn.”

“I love a jolly woodsman at heart,” said the Prior, softening his tone; “come, ye must not deal too hard with me. I can well of woodcraft, and can wind a horn clear and lustily, and hollo till every oak rings again. Come, ye must not deal too hard with me.”

“Give him a horn,” said the outlaw; “we will prove the skill he boasts of.”

The Prior Aymer winded a blast accordingly. The captain shook his head.

“Sir Prior,” he said, “thou blowest a merry note, but it may not ransom thee; we cannot afford, as the legend on a good knight’s shield hath it, to set thee free for a blast. Moreover, I have found thee; thou art one of those who, with new French graces and trali-ras, disturb the ancient English bugle notes. Prior, that last flourish on the recheat hath added fifty crowns to thy ransom, for corrupting the true old manly blasts of venerie.”

“Well, friend,” said the Abbot, peevishly, “thou art ill to please with thy woodcraft. I pray thee be more comformable in this matter of my ransom. At a word—since I must needs, for once, hold a candle to the devil
^ev
—what ransom am I to pay for walking on Watling Street without having fifty men at my back?”

“Were it not well,” said the lieutenant of the gang apart to the captain, “that the Prior should name the Jew’s ransom, and the Jew name the Prior’s?”

“Thou art a mad knave,” said the captain, “but thy plan transcends! Here, Jew, step forth. Look at that holy Father Aymer, Prior of the rich Abbey of Jorvaulx,
³
and tell us at what ransom we should hold him? Thou knowest the income of his convent, I warrant thee.”

“O, assuredly,” said Isaac. “I have trafficked with the good fathers, and bought wheat and barley, and fruits of the earth, and also much wool. O, it is a rich abbey-stede, and they do live upon the fat, and drink the sweet wines upon the lees, these good fathers of Jorvaulx. Ah, if an outcast like me had such a home to go to, and such incomings by the year and by the month, I would pay much gold and silver to redeem my captivity.”

“Hound of a Jew!” exclaimed the Prior, “no one knows better than thy own cursed self that our holy house of God is indebted for the finishing of our chancel—”

“And for the storing of your cellars in the last season with the due allowance of Gascon wine,” interrupted the Jew; “but that—that is small matters.”

“Hear the infidel dog!” said the churchman; “he jangles as if our holy community did come under debts for the wines we have a license to drink
Propter necessitatem et ad frigus depellendum.
^ew
The circumcised villain blesphemeth the holy church, and Christian men listen and rebuke him not!”

“All this helps nothing,” said the leader. “Isaac, pronounce what he may pay, without flaying both hide and hair.”

“An six hundred crowns,” said Isaac, “the good Prior might well pay to your honoured valours, and never sit less soft in his stall.”

“Six hundred crowns,” said the leader, gravely; “I am contented—thou hast well spoken, Isaac—six hundred crowns. It is a sentence, Sir Prior.”

“A sentence!—a sentence!” exclaimed the band; “Solomon had not done it better.”

“Thou hearest thy doom, Prior,” said the leader.

“Ye are mad, my masters,” said the Prior; “where am I to find such a sum? If I sell the very pyx and candlesticks on the altar at Jorvaulx, I shall scarce raise the half; and it will be necessary for that purpose that I go to Jorvaulx myself; ye may retain as borrows my two priests.”

“That will be but blind trust,” said the outlaw; “we will retain thee, Prior, and send them to fetch thy ransom. Thou shalt not want a cup of wine and a collop of venison the while; and if thou lovest woodcraft, thou shalt see such as your north country never witnessed.”

“Or, if so please you,” said Isaac, willing to curry favour with the outlaws, “I can send to York for the six hundred crowns, out of certain monies in my hands, if so be that the most reverend Prior present will grant me a quittance.”

“He shall grant thee whatever thou dost list, Isaac,” said the captain; “and thou shalt lay down the redemption money for Prior Aymer as well as for thyself.”

“For myself! ah, courageous sirs,” said the Jew, “I am a broken and impoverished man; a beggar’s staff must be my portion through life, supposing I were to pay you fifty crowns.”

“The Prior shall judge of that matter,” replied the captain. “How say you, Father Aymer? Can the Jew afford a good ransom?”

“Can he afford a ransom?” answered the Prior. “Is he not Isaac of York, rich enough to redeem the captivity of the ten tribes of Israel who were led into Assyrian bondage? I have seen but little of him myself, but our cellarer and treasurer have dealt largely with him, and report says that his house at York is so full of gold and silver as is a shame in any Christian land. Marvel it is to all living Christian hearts that such gnawing adders should be suffered to eat into the bowels of the state, and even of the holy church herself, with foul usuries and extortions.”

“Hold, father,” said the Jew, “mitigate and assuage your choler. I pray of your reverence to remember that I force my monies upon no one. But when churchman and layman, prince and prior, knight and priest, come knocking to Isaac’s door, they borrow not his shekels with these uncivil terms. It is then, ‘Friend Isaac, will you pleasure us in this matter, and our day shall be truly kept, so God sa’ me?’—and ‘Kind Isaac, if ever you served man, show yourself a friend in this need!’ And when the day comes, and I ask my own, then what hear I but ‘Damned Jew,’ and ‘The curse of Egypt on your tribe,’ and all that may stir up the rude and uncivil populace against poor strangers!”

“Prior,” said the captain, “Jew though he be, he hath in this spoken well. Do thou, therefore, name his ransom, as he named thine, without farther rude terms.”

“None but
latro famosus
^ex
—the interpretation whereof,” said the Prior, “will I give at some other time and tide—would place a Christian prelate and an unbaptized Jew upon the same bench. But since ye require me to put a price upon this caitiff, I tell you openly that ye will wrong yourselves if you take from him a penny under a thousand crowns.”

“A sentence!—a sentence!” exclaimed the chief outlaw.

“A sentence!—a sentence!” shouted his assessors; “the Christian has shown his good nurture, and dealt with us more generously than the Jew.”

“The God of my fathers help me!” said the Jew; “will ye bear to the ground an impoverished creature? I am this day childless, and will ye deprive me of the means of livelihood?”

“Thou wilt have the less to provide for, Jew, if thou art childless,” said Aymer.

“Alas! my lord,” said Isaac, “your law permits you not to know how the child of our bosom is entwined with the strings of our heart. O Rebecca! daughter of my beloved Rachael! were each leaf on that tree a zecchin, and each zecchin mine own, all that mass of wealth would I give to know whether thou art alive, and escaped the hands of the Nazarene!”

“Was not thy daughter dark-haired?” said one of the outlaws; “and wore she not a veil of twisted sendal, broidered with silver?”