Ivanhoe by Walter Scott (reading books for 4 year olds txt) 📕

Prince John. “Silence, sirs!” he said; “what

unprofitable debate have we here?”

“The victor,” said De Wyvil, “still waits the pleasure of your

highness.”

“It is our pleasure,” answered John, “that he do so wait until we

learn whether there is not some one who can at least guess at his

name and quality. Should he remain there till night-fall, he has

had work enough to keep him warm.”

“Your Grace,” said Waldemar Fitzurse, “will do less than due

honour to the victor, if you compel him to wait till we tell your

highness that which we cannot know; at least I can form no guess

---unless he be one of the good lances who accompanied King

Richard to Palestine, and who are now straggling homeward from

the Holy Land.”

“It may be the Earl of Salisbury,” said De Bracy; “he is about

the same pitch.”

“Sir Thomas de Multon, the Knight of Gilsland, rather,” said

Fitzurse; “Salisbury is bigger in the bones.” A whisper arose

among the train, but by whom first suggested could not be

ascertained. “It might be the King---it might be Richard

Coeur-de-Lion himself!”

“Over God’s forbode!” said Prince John, involuntarily turning at

the same time as pale as death, and shrinking as if blighted by

a flash of lightning; “Waldemar!---De Bracy! brave knights and

gentlemen, remember your promises, and stand truly by me!”

“Here is no danger impending,” said Waldemar Fitzurse; “are you

so little acquainted with the gigantic limbs of your father’s

son, as to think they can be held within the circumference of

yonder suit of armour?---De Wyvil and Martival, you will best

serve the Prince by bringing forward the victor to the throne,

and ending an error that has conjured all the blood from his

cheeks.---Look at him more closely,” he continued, “your highness

will see that he wants three inches of King Richard’s height, and

twice as much of his shoulder-breadth. The very horse he backs,

could not have carried the ponderous weight of King Richard

through a single course.”

While he was yet speaking, the marshals brought forward the

Disinherited Knight to the foot of a wooden flight of steps,

which formed the ascent from the lists to Prince John’s throne.

Still discomposed with the idea that his brother, so much

injured, and to whom he was so much indebted, had suddenly

arrived in his native kingdom, even the distinctions pointed out

by Fitzurse did not altogether remove the Prince’s apprehensions;

and while, with a short and embarrassed eulogy upon his valour,

he caused to be delivered to him the war-horse assigned as the

prize, he trembled lest from the barred visor of the mailed form

before him, an answer might be returned, in the deep and awful

accents of Richard the Lion-hearted.

But the Disinherited Knight spoke not a word in reply to the

compliment of the Prince, which he only acknowledged with a

profound obeisance.

The horse was led into the lists by two grooms richly dressed,

the animal itself being fully accoutred with the richest

war-furniture; which, however, scarcely added to the value of the

noble creature in the eyes of those who were judges. Laying one

hand upon the pommel of the saddle, the Disinherited Knight

vaulted at once upon the back of the steed without making use of

the stirrup, and, brandishing aloft his lance, rode twice around

the lists, exhibiting the points and paces of the horse with the

skill of a perfect horseman.

The appearance of vanity, which might otherwise have been

attributed to this display, was removed by the propriety shown in

exhibiting to the best advantage the princely reward with which

he had been just honoured, and the Knight was again greeted by

the acclamations of all present.

In the meanwhile, the bustling Prior of Jorvaulx had reminded

Prince John, in a whisper, that the victor must now display his

good judgment, instead of his valour, by selecting from among the

beauties who graced the galleries a lady, who should fill the

throne of the Queen of Beauty and of Love, and deliver the prize

of the tourney upon the ensuing day. The Prince accordingly made

a sign with his truncheon, as the Knight passed him in his second

career around the lists. The Knight turned towards the throne,

and, sinking his lance, until the point was within a foot of the

ground, remained motionless, as if expecting John’s commands;

while all admired the sudden dexterity with which he instantly

reduced his fiery steed from a state of violent emotion and high

excitation to the stillness of an equestrian statue.

“Sir Disinherited Knight,” said Prince John, “since that is the

only title by which we can address you, it is now your duty, as

well as privilege, to name the fair lady, who, as Queen of Honour

and of Love, is to preside over next day’s festival. If, as a

stranger in our land, you should require the aid of other

judgment to guide your own, we can only say that Alicia, the

daughter of our gallant knight Waldemar Fitzurse, has at our

court been long held the first in beauty as in place.

Nevertheless, it is your undoubted prerogative to confer on whom

you please this crown, by the delivery of which to the lady of

your choice, the election of to-morrow’s Queen will be formal and

complete.---Raise your lance.”

The Knight obeyed; and Prince John placed upon its point a

coronet of green satin, having around its edge a circlet of gold,

the upper edge of which was relieved by arrow-points and hearts

placed interchangeably, like the strawberry leaves and balls upon

a ducal crown.

In the broad hint which he dropped respecting the daughter of

Waldemar Fitzurse, John had more than one motive, each the

offspring of a mind, which was a strange mixture of carelessness

and presumption with low artifice and cunning. He wished to

banish from the minds of the chivalry around him his own indecent

and unacceptable jest respecting the Jewess Rebecca; he was

desirous of conciliating Alicia’s father Waldemar, of whom he

stood in awe, and who had more than once shown himself

dissatisfied during the course of the day’s proceedings. He had

also a wish to establish himself in the good graces of the lady;

for John was at least as licentious in his pleasures as

profligate in his ambition. But besides all these reasons, he

was desirous to raise up against the Disinherited Knight (towards

whom he already entertained a strong dislike) a powerful enemy in

the person of Waldemar Fitzurse, who was likely, he thought,

highly to resent the injury done to his daughter, in case, as was

not unlikely, the victor should make another choice.

And so indeed it proved. For the Disinherited Knight passed the

gallery close to that of the Prince, in which the Lady Alicia was

seated in the full pride of triumphant beauty, and, pacing

forwards as slowly as he had hitherto rode swiftly around the

lists, he seemed to exercise his right of examining the numerous

fair faces which adorned that splendid circle.

It was worth while to see the different conduct of the beauties

who underwent this examination, during the time it was

proceeding. Some blushed, some assumed an air of pride and

dignity, some looked straight forward, and essayed to seem

utterly unconscious of what was going on, some drew back in

alarm, which was perhaps affected, some endeavoured to forbear

smiling, and there were two or three who laughed outright. There

were also some who dropped their veils over their charms; but, as

the Wardour Manuscript says these were fair ones of ten years

standing, it may be supposed that, having had their full share of

such vanities, they were willing to withdraw their claim, in

order to give a fair chance to the rising beauties of the age.

At length the champion paused beneath the balcony in which the

Lady Rowena was placed, and the expectation of the spectators was

excited to the utmost.

It must be owned, that if an interest displayed in his success

could have bribed the Disinherited Knight, the part of the lists

before which he paused had merited his predilection. Cedric the

Saxon, overjoyed at the discomfiture of the Templar, and still

more so at the miscarriage of his two malevolent neighbours,

Front-de-Boeuf and Malvoisin, had, with his body half stretched

over the balcony, accompanied the victor in each course, not with

his eyes only, but with his whole heart and soul. The Lady

Rowena had watched the progress of the day with equal attention,

though without openly betraying the same intense interest. Even

the unmoved Athelstane had shown symptoms of shaking off his

apathy, when, calling for a huge goblet of muscadine, he quaffed

it to the health of the Disinherited Knight. Another group,

stationed under the gallery occupied by the Saxons, had shown no

less interest in the fate of the day.

“Father Abraham!” said Isaac of York, when the first course was

run betwixt the Templar and the Disinherited Knight, “how

fiercely that Gentile rides! Ah, the good horse that was brought

all the long way from Barbary, he takes no more care of him than

if he were a wild ass’s colt---and the noble armour, that was

worth so many zecchins to Joseph Pareira, the armourer of Milan,

besides seventy in the hundred of profits, he cares for it as

little as if he had found it in the highways!”

“If he risks his own person and limbs, father,” said Rebecca, “in

doing such a dreadful battle, he can scarce be expected to spare

his horse and armour.”

“Child!” replied Isaac, somewhat heated, “thou knowest not what

thou speakest---His neck and limbs are his own, but his horse and

armour belong to---Holy Jacob! what was I about to say!

---Nevertheless, it is a good youth---See, Rebecca! see, he is

again about to go up to battle against the Philistine---Pray,

child---pray for the safety of the good youth,---and of the

speedy horse, and the rich armour.---God of my fathers!” he again

exclaimed, “he hath conquered, and the uncircumcised Philistine

hath fallen before his lance,---even as Og the King of Bashan,

and Sihon, King of the Amorites, fell before the sword of our

fathers!---Surely he shall take their gold and their silver, and

their war-horses, and their armour of brass and of steel, for a

prey and for a spoil.”

The same anxiety did the worthy Jew display during every course

that was run, seldom failing to hazard a hasty calculation

concerning the value of the horse and armour which was forfeited

to the champion upon each new success. There had been therefore

no small interest taken in the success of the Disinherited

Knight, by those who occupied the part of the lists before which

he now paused.

Whether from indecision, or some other motive of hesitation, the

champion of the day remained stationary for more than a minute,

while the eyes of the silent audience were riveted upon his

motions; and then, gradually and gracefully sinking the point of

his lance, he deposited the coronet which it supported at the

feet of the fair Rowena. The trumpets instantly sounded, while

the heralds proclaimed the Lady Rowena the Queen of Beauty and of

Love for the ensuing day, menacing with suitable penalties those

who should be disobedient to her authority. They then repeated

their cry of Largesse, to which Cedric, in the height of his joy,

replied by an ample donative, and to which Athelstane, though

less promptly, added one equally large.

There was some murmuring among the damsels of Norman descent, who

were as much unused to see the preference given to a Saxon

beauty, as the Norman nobles were to sustain defeat in the games

of chivalry which they themselves had introduced. But these

sounds of disaffection were drowned by