Simon Hawke - Ivanhoe Gambit

He had purchased a simple suit of clothing that would enable him to pass for a palmer, a wandering monk who had made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Even though the banquet was being held by John for his knights and nobles, as well as for the wealthy Saxons, he would not be denied admission in this guise. They would allow him in and feed him, no doubt giving him an unobtrusive place in the banquet hall, which suited him just fine. It would enable him to observe the others without being too noticeable himself.

As he had expected, he was admitted to Ashby and brought into the banquet hall. The steward announced him briefly as a palmer just returned from the Holy Land. John made a curt bow of respect, inclining his head very slightly, and motioned for the steward to seat him. They made a small place for him in the corner of the damp hall and brought him food and drink. His arrival did not pass without comment, however. No sooner was he seated than Athelstane was on his feet, proposing a toast.

"My lords and ladies," the corpulent Saxon shouted, making himself heard above the noise, "the arrival of the holy pilgrim serves to remind us of those gallant hearts fighting to free the Holy Land. I propose a toast. To the strong in arms, be their race or language what it will, who now bear them best in Palestine among the champions of the Cross!"

Bois-Guilbert rose up then, goblet held high. "To the Knights Templars, then," he said, "who are the sworn champions of the Holy Sepulchre!"

"And to the Knights Hospitalers, as well," said the Norman abbot, Father Aymer. "I have a brother in their order fighting to defend the Cross."

"I impeach not their fame," conceded Bois-Guilbert.

"What, then," said Rowena, noting her father's frowning countenance and smiling slyly, "were there none in the English army whose names are worthy to be mentioned with the Knights of the Temple and of St. John?"

"Forgive me, my lady," said Bois-Guilbert. "The English monarch did, indeed, bring to Palestine a host of gallant warriors, second only to those whose breasts have been the unceasing bulwark of that land."

"Second to none!" roared Athelstane. He turned in Lucas' direction. "Tell us, holy palmer, were there not gallant knights of English blood second to none who ever drew a sword in defense of the Holy Land?"

All eyes were on Lucas and he rose slowly to his feet, thankful for his cowl and the fact that he was in the shadows. Ivanhoe had been away for quite some time, but surely his own father would know him if he had a clear look at his face. Lucas took a deferential pose as he replied, holding his head slightly lowered as if uncomfortable to be made the focus of attention, which he was, acutely.

"I am but a palmer," he said, "and as such, know little of the way of warfare. Yet I did see when King Richard and five of his knights held a tournament after the taking of St. John-de-Acre, as challengers against all comers. On that day, each knight ran three courses and cast to the ground three antagonists. Seven of these assailants were Knights of the Temple, as Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert can vouchsafe."

It was one of Wilfred's favorite memories. Under questioning, it had been difficult to get the doped up knight to speak of anything else. He had been quite well pleased with himself.

The Templar did not take that well. He scowled and his hands clenched into fists.

"Their names, good palmer!" shouted Athelstane. "Could you tell us the names of these gallant knights?"

"The first in honor, as in arms, was Richard, King of England," Lucas said. "The Earl of Leicester was the second. Sir Thomas Multon of Gilsland was the third."

"A Saxon!" hollered Athelstane, joyfully.

"Sir Foulk Doilly was the fourth," said Lucas.

"A Saxon on his mother's side!" yelled Athelstane, to the growing displeasure of the Normans. "And the fifth? Who was the fifth?"

"Sir Edwin Turneham."

"Saxon, by the soul of Hengist!" Athelstane's voice grew even louder, echoing throughout the hall. "The sixth! Who was the sixth?"

"I fear the sixth knight was one of lesser renown," said Lucas, "whose name dwells not in my memory."

"Sir Palmer," Bois-Guilbert said, tensely, "this assumed forgetfulness after so much has been remembered, comes too late to serve your purpose. I will tell you myself who this knight was, whose good fortune and my horse's fault gave him the victory. It was Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe and there was not one of the six who, for his years, had more renown in arms, as Sir Wilfred would himself be first to tell you. Yet I will tell you this, that were Ivanhoe in England, I would soon demonstrate which of us is second to none in arms and valor!"

"Well, then," said John, smirking, "we shall include Sir Wilfred in our toast, whose absence prevents his answering the challenge. Let all fill to the pledge, and especially Cedric of Rotherwood, the worthy father to so gallant a defender of the Cross."

"No, my lord," said Cedric, turning his goblet upside down upon the table and spilling out his wine. "I will not drink to a disobedient youth who despises my commands and relinquishes the manners and the customs of his fathers!"

"What," said John, "can such a gallant knight be an unworthy son?"

"His name shall not pass my lips," said Cedric. "He left my home to mingle with the nobles at your brother's court, where he learned your Norman ways and tricks of horsemanship. He acted contrary to my wishes and commands and in the days of Alfred, such disobedience as his would have been a crime severely punished! Nor is it my least quarrel with my son that he stooped to hold, as feudal vassal, the very lands which his fathers possessed in free and independent right!"

John smiled. "Then it would seem that we would have your sanction, Cedric, if we were to confer this fief upon a person whose dignity would not be diminished by the holding of it. Sir Maurice De Bracy, will you keep the Barony of Ivanhoe, so that Sir Wilfred shall not further incur Cedric's displeasure by being a feudal vassal of the Crown?"

"By God," said De Bracy, "I'll be called a Saxon before Cedric or Wilfred or the best of English blood shall take away from me this gift, Your Highness!"

"Anyone calling you a Saxon, Sir Maurice," said Cedric, "would be doing you an honor as great as it is undeserved."

"No doubt the noble Cedric speaks the truth," said John. "His race may, indeed, claim precedence over us in the length of their pedigrees. The pictish blue with which his fathers painted themselves doubtless imparted the nobility of color to their veins."

"They do go before us in the field," said Father Aymer, "much as deer go before the dogs."

"And we should not forget their singular abstemiousness and temperance," said De Bracy, chuckling at Athelstane, who stood literally quivering with rage.

"Together with the courage and the conduct by which they distinguished themselves at Hastings and elsewhere," said Bois-Guilbert.

"Whatever be the defects of their race, real or imagined," said the heretofore silent de la Croix, "as one who has had occasion to partake of Saxon hospitality, I can at least vouchsafe that I know no Saxon who, in his own hall and while his own wine cup has been passed, has ever treated an unoffending guest to such a display of discourtesy as I have seen here on this night."

There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence, broken finally by Cedric, who rose to his feet ponderously.

"My thanks, Sir Knight," he said, controlling his voice with difficulty. "At least there is one among you who does not stoop to use a guest in such a wanton fashion. As for the misfortune of our fathers upon the field of Hastings, those may at least be silent who have within the past few hours once again been tumbled from the saddle by a Saxon lance!"

"By my faith, a biting jest!" said John, laughing. "Our Saxon subjects rise in spirit and courage, become shrewd in wit and bold in bearing in these unsettled times! Alas, I fear it may be best if we were to board our galleys and flee for Normandy in the face of such an uprising!"