Вальтер Скотт - Айвенго / Ivanhoe

The yell which Isaac raised when he heard this news made walls ring, and astonished the two Saracens so much that they let the Jew go. He threw himself on the floor at the feet of Front-de-Boeuf.

“Take all that you have asked,” said he, “Sir Knight—take ten times more, burn me on this fire, but save my daughter! – She is the image of my Rachel.”

“I cannot help what has happened, or what will happen after that, I have given my word to my friend.”

“Robber and villain!” said the Jew, “I will pay you nothing—not one silver coin, unless my daughter is delivered to me in safety and honour! I don’t care if you roast me! My daughter is a thousand times dearer to me than my body and my life.”

“We will check this,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “Strip him, slaves, and chain him down upon the bars.”

The Saracens had already torn from the Jew his clothes, when they heard the sound of a horn blown from outside the castle, and immediately after loud voices called for Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf. The savage Baron gave the slaves a signal to stop and they left the Jew to thank God.

Unlike other prisoners, Rowena was placed in a decorated apartment.

Sometime after midday entered De Bracy, who had changed his robber’s disguise for elegant clothes, combed his long hair and shaved his beard. He offered her to sit down with an elegant gesture, but Rowena didn’t move and said, “If I am in the presence of my jailor, Sir Knight—his prisoner should remain standing until she learns her fate.”

“Oh, beautiful Rowena,” answered De Bracy, “I am not your jailor, you are mine, and from you I must hear my sentence.”

“I don’t know you, sir,” said the lady, “and the language of a troubadour is no excuse for the violence of a robber.”

“That you don’t know me,” said De Bracy, “is my misfortune; yet let me hope that you have heard De Bracy’s name when some herald was talking about brave knights.”

“To heralds and to minstrels, then, leave your fame, Sir Knight,” replied Rowena, “more suiting for their mouths than for your own.”

“Proud maiden,” said irritated De Bracy, – “you will be as proudly treated. Know then, that you will never leave this castle or you will leave it as Maurice de Bracy’s wife. You are proud, Rowena, and you can be a good wife for me. How else can you rise to high honour except for marrying me? How else will you escape from that country farm which is the Saxon’s house?”

“Sir Knight,” replied Rowena, “this farm has been my home since I was little, and, trust me, when I leave it, I will do it with a man who has not learned to despise the house and manners of people dear to me.”

“I understand your hint, lady,” said De Bracy, “but don’t dream that Richard will ever be King again or that Wilfred of Ivanhoe, his knight, will ever be your groom. Know, lady, that this man is in my power, and I can tell Front-de-Boeuf that he is in this castle. Didn’t you know that Wilfred of Ivanhoe travelled in the litter of the Jew?”

“And if he is here,” said Rowena, trying to look calm, “what has he to fear beyond a short imprisonment, and an honourable ransom?”

“Rowena,” said De Bracy, “he stands between Front-de-Boeuf and the land of the barony of Ivanhoe, and one blow of a knife or one mistake of a doctor can remove this obstacle from Front-de-Boeuf’s road. But smile to me, lady, and the wounded champion will be safe.”

“Save him!” said Rowena in terror.

“I can—I will—it is my purpose,” said De Bracy, “but your love must buy his protection.”

“I don’t believe,” answered Rowena, “that you are so wicked.”

“Calm yourself, then, with that belief,” said De Bracy, “until time shall prove it false. Your lover lies wounded in this castle. Cedric also—”

“And Cedric also,” said Rowena, repeating his words; “my noble—my generous guardian!”

“Cedric’s fate also depends on your decision,” said De Bracy.

Rowena couldn’t control herself and burst into tears. De Bracy was embarrassed and touched. He had gone too far to step back, and still he couldn’t look on such a beautiful face in tears. He tried to comfort her, but at that moment he was interrupted by the sound of horn, which at the same time alarmed the other inhabitants of the castle.

Rebecca was waiting for her fate in a distant and lonely tower. Two soldiers brought her there, and left her in the presence of an old and ugly woman they called Urfried.

“What devil’s deed do they have in mind?” said the old woman, muttering to herself looking at Rebecca, “but it is easy to guess—Bright eyes, black hair, and skin like paper. Owls will be your neighbours, and no one will her your screams. What country are you from? – Why don’t you answer?”

“Be not angry, good mother,” said Rebecca, “tell me what I should expect. Are they going to kill me for my religion? I will die cheerfully.”

“Kill you, girl?” answered the hag; “Why would they want to kill you? – Trust me, your life is in no danger. Look at me—I was as young and twice as beautiful as you, when Front-de-Boeuf, the father of this baron, stormed this castle. My father and his seven sons died defending it—and before their bodies were cold, I belonged to the conqueror!”

“Is there no help? – Are there no means of escape?” said Rebecca.

“Don’t think about it,” said the hag; “there is no escape except through the gates of death”.

She left the room as she spoke.

Rebecca was now expecting a fate more terrible than that of Rowena, but she was better prepared by habits of thought, and by natural strength of mind, to face the dangers to which she was exposed.

First she inspected the apartment, but the only door didn’t have a bar and the only window opened upon an isolated balcony.

Rebecca trembled, when she heard steps on the stair. The door of the turret-chamber slowly opened, and a tall man entered and shut the door behind him.

“Do not lose good money,” said Rebecca; “take ransom, and have mercy! – My father will give as much gold as you ask; and if you use it wisely, you can buy yourself a normal life – not that of a robber.”

“It is well spoken,” replied the man, “but know, bright flower of Palestine, that your father is already in the hands of someone who can get gold out of him without your help. The ransom must be paid by love and beauty.”

“You are not a robber,” said Rebecca, “you are a Norman noble—o, be noble in your actions! What can you take from me, if not my money? I am Jewish, you cannot marry me”.

“Marry you? No!” replied the Templar, laughing, “I cannot marry anyone, I am a Templar. But my mistakes will be forgiven by my Order. I have won you with my bow and spear, you belong to me.”

“Stand back,” said Rebecca. She threw open the window which led to the balcony, and in an instant she stood on the parapet, one step from falling down. Unprepared for such a desperate effort, Bois-Guilbert didn’t have time to stop her. She exclaimed, “Stay where you are, proud Templar, one foot nearer, and I die!”

The Templar hesitated, he admired her courage. “Come down,” he said, “I swear I will do nothing against you, and I have never broken my word.”

“I will then trust you thus far,” said Rebecca and came down from the parapet but remained standing close to it.

The thought that she had her fate in her hands, and could escape from dishonour to death, gave colour to her cheeks and fire to her eyes. Bois-Guilbert, who was a proud man himself, thought he had never seen such beauty.

“Rebecca!” he exclaimed, “she who could prefer death to dishonour, must have a proud and powerful soul. You must be mine! You must be mine when you want to be mine. You must share with me my hopes! Listen to me—the Templar loses his social rights, his freedom of action, but he becomes a member and a part of a powerful body, before which thrones tremble. And I am already one of the Chief Commanders and one day I will be the Grand Master. The Order will take power from the hands of kings! Share my adventure, I have found a proud soul in you. Think about it! That sound of horn announces something which may require my presence. I will soon return.”