Вальтер Скотт - Айвенго / Ivanhoe

“That is unfortunate,” said De Bracy; “Our numbers are too few for the defence of every point. But let us return to the walls,” he continued carelessly; “that man never breathed, who valued life as little as I do. But you, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, will see today Maurice de Bracy fight as a man of noble blood.”

“To the walls!” answered the Templar; and they both ascended the battlements to do all that skill could dictate, and manhood accomplish, in defence of the place. They agreed that De Bracy should command the defence at the small gate, and the Templar would keep with him ten men as a body of reserve, ready to hurry to any other point which might be suddenly threatened.

In the meanwhile, the lord of the castle lay dying. The fever of his body aided the agony of his mind, and when the savage Baron thought about the approaching death he felt new sort of fear.

“Where are these dog-priests now?” growled the Baron, “I have heard old men talk of prayer—prayer with their own words—But I–I dare not!”

“Lives Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said a broken and shrill voice close by his bedside, “to say there is that which he dares not!”

The evil conscience and the shaken nerves of Front-de-Boeuf heard the voice of one of those demons, who, as the people then believed, come to the beds of dying men to distract them from their prayers. He shuddered and exclaimed, “Who is there? – What are you? – Come before my eyes that I may see you.”

“I am your evil angel, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” replied the voice, “Think of your sins, of rebellion, of robbery, of murder!”

“Let me die in peace,” replied Front-de-Boeuf, “if you are a demon, your time has not come yet.”

“In peace you will not die,” said the voice; “before your death you will think of your murders! Think of your father! – think of his death! – think of his banquet-room flooded with his blood!”

“Go, leave me, demon! Seek the Saxon witch Ulrica who took part in this murder, let her taste of the tortures which come before hell!” answered the Baron.

“She already tastes them,” said Ulrica, stepping before Front-de-Boeuf, “Don’t shake your fist, Front-de-Boeuf—the hand which, like that of your renowned ancestor who gained your name, could have broken with one stroke the skull of a mountain-bull, is now powerless as my own!”

“Vile hag!” replied Front-de-Boeuf; “it is you?”

“Yes, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” answered she, “it is Ulrica! – it is the daughter of the murdered Torquil Wolfganger! – it is the sister of his slaughtered sons!”

“My servants!” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, “Where are you? Take this witch, and throw her down from the walls!”

“Call them again, Baron,” said the hag, with a terrible smile, “But know, mighty chief, you will not have answer or help. – Listen to the sounds of battle. The Saxons attack your walls!”

“Gods and fiends!” exclaimed the wounded knight; “O, for one moment’s strength, to drag myself there and die in battle!”

“You will not die like a knight,” replied Ulrica, “Don’t you notice the smoke? – Do you remember the fuel that is stored beneath these apartments?”

“Woman!” he exclaimed with fury, “have you set fire to it? – The castle is in flames!”

“They are fast rising,” said Ulrica, “and a signal will soon show the attackers that they should press hard upon the defenders. – Farewell, Front-de-Boeuf! – But know, if it gives you comfort to know it, that Ulrica will die with you to be the companion of your punishment as she was the companion of your guilt. – And now farewell for ever!”

So saying, she left the apartment; and Front-de-Boeuf could hear the sound of the ponderous key as she locked the door.

When the barbican was taken, the Black Knight used the interval to order his men to construct some sort of a long raft to cross the moat. This work took some time.

When the raft was completed, the Black Knight addressed his followers – “We should attack now. I will have to leave you tomorrow and an army can come from York. Follow me. Those of you who are not ready to attack will help us with your arrows. Now open the door.”

The temporary bridge was then thrown into the moat and created an unstable passage for two men at a time to cross the water. The Black Knight and Cedric ran across the bridge. There they were protected from stones and arrows by the ruins of the old bridge which still hung over the gate. The knight began to crush with his axe the gate of the castle. But their situation was now very dangerous in spite of the support of the archers.

De Bracy was going to push down a huge stone detail of the castle, which could kill both Cedric and the knight, when he heard the voice of the Templar:

“All is lost, De Bracy, the castle burns. Listen to me, lead your men down, open the gate, there are only two men on the float, throw them into the moat, and attack the barbican. I will attack from the main gate, and come to the barbican from the outside. If we can win that post, I am sure we will defend ourselves until we are rescued. Hurry!”

De Bracy collected his men together, and ran down to the small gate. But the moment the gate was open, the Black Knight pushed inside in spite of De Bracy and his followers. Two of them fell and the rest gave way.

“Dogs!” said De Bracy, “will you let two men win our only pass for safety?”

“He is the devil!” said a veteran man-at-arms.

“Let me come forward!” replied De Bracy, “I will fight this champion myself.”

And on that day De Bracy well proved that he was worthy of his fame. The vaulted passage, in which he was fighting with the Black Knight hand to hand, rung with the furious blows which they gave and received, De Bracy with his sword, the Black Knight with his huge axe. After some time the Norman received such a blow, that he fell on the paved floor.

“Surrender, Maurice De Bracy,” said the Black Champion, “or you will die.”

“I will not surrender,” replied De Bracy, “to an unknown knight. Tell me your name, or kill me—it will never be said that Maurice de Bracy was prisoner to a nameless bandit.”

The Black Knight whispered something in his ear.

“I surrender to be a true prisoner,” answered the Norman.

“Go to the barbican,” said the victor, “and there wait for my further orders.”

“Yet first, let me tell you something important,” said De Bracy, “Wilfred of Ivanhoe is wounded and a prisoner, and will die in the burning castle without help.”

“Wilfred of Ivanhoe!” exclaimed the Black Knight. – ”Show me his chamber!”

“That stair leads to his apartment,” said De Bracy.

During this fight and brief conversation Cedric, the Friar and their friends attacked and drove back the despairing followers of De Bracy.

When Ivanhoe woke up, he noticed the smoke in the room.

“The castle burns,” said Rebecca; “it burns! – What can we do to save ourselves?”

“Run, Rebecca, and save your life,” said Ivanhoe, “you cannot help me.”

“I will not run,” answered Rebecca; “we will be saved or die together.”

At this moment the door of the apartment opened, and the Templar came in, – a ghastly figure, because his armour was broken and bloody, and the plume was partly cut away, partly burnt from his helmet. “I have found you,” said he to Rebecca; “There is only one way to safety, I have cut my way through fifty dangers to point it to you—up, and instantly follow me!”

“Go alone,” answered Rebecca, “I will not follow you. Save my aged father—save this wounded knight!”

“A knight,” answered the Templar, with his characteristic calmness, “a knight, Rebecca, must meet with his fate—and who cares about the Jew?”