Вальтер Скотт - Айвенго / Ivanhoe

“Damian,” said the Grand Master, “leave and do not let anyone enter this garden until we leave it.”—The squire bowed and retreated. – “Jew,” continued the haughty old man, “look at me. Be brief in your answers to my questions and don’t lie.”

The Jew was about to reply, but the Grand Master went on.

“Silence, unbeliever! – you can only answer our questions. – What is your business with our brother Brian de Bois-Guilbert?”

Isaac gasped with terror and uncertainty. He could not tell the truth, but unless he told it, what hope could he have of achieving his daughter’s deliverance? At last he said in a trembling voice, “I bring a letter to that good knight from Prior Aymer of the Abbey of Jorvaulx.”

“These are evil times, Conrade,” said the Master. “A Cistertian Prior sends a letter to a soldier of the Temple, and cannot find a better messenger than an unbelieving Jew. – Give me the letter.”

“Reverend father,” said Conrade, “will you break the seal?”

“Shouldn’t I?” said Beaumanoir, with a frown. “Is it not written in our rules that a Templar has to show every letter he receives to the Grand Master, and read it in his presence? Read it aloud, Conrade.”

Conrade read the letter, which was in these words: “Aymer, by divine grace, Prior of the Cistertian house of Saint Mary’s of Jorvaulx, to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, a Knight of the holy Order of the Temple, wisheth health, with the bounties of King Bacchus and of my Lady Venus. Touching our present condition, dear Brother, we are in the hands of certain robbers, who put us to ransom. We learned from them about Front-de-Boeuf’s misfortune, and that you have escaped with that fair Jewish sorceress, whose black eyes have bewitched you. We are happy that you are safe, but you should be on your guard, because we are privately assured that your Great Master comes from Normandy. And the wealthy Jew her father, Isaac of York, asked me to write a letter for him, so I advise you to ask from him a ransom and return his daughter.”

“What do you say to this, Conrade?” said the Grand Master—“And what does he mean by this ‘Jewish sorceress’?”. Conrade was better acquainted with the slang used by the nobles of the period and he explained that this was a metaphor for a beloved woman. But the explanation did not satisfy Beaumanoir.

“There is more in it than you guess, Conrade. This Rebecca of York was a pupil of that Miriam you know about.” Then turning to Isaac, he said aloud, “Your daughter, then, is a prisoner of Brian de Bois-Guilbert?”

“Yes, reverend sir,” said poor Isaac, “and whatsoever ransom a poor man can pay for her safety—”

“Silence!” said the Grand Master. “Has your daughter practiced the art of healing?”

“Yes, sir,” answered the Jew.

Beaumanoir continued, “Your daughter cures people, I am sure, by words and sighs, and other cabalistical mysteries.”

“No, reverend and brave Knight,” answered Isaac, “but in chief measure by a balsam of marvellous virtue.”

“Where has she taken that secret?” said Beaumanoir.

“It was delivered to her,” answered Isaac, reluctantly, “by Miriam, a sage matron of our tribe.”

“Ah, false Jew! Was it not from that witch Miriam, whose body was burnt and whose ashes were thrown to the four winds?” exclaimed the Grand Master, crossing himself. “I will do the same to her pupil! I will teach her to bewitch the soldiers of the blessed Temple. – There, Damian, throw this Jew from the gate—shoot him dead if he tries to come back.”

Poor Isaac was hurried off and sent away from the Preceptory. He could only return to the house of the Rabbi, and try to learn the fate of his daughter. Before that he had feared for her honour, he was now to tremble for her life. In the meanwhile, the Grand Master ordered the Preceptor of Templestowe to come to him.

“Is there in this place, dedicated to the purposes of the holy Order of the Temple,” said the Grand Master, “a Jewish woman, brought here by a brother of the Order, by your consent, Sir Preceptor?”

Albert Malvoisin read in the eyes of Beaumanoir ruin to Bois-Guilbert and to himself, unless he could change the situation.

“Why are you mute?” continued the Grand Master.

“Is it permitted to me to reply?” answered the Preceptor, in a tone of the deepest humility.

“Speak, you are permitted,” said the Grand Master—“speak, and say, how comes it that you let a brother bring a woman, and that woman a Jewish sorceress, into this holy place?”

“A Jewish sorceress!” echoed Albert Malvoisin; “good angels guard us!”

“Yes, brother, a Jewish sorceress!” said the Grand Master, sternly. “I have said it.”

“Your wisdom, reverend father,” answered the Preceptor, “has rolled away the darkness from my understanding. I was very much surprised that such a good knight as Brian de Bois-Guilbert became mad because of some woman. I received her into this house only to create a barrier between them.”

“Has nothing, then, happened between them?” demanded the Grand Master.

“What! under this roof?” said the Preceptor, crossing himself, “No! If I have sinned in receiving her here, it was to break off our brother’s devotion to this Jewish woman, which seemed to me so wild and unnatural. But if she is a sorceress, then the situation is clear.”

“It is!” said Beaumanoir. “It may be that our brother Bois-Guilbert deserves in this matter pity and not punishment. The witch will die. Prepare the Castle-hall for the trial of the sorceress.”

Albert Malvoisin bowed and retired, – not to give directions for preparing the hall, but to look for Brian de Bois-Guilbert. He found him irritated by new rejection from the side of Rebecca. “The ungrateful,” he said, “to reject him who risked his life to save hers!”

“Old Lucas Beaumanoir,” said the Preceptor, “knows about her, I couldn’t help it. But I have turned the matter to our benefit. You are safe if you leave Rebecca. You are pitied—the victim of magical delusion. She is a sorceress, and must die.”

“She will not, by Heaven!” said Bois-Guilbert.

“By Heaven, she must and will!” said Malvoisin. “Nobody can save her. Think, Bois-Guilbert, your present rank, your future—everything depends on your place in the Order. And Beaumanoir will use any pretext to expel you.”

“Malvoisin,” said Bois-Guilbert, “you are a cold-blooded—”

“Friend,” said the Preceptor, “and therefore more fit to give you advice.”

“You are right. I will not give him a chance to expel me. Rebecca doesn’t appreciate my love, then I will leave her to her fate. Unless…”

At noon several knights came for Rebecca and led her to the great hall of the Preceptory. This huge apartment was filled with squires and yeomen who came to watch the trial. When Rebecca was walking to her place, somebody put a piece of paper into her hand, which she received almost unconsciously.

On an elevated seat, directly before the accused, sat the Grand Master of the Temple. At his feet was placed a table, occupied by two scribes.

The Grand Master raised his voice, and addressed the assembly.

“Knights, Preceptors, and Companions of this Holy Order, my brothers and my children! – you also, Christian brothers, of every degree! – We have brought here a Jewish woman, by name Rebecca, daughter of Isaac of York—a woman famous for sorcery, which she used to drive mad a Preceptor of our Order, our brother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert.

We cannot believe that a man who has such a high position in our order suddenly decided to forget about our rules and his promises and live with a Jewish woman and was so mad as to bring her to one of our own Preceptories. We say that some demon or spell made the noble knight behave in this way. The punishment for what this knight has done is very hard, but if he was influenced by magic, then we shouldn’t punish him, but the witch instead. We ask the witnesses come forward.”