thee!—Here, let them tear the scalp from his head, and then pitch him head-long from the battlements.—Thy trade is to jest, canst thou jest now?”
“You deal with me better than your word, noble knight,” whimpered forth poor Wamba, whose habits of buffoonery were not to be overcome even by the immediate prospect of death; “if you give me the red cap you propose, out of a simple monk you will make a cardinal.”
“The poor wretch,” said De Bracy, “is resolved to die in his vocation.—Front-de-Bœuf, you shall not slay him. Give him to me to make sport for my Free Companions.— How sayest thou, knave? Wilt thou take heart of grace, and go to the wars with me?”
“Ay, with my master’s leave,” said Wamba; “for, look you, I must not slip collar” (and he touched that which he wore) “without his permission.”
“Oh, a Norman saw will soon cut a Saxon collar,” said De Bracy.
“Ay, noble sir,” said Wamba, “and thence goes the proverb—
On English neck a Norman yoke;
Norman spoon in English dish,
And England ruled as Normans wish;
Blithe world to England never will be more,
Till England’s rid of all the four.’ “
“Thou dost well, De Bracy,” said Front-de-Bœuf, “to stand there listening to a fool’s jargon, when destruction is gaping for us! Seest thou not we are overreached, and that our proposed mode of communicating with our friends without has been disconcerted by this same motley gentleman thou art so fond to brother? What views have we to expect but instant storm?”
“To the battlements, then,” said De Bracy; “when didst thou ever see me the graver for the thoughts of battle? Call the Templar yonder, and let him fight but half so well for his life as he has done for his Order.— Make thou to the walls thyself with thy huge body. Let me do my poor endeavour in my own way, and I tell thee the Saxon outlaws may as well attempt to scale the clouds as the castle of Torquilstone; or, if you will treat with the banditti, why not employ the mediation of this worthy franklin, who seems in such deep contemplation of the wine-flagon?—Here, Saxon,” he continued, addressing Athelstane, and handing the cup to him, “rinse thy throat with that noble liquor, and rouse up thy soul to say what thou wilt do for thy liberty.”
“What a man of mould may,” answered Athelstane, “providing it be what a man of manhood ought.—Dismiss me free, with my companions, and I will pay a ransom of a thousand marks.”
“And wilt moreover assure us the retreat of that scum of mankind who are swarming around the castle, contrary to God’s peace and the king’s?” said Front-de-Bœuf.
“In so far as I can,” answered Athelstane, “I will withdraw them; and I fear not but that my father Cedric will do his best to assist me.”
“We are agreed, then,” said Front-de-Bœuf, “thou and they are to be set at freedom, and peace is to be on both sides, for payment of a thousand marks. It is a trifling ransom, Saxon, and thou wilt owe gratitude to the moderation which accepts of it in exchange of your persons. But mark, this extends not to the Jew Isaac.”
“Nor to the Jew Isaac’s daughter,” said the Templar, who had now joined them.
“Neither,” said Front-de-Bœuf, “belong to this Saxon’s company.”
“I were unworthy to be called Christian, if they did,” replied Athelstane: “deal with the unbelievers as ye list.”