Айвенго / Ivanhoe

“I will not run from the trial,” said the yeoman calmly.

“Now, stand up, you Saxons,” said the angry Prince, “because, since I have said it, the Jew will have his seat among you!”

“By no means, your Grace![17 - By no means, your Grace! – «Никоим образом, Ваше Высочество!»] —it is not fit for us to sit with the rulers of the land,” said the Jew.

“Go up, dog, when I command you,” said Prince John, “or I will have your skin taken off and used for decoration.”

After this command the Jew began to climb the stairs which led up to the gallery.

“Let me see who will stop him”, said the Prince fixing his eye on Cedric, who seemed ready to throw the Jew down head first.

The catastrophe was prevented by the clown Wamba. He stood up between his master and Isaac and put before the face of the Jew a piece of salted pork which he was keeping beneath his cloak in case the tournament was too long. When the Jew saw pork right before his nose, he took a step back, stumbled, and rolled down the steps, – to the amusement of everybody around, including Prince John and his followers.

“Give me some prize, Prince,” said Wamba, “I have defeated my enemy in fair fight with my sword,” he added, showing the piece of pork.

“Who are you, noble champion?” said Prince John, still laughing.

“A fool by right of descent,” answered the Jester, “I am Wamba, the son of Witless.”

“Make room for the Jew in the lower row,” said Prince John, “it is not right to place the defeated next to the victor. Here, Isaac, lend me some money.”

Since the Jew was slow to obey his command, the Prince took his purse, threw to Wamba a couple of the gold coins which it contained, and continued his career round the lists, leaving the Jew to the laughter of those around him, and himself receiving as much applause from the spectators as if he had done something honest and honourable.

* * *

Soon the tournament began. The barriers were opened, and five knights rode slowly into the lists. All five were splendidly armed. The champions rode through the lists to the other end. As the procession entered the lists, the sound of a wild Barbaric music was heard from behind the tents of the challengers, where the performers were concealed. The music was of Eastern origin and seemed at once to bid welcome and to pronounce challenge to the knights as they advanced. The five knights came to the tents of the challengers, and there each touched slightly, and with the reverse of his lance, the shield of the antagonist whom he wished to oppose. This showed that they didn’t want to fight to the death.

The challengers mounted their horses, and, headed by Brian de Bois-Guilbert rode into the lists and opposed themselves individually to the knights who had touched their shields.

At the sound of trumpets, they started out against each other at full gallop, and such was the superior skill or good fortune of the challengers, that those opposed to Bois-Guilbert, Malvoisin, and Front-de-Boeuf rolled on the ground. Only one knight maintained the honour of his party, and parted equally with the Knight of St John, both breaking their lances without advantage on either side.

The shouts of the crowd announced the triumph of the challengers.

A second and a third party of knights took the field, but still the challengers won. Not one of them lost his seat or missed his target. After the fourth party there was a long pause. The spectators were not very satisfied, because Malvoisin and Front-de-Boeuf were unpopular for their characters.

Prince John began to talk to his followers about making ready the banquet and giving the prize to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had, with a single spear, overthrown two knights, and defeated a third.

After some time, when the Eastern music of the challengers sounded again, it was answered by a solitary trumpet. All eyes turned to see the new champion which these sounds announced. On his shield there was a young oak-tree pulled up by the roots, with the word Disinherited. He rode a good black horse, and as he passed through the lists he gracefully saluted the Prince and the ladies by lowering his lance. The skill with which he managed his horse, and something of youthful grace which he showed in his manner, won him the favour of the spectators, which some of the simple people expressed by calling out, “Touch the Hospitaller’s shield, he is the weakest.”

The champion however rode straight to the central tent and struck with the sharp end of his spear the shield of Brian de Bois-Guilbert. All stood astonished at his bravery, but none more than Bois-Guilbert himself, who did not expect challenge to mortal combat and was standing carelessly at the entrance of his tent.

“Have you been to church this morning, brother,” said the Templar, “and have you gone to confession, that you put your life in such danger?”

“I am fitter to meet death than you are,” answered the Disinherited Knight.

“Then take your place in the lists,” said Bois-Guilbert, “and look for the last time upon the sun. This night you will sleep in paradise.”

“Thank you for your advice,” replied the Disinherited Knight, “and to answer it, I advise you to take a fresh horse and a new lance, for by my honour you will need both.”

After this he rode to the northern end of the lists, where he stood still, in expectation of his antagonist.

This piece of advice made Brian de Bois-Guilbert very angry, however he did not ignore it. He changed his horse for a fresh one of great strength. He chose a new and a tough spear. He also laid aside his shield, which had received some little damage, and took another from his squires.

The two champions stood opposite each other at the two ends of the lists. The trumpets gave the signal and the champions vanished from their posts with the speed of lightning, and clashed in the centre of the lists with the sound of thunderbolt. The lances burst into pieces, and it seemed for a moment that both knights would fall. However they managed their horses and returned to their positions, where each received a fresh lance from his squire.

A loud shout announced the interest of the spectators, but when the knights returned to their positions there was a silence, so deep and so dead, that it seemed the people were afraid even to breathe. After a short pause the champions again met in the centre of the lists, with the same speed, the same skill, the same violence, but not the same result as before.

The Templar aimed at the centre of his antagonist’s shield, and struck it so hard that the Disinherited Knight was shaken in his saddle. On the other hand, that champion had, at first, directed the point of his lance towards Bois-Guilbert’s shield, but, changing his aim almost in the moment of the clash, he pointed it to the helmet, a more difficult aim which also made the shock more irresistible. He hit the Norman hard on the helmet. The Templar was a very good rider, but when the straps of his saddle burst, he fell on the ground together with his horse.

In a moment he was on his feet, mad with fury and ready to fight with his sword. The Disinherited Knight jumped from his horse and also took out his sword. The marshals of the field,[18 - the marshals of the field – маршалами назывались люди благородного происхождения, следившие за исполнением правил турнира на арене, а также исполнявшие обязанности судей.] however, separated them because the laws of the tournament did not on this day permit this kind of fighting.

“We will meet again,” said the Templar, “and where there are none to separate us.”

“If we do not,” said the Disinherited Knight, “the fault will not be mine.”

With these words the Disinherited Knight returned to his first station.

He then commanded a herald to announce to the challengers, that he was ready to meet them in the order in which they chose to advance against him.

The gigantic Front-de-Boeuf in black armour was the first who took the field. On his white shield there was a black bull’s head and the words, “Beware, I’m here”. This champion lost a stirrup in the fight and the judges decided that the Disinherited knight was the victor.

In the stranger’s third fight with Sir Philip Malvoisin, he was equally successful; striking that baron so hard on the helmet, that its laces broke, and the helmet fell off, and Malvoisin was declared defeated like his companions.

In his fourth combat with De Grantmesnil, the Disinherited Knight showed as much courtesy as he had showed courage and skill in the previous fights. De Grantmesnil’s horse, which was young, ran from its course and the rider couldn’t aim, but the stranger did not use this situation, he raised his lance and passed his antagonist without touching him. Then he sent a herald to invite his antagonist to meet for the second time. This De Grantmesnil declined, saying he was defeated by the courtesy of his opponent.

Ralph de Vipont summed up the list of the stranger’s triumphs, when he fell to the ground with such force, that the blood ran from his nose and his mouth, and he was carried away senseless.

The acclamations of thousands applauded the unanimous award of the Prince and marshals, announcing that day’s victor to be the Disinherited Knight.

* * *

The marshals of the field were the first to offer their congratulations to the victor. They asked him, at the same time, to remove his helmet before they conducted him to receive the prize of the day’s tourney from the hands of Prince John. The Disinherited Knight refused politely to do so, saying that he could not at this time allow his face to be seen. The marshals were perfectly satisfied by this reply, because it was then usual for knights to swear to remain incognito for a certain time or until some particular adventure was achieved. So the marshals announced to Prince John the winner’s desire to remain unknown.

John was both curious and displeased with the result of the tournament, in which the challengers whom he supported had been defeated by one knight.

“What do you think, my lords,” he said, turning round to his followers, “who can this proud knight be?”

“I cannot guess,” answered De Bracy.

“The victor,” said the marshals, “is still waiting the pleasure of Your Highness.”

“It is our pleasure,” answered John, “that he will wait until we can guess who he is.”

“Your Grace,” said Waldemar Fitzurse, “you cannot make the victor wait until we tell Your Highness something that we cannot know. At least I can’t guess who he can be, unless he is one of the knights who went with King Richard to Palestine.”

A whisper arose among the Prince’s followers, “It might be the King—it might be Richard the Lionheart himself!”

“God forbid!” said Prince John, turning at the same time as pale as death; “Waldemar! – De Bracy! Brave knights and gentlemen, remember your promises, and stand truly by me!”