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Chapter 27 Fond wretch! and what canst thou relate, But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin? Thy deeds are proved---thou know'st thy fate; But come, thy tale---begin---begin. * * * * * But I have griefs of other kind, Troubles and sorrows more severe; Give me to ease my tortured mind, Lend to my woes a patient ear; And let me, if I may not find A friend to help---find one to hear. Crabbe's Hall of Justice When Urfried had with clamours and menaces driven Rebecca back to the apartment from which she had sallied, she proceeded to conduct the unwilling Cedric into a small apartment, the door of which she heedfully secured. Then fetching from a cupboard a stoup of wine and two flagons, she placed them on the table, and said in a tone rather asserting a fact than asking a question, "Thou art Saxon, father---Deny it not," she continued, observing that Cedric hastened not to reply; "the sounds of my native language are sweet to mine ears, though seldom heard save from the tongues of the wretched and degraded serfs on whom the proud Normans impose the meanest drudgery of this dwelling. Thou art a Saxon, father---a Saxon, and, save as thou art a servant of God, a freeman.---Thine accents are sweet in mine ear." "Do not Saxon priests visit this castle, then?" replied Cedric; "it were, methinks, their duty to comfort the outcast and oppressed children of the soil." "They come not---or if they come, they better love to revel at the boards of their conquerors," answered Urfried, "than to hear the groans of their countrymen---so, at least, report speaks of them---of myself I can say little. This castle, for ten years, has opened to no priest save the debauched Norman chaplain who partook the nightly revels of Front-de-Boeuf, and he has been long gone to render an account of his stewardship.---But thou art a Saxon---a Saxon priest, and I have one question to ask of thee." "I am a Saxon," answered Cedric, "but unworthy, surely, of the name of priest. Let me begone on my way---I swear I will return, or send one of our fathers more worthy to hear your confession." "Stay yet a while," said Urfried; "the accents of the voice which thou hearest now will soon be choked with the cold earth, and I would not descend to it like the beast I have lived. But wine must give me strength to tell the horrors of my tale." She poured out a cup, and drank it with a frightful avidity, which seemed desirous of draining the last drop in the goblet. "It stupifies," she said, looking upwards as she finished her drought, "but it cannot cheer---Partake it, father, if you would hear my tale without sinking down upon the pavement." Cedric would have avoided pledging her in this ominous conviviality, but the sign which she made to him expressed impatience and despair. He complied with her request, and answered her challenge in a large wine-cup; she then proceeded with her story, as if appeased by his complaisance. "I was not born," she said, "father, the wretch that thou now seest me. I was free, was happy, was honoured, loved, and was beloved. I am now a slave, miserable and degraded---the sport of my masters' passions while I had yet beauty---the object of their contempt, scorn, and hatred, since it has passed away. Dost thou wonder, father, that I should hate mankind, and, above all, the race that has wrought this change in me? Can the wrinkled decrepit hag before thee, whose wrath must vent itself in impotent curses, forget she was once the daughter of the noble Thane of Torquilstone, before whose frown a thousand vassals trembled?" "Thou the daughter of Torquil Wolfganger!" said Cedric, receding as he spoke; "thou---thou---the daughter of that noble Saxon, my father's friend and companion in arms!" "Thy father's friend!" echoed Urfried; "then Cedric called the Saxon stands before me, for the noble Hereward of Rotherwood had but one son, whose name is well known among his countrymen. But if thou art Cedric of Rotherwood, why this religious dress? ---hast thou too despaired of saving thy country, and sought refuge from oppression in the shade of the convent?" "It matters not who I am," said Cedric; "proceed, unhappy woman, with thy tale of horror and guilt!---Guilt there must be---there is guilt even in thy living to tell it." "There is---there is," answered the wretched woman, "deep, black, damning guilt,---guilt, that lies like a load at my breast --guilt, that all the penitential fires of hereafter cannot cleanse.---Yes, in these halls, stained with the noble and pure blood of my father and my brethren---in these very halls, to have lived the paramour of their murderer, the slave at once and the partaker of his pleasures, was to render every breath which I drew of vital air, a crime and a curse." "Wretched woman!" exclaimed Cedric. "And while the friends of thy father---while each true Saxon heart, as it breathed a requiem for his soul, and those of his valiant sons, forgot not in their prayers the murdered Ulrica---while all mourned and honoured the dead, thou hast lived to merit our hate and execration---lived to unite thyself with the vile tyrant who murdered thy nearest and dearest---who shed the blood of infancy, rather than a male of the noble house of Torquil Wolfganger should survive---with him hast thou lived to unite thyself, and in the hands of lawless love!" "In lawless hands, indeed, but not in those of love!" answered the hag; "love will sooner visit the regions of eternal doom, than those unhallowed vaults.---No, with that at least I cannot reproach myself---hatred to Front-de-Boeuf and his race governed my soul most deeply, even in the hour of his guilty endearments." "You hated him, and yet you lived," replied Cedric; "wretch! was there no poniard---no knife---no bodkin!---Well was it for thee, since thou didst prize such an existence, that the secrets of a Norman castle are like those of the grave. For had I but dreamed of the daughter of Torquil living in foul communion with the murderer of her father, the sword of a true Saxon had found thee out even in the arms of thy paramour!" "Wouldst thou indeed have done this justice to the name of Torquil?" said Ulrica, for we may now lay aside her assumed name of Urfried; "thou art then the true Saxon report speaks thee! for even within these accursed walls, where, as thou well sayest, guilt shrouds itself in inscrutable mystery, even there has the name of Cedric been sounded---and I, wretched and degraded, have rejoiced to think that there yet breathed an avenger of our unhappy nation.---I also have had my hours of vengeance---I have fomented the quarrels of our foes, and heated drunken revelry into murderous broil---I have seen their blood flow---I have heard their dying groans!---Look on me, Cedric---are there not still left on this foul and faded face some traces of the features of Torquil?" "Ask me not of them, Ulrica," replied Cedric, in a tone of grief mixed with abhorrence; "these traces form such a resemblance as arises from the graves of the dead, when a fiend has animated the lifeless corpse." "Be it so," answered Ulrica; "yet wore these fiendish features the mask of a spirit of light when they were able to set at variance the elder Front-de-Boeuf and his son Reginald! The darkness of hell should hide what followed, but revenge must lift the veil, and darkly intimate what it would raise the dead to speak aloud. Long had the smouldering fire of discord glowed between the tyrant father and his savage son---long had I nursed, in secret, the unnatural hatred---it blazed forth in an hour of drunken wassail, and at his own board fell my oppressor by the hand of his own son---such are the secrets these vaults conceal! ---Rend asunder, ye accursed arches," she added, looking up towards the roof, "and bury in your fall all who are conscious of the hideous mystery!" "And thou, creature of guilt and misery," said Cedric, "what became thy lot on the death of thy ravisher?" "Guess it, but ask it not.---Here---here I dwelt, till age, premature age, has stamped its ghastly features on my countenance ---scorned and insulted where I was once obeyed, and compelled to bound the revenge which had once such ample scope, to the efforts of petty malice of a discontented menial, or the vain or unheeded curses of an impotent hag---condemned to hear from my lonely turret the sounds of revelry in which I once partook, or the shrieks and groans of new victims of oppression." "Ulrica," said Cedric, "with a heart which still, I fear, regrets the lost reward of thy crimes, as much as the deeds by which thou didst acquire that meed, how didst thou dare to address thee to one who wears this robe? Consider, unhappy woman, what could the sainted Edward himself do for thee, were he here in bodily presence? The royal Confessor was endowed by heaven with power to cleanse the ulcers of the body, but only God himself can cure the leprosy of the soul." "Yet, turn not from me, stern prophet of wrath," she exclaimed, "but tell me, if thou canst, in what shall terminate these new and awful feelings that burst on my solitude---Why do deeds, long since done, rise before me in new and irresistible horrors? What fate is prepared beyond the grave for her, to whom God has assigned on earth a lot of such unspeakable wretchedness? Better had I turn to Woden, Hertha, and Zernebock---to Mista, and to Skogula, the gods of our yet unbaptized ancestors, than endure the dreadful anticipations which have of late haunted my waking and my sleeping hours!" "I am no priest," said Cedric, turning with disgust from this miserable picture of guilt, wretchedness, and despair; "I am no priest, though I wear a priest's garment." "Priest or layman," answered Ulrica, "thou art the first I have seen for twenty years, by whom God was feared or man regarded; and dost thou bid me despair?" "I bid thee repent," said Cedric. "Seek to prayer and penance, and mayest thou find acceptance! But I cannot, I will not, longer abide with thee." "Stay yet a moment!" said Ulrica; "leave me not now, son of my father's friend, lest the demon who has governed my life should tempt me to avenge myself of thy hard-hearted scorn---Thinkest thou, if Front-de-Boeuf found Cedric the Saxon in his castle, in such a disguise, that thy life would be a long one?---Already his eye has been upon thee like a falcon on his prey." "And be it so," said Cedric; "and let him tear me with beak and talons, ere my tongue say one word which my heart doth not warrant. I will die a Saxon---true in word, open in deed---I bid thee avaunt!---touch me not, stay me not!---The sight of Front-de-Boeuf himself is less odious to me than thou, degraded and degenerate as thou art." "Be it so," said Ulrica, no longer interrupting him; "go thy way, and forget, in the insolence of thy superority, that the wretch before thee is the daughter of thy father's friend.---Go thy way ---if I am separated from mankind by my sufferings---separated from those whose aid I might most justly expect---not less will I be separated from them in my revenge!---No man shall aid me, but the ears of all men shall tingle to hear of the deed which I shall dare to do!---Farewell!---thy scorn has burst the last tie which seemed yet to unite me to my kind---a thought that my woes might claim the compassion of my people." "Ulrica," said Cedric, softened by this appeal, "hast thou borne up and endured to live through so much guilt and so much misery, and wilt thou now yield to despair when thine eyes are opened to thy crimes, and when repentance were thy fitter occupation?" "Cedric," answered Ulrica, "thou little knowest the human heart. To act as I have acted, to think as I have thought, requires the maddening love of pleasure, mingled with the keen appetite of revenge, the proud consciousness of power; droughts too intoxicating for the human heart to bear, and yet retain the power to prevent. Their force has long passed away---Age has no pleasures, wrinkles have no influence, revenge itself dies away in impotent curses. Then comes remorse, with all its vipers, mixed with vain regrets for the past, and despair for the future! ---Then, when all other strong impulses have ceased, we become like the fiends in hell, who may feel remorse, but never repentance.---But thy words have awakened a new soul within me ---Well hast thou said, all is possible for those who dare to die!---Thou hast shown me the means of revenge, and be assured I will embrace them. It has hitherto shared this wasted bosom with other and with rival passions---henceforward it shall possess me wholly, and thou thyself shalt say, that, whatever was the life of Ulrica, her death well became the daughter of the noble Torquil. There is a force without beleaguering this accursed castle---hasten to lead them to the attack, and when thou shalt see a red flag wave from the turret on the eastern angle of the donjon, press the Normans hard---they will then have enough to do within, and you may win the wall in spite both of bow and mangonel.---Begone, I pray thee---follow thine own fate, and leave me to mine." Cedric would have enquired farther into the purpose which she thus darkly announced, but the stern voice of Front-de-Boeuf was heard, exclaiming, "Where tarries this loitering priest? By the scallop-shell of Compostella, I will make a martyr of him, if he loiters here to hatch treason among my domestics!" "What a true prophet," said Ulrica, "is an evil conscience! But heed him not---out and to thy people---Cry your Saxon onslaught, and let them sing their war-song of Rollo, if they will; vengeance shall bear a burden to it." As she thus spoke, she vanished through a private door, and Reginald Front-de-Boeuf entered the apartment. Cedric, with some difficulty, compelled himself to make obeisance to the haughty Baron, who returned his courtesy with a slight inclination of the head. "Thy penitents, father, have made a long shrift---it is the better for them, since it is the last they shall ever make. Hast thou prepared them for death?" "I found them," said Cedric, in such French as he could command, "expecting the worst, from the moment they knew into whose power they had fallen." "How now, Sir Friar," replied Front-de-Boeuf, "thy speech, methinks, smacks of a Saxon tongue?" "I was bred in the convent of St Withold of Burton," answered Cedric. "Ay?" said the Baron; "it had been better for thee to have been a Norman, and better for my purpose too; but need has no choice of messengers. That St Withold's of Burton is an owlet's nest worth the harrying. The day will soon come that the frock shall protect the Saxon as little as the mail-coat." "God's will be done," said Cedric, in a voice tremulous with passion, which Front-de-Boeuf imputed to fear. "I see," said he, "thou dreamest already that our men-at-arms are in thy refectory and thy ale-vaults. But do me one cast of thy holy office, and, come what list of others, thou shalt sleep as safe in thy cell as a snail within his shell of proof." "Speak your commands," said Cedric, with suppressed emotion. "Follow me through this passage, then, that I may dismiss thee by the postern." And as he strode on his way before the supposed friar, Front-de-Boeuf thus schooled him in the part which he desired he should act. "Thou seest, Sir Friar, yon herd of Saxon swine, who have dared to environ this castle of Torquilstone---Tell them whatever thou hast a mind of the weakness of this fortalice, or aught else that can detain them before it for twenty-four hours. Meantime bear thou this scroll---But soft---canst read, Sir Priest?" "Not a jot I," answered Cedric, "save on my breviary; and then I know the characters, because I have the holy service by heart, praised be Our Lady and St Withold!" "The fitter messenger for my purpose.---Carry thou this scroll to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin; say it cometh from me, and is written by the Templar Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and that I pray him to send it to York with all the speed man and horse can make. Meanwhile, tell him to doubt nothing, he shall find us whole and sound behind our battlement---Shame on it, that we should be compelled to hide thus by a pack of runagates, who are wont to fly even at the flash of our pennons and the tramp of our horses! I say to thee, priest, contrive some cast of thine art to keep the knaves where they are, until our friends bring up their lances. My vengeance is awake, and she is a falcon that slumbers not till she has been gorged." "By my patron saint," said Cedric, with deeper energy than became his character, "and by every saint who has lived and died in England, your commands shall be obeyed! Not a Saxon shall stir from before these walls, if I have art and influence to detain them there." "Ha!" said Front-de-Boeuf, "thou changest thy tone, Sir Priest, and speakest brief and bold, as if thy heart were in the slaughter of the Saxon herd; and yet thou art thyself of kindred to the swine?" Cedric was no ready practiser of the art of dissimulation, and would at this moment have been much the better of a hint from Wamba's more fertile brain. But necessity, according to the ancient proverb, sharpens invention, and he muttered something under his cowl concerning the men in question being excommunicated outlaws both to church and to kingdom. "'Despardieux'," answered Front-de-Boeuf, "thou hast spoken the very truth---I forgot that the knaves can strip a fat abbot, as well as if they had been born south of yonder salt channel. Was it not he of St Ives whom they tied to an oak-tree, and compelled to sing a mass while they were rifling his mails and his wallets? ---No, by our Lady---that jest was played by Gualtier of Middleton, one of our own companions-at-arms. But they were Saxons who robbed the chapel at St Bees of cup, candlestick and chalice, were they not?" "They were godless men," answered Cedric. "Ay, and they drank out all the good wine and ale that lay in store for many a secret carousal, when ye pretend ye are but busied with vigils and primes!---Priest, thou art bound to revenge such sacrilege." "I am indeed bound to vengeance," murmured Cedric; "Saint Withold knows my heart." Front-de-Boeuf, in the meanwhile, led the way to a postern, where, passing the moat on a single plank, they reached a small barbican, or exterior defence, which communicated with the open field by a well-fortified sallyport. "Begone, then; and if thou wilt do mine errand, and if thou return hither when it is done, thou shalt see Saxon flesh cheap as ever was hog's in the shambles of Sheffield. And, hark thee, thou seemest to be a jolly confessor---come hither after the onslaught, and thou shalt have as much Malvoisie as would drench thy whole convent." "Assuredly we shall meet again," answered Cedric. "Something in hand the whilst," continued the Norman; and, as they parted at the postern door, he thrust into Cedric's reluctant hand a gold byzant, adding, "Remember, I will fly off both cowl and skin, if thou failest in thy purpose." "And full leave will I give thee to do both," answered Cedric, leaving the postern, and striding forth over the free field with a joyful step, "if, when we meet next, I deserve not better at thine hand."---Turning then back towards the castle, he threw the piece of gold towards the donor, exclaiming at the same time, "False Norman, thy money perish with thee!" Front-de-Boeuf heard the words imperfectly, but the action was suspicious---"Archers," he called to the warders on the outward battlements, "send me an arrow through yon monk's frock!---yet stay," he said, as his retainers were bending their bows, "it avails not--we must thus far trust him since we have no better shift. I think he dares not betray me---at the worst I can but treat with these Saxon dogs whom I have safe in kennel.---Ho! Giles jailor, let them bring Cedric of Rotherwood before me, and the other churl, his companion---him I mean of Coningsburgh ---Athelstane there, or what call they him? Their very names are an encumbrance to a Norman knight's mouth, and have, as it were, a flavour of bacon---Give me a stoup of wine, as jolly Prince John said, that I may wash away the relish---place it in the armoury, and thither lead the prisoners." His commands were obeyed; and, upon entering that Gothic apartment, hung with many spoils won by his own valour and that of his father, he found a flagon of wine on the massive oaken table, and the two Saxon captives under the guard of four of his dependants. Front-de-Boeuf took a long drought of wine, and then addressed his prisoners;---for the manner in which Wamba drew the cap over his face, the change of dress, the gloomy and broken light, and the Baron's imperfect acquaintance with the features of Cedric, (who avoided his Norman neighbours, and seldom stirred beyond his own domains,) prevented him from discovering that the most important of his captives had made his escape. "Gallants of England," said Front-de-Boeuf, "how relish ye your entertainment at Torquilstone?---Are ye yet aware what your 'surquedy' and 'outrecuidance'* * "Surquedy" and "outrecuidance" - insolence and presumption merit, for scoffing at the entertainment of a prince of the House of Anjou?---Have ye forgotten how ye requited the unmerited hospitality of the royal John? By God and St Dennis, an ye pay not the richer ransom, I will hang ye up by the feet from the iron bars of these windows, till the kites and hooded crows have made skeletons of you!---Speak out, ye Saxon dogs---what bid ye for your worthless lives?---How say you, you of Rotherwood?" "Not a doit I," answered poor Wamba---"and for hanging up by the feet, my brain has been topsy-turvy, they say, ever since the biggin was bound first round my head; so turning me upside down may peradventure restore it again." "Saint Genevieve!" said Front-de-Boeuf, "what have we got here?" And with the back of his hand he struck Cedric's cap from the head of the Jester, and throwing open his collar, discovered the fatal badge of servitude, the silver collar round his neck. "Giles---Clement---dogs and varlets!" exclaimed the furious Norman, "what have you brought me here?" "I think I can tell you," said De Bracy, who just entered the apartment. "This is Cedric's clown, who fought so manful a skirmish with Isaac of York about a question of precedence." "I shall settle it for them both," replied Front-de-Boeuf; "they shall hang on the same gallows, unless his master and this boar of Coningsburgh will pay well for their lives. Their wealth is the least they can surrender; they must also carry off with them the swarms that are besetting the castle, subscribe a surrender of their pretended immunities, and live under us as serfs and vassals; too happy if, in the new world that is about to begin, we leave them the breath of their nostrils.---Go," said he to two of his attendants, "fetch me the right Cedric hither, and I pardon your error for once; the rather that you but mistook a fool for a Saxon franklin." "Ay, but," said Wamba, "your chivalrous excellency will find there are more fools than franklins among us." "What means the knave?" said Front-de-Boeuf, looking towards his followers, who, lingering and loath, faltered forth their belief, that if this were not Cedric who was there in presence, they knew not what was become of him. "Saints of Heaven!" exclaimed De Bracy, "he must have escaped in the monk's garments!" "Fiends of hell!" echoed Front-de-Boeuf, "it was then the boar of Rotherwood whom I ushered to the postern, and dismissed with my own hands!---And thou," he said to Wamba, "whose folly could overreach the wisdom of idiots yet more gross than thyself---I will give thee holy orders---I will shave thy crown for thee! ---Here, let them tear the scalp from his head, and then pitch him headlong 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-Boeuf, you shall not slay him. Give him to me to make sport for my Free Companions.---How sayst 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--- 'Norman saw on English oak, 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-Boeuf, "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-Boeuf. "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-Boeuf---"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-Boeuf, "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." "Neither does the ransom include the Lady Rowena," said De Bracy. "It shall never be said I was scared out of a fair prize without striking a blow for it." "Neither," said Front-de-Boeuf, "does our treaty refer to this wretched Jester, whom I retain, that I may make him an example to every knave who turns jest into earnest." "The Lady Rowena," answered Athelstane, with the most steady countenance, "is my affianced bride. I will be drawn by wild horses before I consent to part with her. The slave Wamba has this day saved the life of my father Cedric---I will lose mine ere a hair of his head be injured." "Thy affianced bride?---The Lady Rowena the affianced bride of a vassal like thee?" said De Bracy; "Saxon, thou dreamest that the days of thy seven kingdoms are returned again. I tell thee, the Princes of the House of Anjou confer not their wards on men of such lineage as thine." "My lineage, proud Norman," replied Athelstane, "is drawn from a source more pure and ancient than that of a beggarly Frenchman, whose living is won by selling the blood of the thieves whom he assembles under his paltry standard. Kings were my ancestors, strong in war and wise in council, who every day feasted in their hall more hundreds than thou canst number individual followers; whose names have been sung by minstrels, and their laws recorded by Wittenagemotes; whose bones were interred amid the prayers of saints, and over whose tombs minsters have been builded." "Thou hast it, De Bracy," said Front-de-Boeuf, well pleased with the rebuff which his companion had received; "the Saxon hath hit thee fairly." "As fairly as a captive can strike," said De Bracy, with apparent carelessness; "for he whose hands are tied should have his tongue at freedom.---But thy glibness of reply, comrade," rejoined he, speaking to Athelstane, "will not win the freedom of the Lady Rowena." To this Athelstane, who had already made a longer speech than was his custom to do on any topic, however interesting, returned no answer. The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a menial, who announced that a monk demanded admittance at the postern gate. "In the name of Saint Bennet, the prince of these bull-beggars," said Front-de-Boeuf, "have we a real monk this time, or another impostor? Search him, slaves---for an ye suffer a second impostor to be palmed upon you, I will have your eyes torn out, and hot coals put into the sockets." "Let me endure the extremity of your anger, my lord," said Giles, "if this be not a real shaveling. Your squire Jocelyn knows him well, and will vouch him to be brother Ambrose, a monk in attendance upon the Prior of Jorvaulx." "Admit him," said Front-de-Boeuf; "most likely he brings us news from his jovial master. Surely the devil keeps holiday, and the priests are relieved from duty, that they are strolling thus wildly through the country. Remove these prisoners; and, Saxon, think on what thou hast heard." "I claim," said Athelstane, "an honourable imprisonment, with due care of my board and of my couch, as becomes my rank, and as is due to one who is in treaty for ransom. Moreover, I hold him that deems himself the best of you, bound to answer to me with his body for this aggression on my freedom. This defiance hath already been sent to thee by thy sewer; thou underliest it, and art bound to answer me---There lies my glove." "I answer not the challenge of my prisoner," said Front-de-Boeuf; "nor shalt thou, Maurice de Bracy.---Giles," he continued, "hang the franklin's glove upon the tine of yonder branched antlers: there shall it remain until he is a free man. Should he then presume to demand it, or to affirm he was unlawfully made my prisoner, by the belt of Saint Christopher, he will speak to one who hath never refused to meet a foe on foot or on horseback, alone or with his vassals at his back!" The Saxon prisoners were accordingly removed, just as they introduced the monk Ambrose, who appeared to be in great perturbation. "This is the real 'Deus vobiscum'," said Wamba, as he passed the reverend brother; "the others were but counterfeits." "Holy Mother," said the monk, as he addressed the assembled knights, "I am at last safe and in Christian keeping!" "Safe thou art," replied De Bracy; "and for Christianity, here is the stout Baron Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, whose utter abomination is a Jew; and the good Knight Templar, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whose trade is to slay Saracens---If these are not good marks of Christianity, I know no other which they bear about them." "Ye are friends and allies of our reverend father in God, Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx," said the monk, without noticing the tone of De Bracy's reply; "ye owe him aid both by knightly faith and holy charity; for what saith the blessed Saint Augustin, in his treatise 'De Civitate Dei'------" "What saith the devil!" interrupted Front-de-Boeuf; "or rather what dost thou say, Sir Priest? We have little time to hear texts from the holy fathers." "'Sancta Maria!'" ejaculated Father Ambrose, "how prompt to ire are these unhallowed laymen!---But be it known to you, brave knights, that certain murderous caitiffs, casting behind them fear of God, and reverence of his church, and not regarding the bull of the holy see, 'Si quis, suadende Diabolo'------" "Brother priest," said the Templar, "all this we know or guess at ---tell us plainly, is thy master, the Prior, made prisoner, and to whom?" "Surely," said Ambrose, "he is in the hands of the men of Belial, infesters of these woods, and contemners of the holy text, 'Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets naught of evil.'" "Here is a new argument for our swords, sirs," said Front-de-Boeuf, turning to his companions; "and so, instead of reaching us any assistance, the Prior of Jorvaulx requests aid at our hands? a man is well helped of these lazy churchmen when he hath most to do!---But speak out, priest, and say at once, what doth thy master expect from us?" "So please you," said Ambrose, "violent hands having been imposed on my reverend superior, contrary to the holy ordinance which I did already quote, and the men of Belial having rifled his mails and budgets, and stripped him of two hundred marks of pure refined gold, they do yet demand of him a large sum beside, ere they will suffer him to depart from their uncircumcised hands. Wherefore the reverend father in God prays you, as his dear friends, to rescue him, either by paying down the ransom at which they hold him, or by force of arms, at your best discretion." "The foul fiend quell the Prior!" said Front-de-Boeuf; "his morning's drought has been a deep one. When did thy master hear of a Norman baron unbuckling his purse to relieve a churchman, whose bags are ten times as weighty as ours?---And how can we do aught by valour to free him, that are cooped up here by ten times our number, and expect an assault every moment?" "And that was what I was about to tell you," said the monk, "had your hastiness allowed me time. But, God help me, I am old, and these foul onslaughts distract an aged man's brain. Nevertheless, it is of verity that they assemble a camp, and raise a bank against the walls of this castle." "To the battlements!" cried De Bracy, "and let us mark what these knaves do without;" and so saying, he opened a latticed window which led to a sort of bartisan or projecting balcony, and immediately called from thence to those in the apartment ---"Saint Dennis, but the old monk hath brought true tidings! ---They bring forward mantelets and pavisses,* * Mantelets were temporary and movable defences formed of * planks, under cover of which the assailants advanced to * the attack of fortified places of old. Pavisses were a * species of large shields covering the whole person, * employed on the same occasions. and the archers muster on the skirts of the wood like a dark cloud before a hailstorm." Reginald Front-de-Boeuf also looked out upon the field, and immediately snatched his bugle; and, after winding a long and loud blast, commanded his men to their posts on the walls. "De Bracy, look to the eastern side, where the walls are lowest ---Noble Bois-Guilbert, thy trade hath well taught thee how to attack and defend, look thou to the western side---I myself will take post at the barbican. Yet, do not confine your exertions to any one spot, noble friends!---we must this day be everywhere, and multiply ourselves, were it possible, so as to carry by our presence succour and relief wherever the attack is hottest. Our numbers are few, but activity and courage may supply that defect, since we have only to do with rascal clowns." "But, noble knights," exclaimed Father Ambrose, amidst the bustle and confusion occasioned by the preparations for defence, "will none of ye hear the message of the reverend father in God Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx?---I beseech thee to hear me, noble Sir Reginald!" "Go patter thy petitions to heaven," said the fierce Norman, "for we on earth have no time to listen to them.---Ho! there, Anselm I see that seething pitch and oil are ready to pour on the heads of these audacious traitors---Look that the cross-bowmen lack not bolts.* * The bolt was the arrow peculiarly fitted to the cross-bow, * as that of the long-bow was called a shaft. Hence the * English proverb---"I will either make a shaft or bolt of * it," signifying a determination to make one use or other * of the thing spoken of. ---Fling abroad my banner with the old bull's head---the knaves shall soon find with whom they have to do this day!" "But, noble sir," continued the monk, persevering in his endeavours to draw attention, "consider my vow of obedience, and let me discharge myself of my Superior's errand." "Away with this prating dotard," said Front-de Boeuf, "lock him up in the chapel, to tell his beads till the broil be over. It will be a new thing to the saints in Torquilstone to hear aves and paters; they have not been so honoured, I trow, since they were cut out of stone." "Blaspheme not the holy saints, Sir Reginald," said De Bracy, "we shall have need of their aid to-day before yon rascal rout disband." "I expect little aid from their hand," said Front-de-Boeuf, "unless we were to hurl them from the battlements on the heads of the villains. There is a huge lumbering Saint Christopher yonder, sufficient to bear a whole company to the earth." The Templar had in the meantime been looking out on the proceedings of the besiegers, with rather more attention than the brutal Front-de-Boeuf or his giddy companion. "By the faith of mine order," he said, "these men approach with more touch of discipline than could have been judged, however they come by it. See ye how dexterously they avail themselves of every cover which a tree or bush affords, and shun exposing themselves to the shot of our cross-bows? I spy neither banner nor pennon among them, and yet will I gage my golden chain, that they are led on by some noble knight or gentleman, skilful in the practice of wars." "I espy him," said De Bracy; "I see the waving of a knight's crest, and the gleam of his armour. See yon tall man in the black mail, who is busied marshalling the farther troop of the rascaille yeomen---by Saint Dennis, I hold him to be the same whom we called 'Le Noir Faineant', who overthrew thee, Front-de-Boeuf, in the lists at Ashby." "So much the better," said Front-de-Boeuf, "that he comes here to give me my revenge. Some hilding fellow he must be, who dared not stay to assert his claim to the tourney prize which chance had assigned him. I should in vain have sought for him where knights and nobles seek their foes, and right glad am I he hath here shown himself among yon villain yeomanry." The demonstrations of the enemy's immediate approach cut off all farther discourse. Each knight repaired to his post, and at the head of the few followers whom they were able to muster, and who were in numbers inadequate to defend the whole extent of the walls, they awaited with calm determination the threatened assault. 不幸的梦想者哟!你还要讲什么? 你的一生无非是悲伤、耻辱和罪孽! 它们都已证实——这便是你的命运; 如果你一定要讲,那就快讲吧。 但我有的是另一种不幸, 那是更严重的烦恼和忧郁; 让我吐一吐心中的苦水吧, 你要耐心地听我诉说; 即使我找不到一个同情的朋友, 至少可以有一个人听到这一切。 克雷布:《正义的公堂》(注) -------- (注)乔治•克雷布(1754—1832),英国韵文故事作家,擅长写日常生活故事。《正义的公堂》是《会堂故事集》中的一篇。 厄弗利德又是吆喝,又是威胁,把丽贝卡赶回了她刚才离开的那间屋子,随即带着迫不得已的塞德里克走进一个小房间,小心翼翼地闩上了门。然后她从食品柜中取出一罐酒和两只酒杯,放在桌上,开始说话,那口气像是在说明事实,不是在提出问题:“你是撒克逊人,神父。不要否认,”她看到塞德里克不想马上回答,又说道,“我家乡的语言对我是亲切的,尽管近来已不大听到了,只有不幸和下贱的奴隶还在讲它,他们在傲慢的诺曼人的支使下,担负着这幢房子里最沉重的苦役。你是撒克逊人,神父,一个撒克逊人,除了你是上帝的仆人以外,你是一个自由人。你的口音在我的耳中是亲切的。” “那么没有撒克逊教士访问这个城堡吗?”塞德里克问。“我想,他们是有责任安慰这一带受尽欺压和无家可归的人们的。” “他们没有来,或者说,即使来,也只爱在征服者的餐桌上饮酒作乐,不愿倾听同胞们的痛苦呻吟,”厄弗利德答道,“至少人们这么讲,我自己知道得不多。十年来,城堡的门没有为教士开过,只有一个道德败坏的诺曼神父在这里分享牛面将军灯红酒绿的生活,可是他早已回了老家,向魔鬼交差去了。但你是撒克逊人——一个撒克逊教士,因此我有一个问题要问你。” “我是撒克逊人,”塞德里克答道,“但无疑不配称作真正的神父。你还是让我走吧。我起誓我会再回来,或者派一个更合格的神父来听取你的忏悔。” “再待一会儿吧,”厄弗利德说,“你现在听到的这嗓子,不久就会被寒冷的泥土塞住了;我像牲畜一般活了一辈子,我不愿还像牲畜一般进入地狱。但我必须喝点酒,才有勇气讲我这些骇人的经历。”她倒了一杯酒,迫不及待地一口气喝干了,仿佛一滴也不愿剩下似的。“酒能使人麻醉,”她喝完以后,抬起头来说道,“但不能给人带来欢乐。神父,如果你肯听我讲,也喝一杯吧,免得我的故事把你吓得瘫倒在地上。”塞德里克不想在这不祥的酒宴上与她干杯,但是她向他露出了不耐烦和不满意的表情,于是他顺从了她的要求,用一大杯酒回答了她的提议。她对他的顺服似乎感到欣慰,便继续讲她的故事。 “我不是生来就是你看到的这副潦倒堕落的样子,神父,”她说,“我从前自由自在,幸福快活,受到尊重,爱别人,也得到别人的爱。后来我成了一个奴隶,可怜而卑贱的奴隶,当我还年轻漂亮的时候,我是满足主人们的情欲的玩物,那个时期过去之后,我便只是鄙视、嘲笑和厌恶的对象。神父,我憎恨人类,尤其是那个把我糟蹋成这副样子的民族,这难道是奇怪的吗?站在你面前的这个满脸皱纹的老太婆,这个只能靠无力的诅咒发泄满腹愤怒的老太婆,怎么能忘记她本来是托奎尔斯通的高贵庄主的女儿,一个皱一皱眉头就能使千百个仆役发抖的人呢?” “你是托奎尔•沃尔夫岗格的女儿?”塞德里克说,吓得倒退了一步,“你……你……那个高贵的撒克逊人,我父亲的战友和伙伴的女儿!” “你父亲的战友!”厄弗利德惊叫道,“那么站在我面前的便是诨号撒克逊人的塞德里克?因为罗瑟伍德庄园高贵的赫里沃德只有一个儿子,他的名字在这一带的老乡中是无人不知的。但是如果你是罗瑟伍德的塞德里克,为什么会穿上教士的衣服?难道你对拯救你的国家已经绝望,为了逃避压迫,躲进了修道院不成?” “我是谁这无关紧要,”塞德里克说,“继续讲你那可怕的罪恶故事吧,不幸的女人!罪恶,这是一定的;你现在还能活着讲出这一切,这本身便是罪恶。” “是的,是的,”不幸的女人答道,“那是深重的不可饶恕的罪恶——像石块一样压在我心头的罪恶——连地狱中一切赎罪的火焰也不能洗净的罪恶。是的,在这些大厅里,这些给我的父亲和弟兄们高贵纯洁的鲜血染红过的大厅里,我却成了屠杀他们的凶手的情妇,既是他的奴隶,又是他的享乐生活的参与者,这使我吸入的每一口空气都充满了罪恶和诅咒。” “自甘堕落的女人!”塞德里克喊道。“正当你父亲的朋友们,正当每一颗正直的撒克逊良心,都在为他的灵魂低唱安魂曲的时候,正当他勇敢的儿子们的朋友没有忘记在他们的祈祷中,为被杀害的乌尔莉加祈求安息的时候,正当所有的人都在哀悼和颂扬死者的时候,你却苟且偷安,过着令我们痛恨和咒骂的生活,与杀害你的父兄和亲人的邪恶暴徒,那个不仅把高贵的托奎尔•沃尔夫岗格一家的男人统统杀死,而且企图斩草除根,连孩子也不放过的邪恶暴徒混在一起,与他同流合污,谈情说爱,非法姘居!” “是的,这是荒淫无耻的非法生活,但不是爱情!”老太婆答道,“爱情也许会降临在永恒的地狱中,但决不会诞生在这个罪恶的城堡中。是的,在这一点上,至少我不应受到谴责,对牛面将军的父亲和他的民族的憎恨深深控制着我的心灵,哪怕在他向我献殷勤的时候也不例外。” “你憎恨他,可是你却活着,”塞德里克答道。“无耻的女人!难道你没有匕首,没有刀,没有一只可以刺死他的锥子!不过诺曼人的城堡像一座坟墓,它的秘密不会外传,这对你说来还是幸运的,因为你贪生怕死,乐于这样生活下去。要是我早知道,托奎尔的女儿与她父亲的凶手苟且结合,那么一个正直的撒克逊人的剑一定会找到你,把你杀死在你情人的怀抱中!” “你真的有这决心,要为托奎尔家报仇吗?”乌尔莉加说——我们现在可以丢开她那个假名厄弗利德了。“那么你确实像人们传说的那样,是一个真正的撒克逊人!尽管在这些该死的高墙内,正如你说的,罪恶像藏在坟墓里一样不会泄漏,然而哪怕在这里也能听到塞德里克的名字;我这个堕落的、下贱的女人,也为我们不幸的民族还有一个能为它报仇的人感到庆幸。我自己也有过复仇的举动。我曾在我的敌人之间制造纠纷,把狂欢的酒筵变成互相残杀的战场。我看到过他们的流血,听到过他们死亡的呻吟!你瞧我吧,塞德里克,这张腌(月赞)伸的脸上,不是还残留着一点托奎尔家族的特征吗?” “不要问我这些啦,乌尔莉加,”塞德里克答道,悲怆的口气中混合着厌恶,“这点特征不过像靠魔鬼的法术,从坟墓中起死回生的僵尸脸上留下的一点痕迹而已。” “就算这样吧,”乌尔莉加答道,“然而当这张丑八怪似的脸上,还戴着光艳娇嫩的面具时,它却能在牛面将军父子两人中播下不和的种子!它的后果本来会被地狱的黑暗所掩盖,但是为了复仇,必须撩起面纱,把可以让死人从棺材里爬起来大声疾呼的事,隐隐透露一些。不和的火焰在残暴的父亲和野蛮的儿子之间潜伏了很久,我也把这种违反伦常的仇恨暗中培育了很久;这样,它终于在一次狂欢作乐的酒筵上爆发了,我的压迫者被他亲生儿子的手杀死在他自己的酒席上;这就是隐藏在这些拱顶下的秘密。你们这些该死的拱顶,倒塌吧,”她抬起头,望着屋顶又说,“把一切了解这丑恶的秘密的人,统统埋在地下吧!” “你这个罪恶而不幸的女人,”塞德里克说,“在蹂躏你的暴徒死后,你又变得怎样呢?” “你自己猜吧,这不必问。我住在这儿,终于老了,过早的衰老了,我的面容给打上了岁月的可怕烙印——在我本来一呼百诺的地方,我遭到了侮辱和嘲笑,我的报复本来有广阔的活动范围,现在却只能局限于一个不满的奴仆玩弄的小花招上,或者作为一个无能为力的老太婆,发出几句没人理睬的无用的诅咒。我给关在孤独的塔楼里,再也不能参加热闹的酒宴,只能听到它的喧闹声,或者受尽摧残的新的牺牲者的啼哭和呻吟了。” “乌尔莉加,”塞德里克说道,“我看你还在为你失去的罪恶的果实感到惋惜,为你获得那种优待所干的事感到留恋,那么你怎么敢来找一个身穿教士长袍的人呢?想想吧,不幸的女人,哪怕圣徒爱德华本人(注)来到这里,他又能为你做什么呢?上帝赋予了这位仟海的君王清除肉体溃疡的力量,但是只有上帝本人才能医治灵魂的堕落。” -------- (注)即前面提到过的英王仟梅者爱德华,他死后于1161年被罗马教廷封为圣徒。 “然而不要抛弃我,上帝的惩罚的严厉预言者,”她喊道,“如果可能,请告诉我,我在孤独中迸发的那些新的可怕的情绪,最后会怎么结束。为什么很久以前做的事,会变得这么可怕,以不可抗拒的新的力量出现在我面前?这个给上帝命定,要在人间承担这种不堪述说的罪恶命运的人,在她进入坟墓以后,等待着她的是什么呢?我宁可投靠奥丁,赫尔撒和泽恩博克,投靠米斯塔和斯科格拉,投靠我们的祖先受洗以前信奉的各种神,也不愿忍受最近我不论睡着还是醒着,一直在困扰着我的那些可怕的预感!” “我不是神父,”塞德里克说,感到厌恶,不想再听她描绘这幅罪恶、堕落和绝望的骇人图画了,“尽管我穿着教士的衣衫,但我不是神父。” “不论你是教士还是俗人,”乌尔莉加说,“你是我二十年来看到的第一个敬畏上帝。关心人类的人,难道你认为我已经无可指望了吗?” “我认为你应该忏悔,”塞德里克说。“在祈祷和苦行中寻求补赎吧,那么你也许还能得救!但是我不能,也不想再与你待在一起了。” “再等一会儿吧广乌尔莉加说,“不要马上离开我,我父亲的朋友的儿子啊,否则主宰着我一生的魔鬼会诱使我对你铁面无情的鄙视实行报复。你想过没有,要是牛面将军发现,撒克逊人塞德里克乔装改扮,来到了他的城堡中,你的生命还能保全吗?他的眼睛已经像老鹰抓小鸡一样盯住你了。” “随它去吧,”塞德里克说,“让他用他的鹰嘴和爪子把我撕成碎片,我决不讲一句违心的话。我死也要死得像一个撒克逊人——忠诚可靠,光明磊落。现在请你走开!不要碰我,不要拦住我!对我说来,牛面将军本人的形象也不如你那么丑恶,你的蜕化堕落叫我无法容忍。” “那就算了,”乌尔莉加答道,不再拦阻他,“走你的路吧,你这么自命不凡,盛气凌人,你已经忘记站在你面前的这个憔悴的人,是你父亲的朋友的女儿了。走你的路吧;如果我的痛苦经历使我脱离了人们,脱离了我有理由指望得到帮助的人,那么,我也不想通过我的报复得到他们的原谅!没有人帮助我,但是我要做的事,会使每一个听到的人感到震惊!再见!我本以为我的悲伤会得到我的人民的同情,但是你的鄙视把我与我的民族联结在一起的最后一条纽带割断了。” “乌尔莉加,”塞德里克说,听了这番话心有些软了,“你经历了这么多的罪恶,这么多的灾难,仍然能忍受下来,坚持到今天,难道在你睁开眼睛面对你的罪行时,在你正应该进行忏悔时,你却会向绝望低头吗?” “塞德里克,”乌尔莉加答道,“你不懂得人的心理。要像我过去做的那么做,像我过去想的那么想,就必须对享乐怀有疯狂的爱好,但它是与复仇的强烈欲望,与骄傲的权力意识结合在一起的——这是一杯我不想喝、但又不得不喝的使心灵感到陶醉的酒。现在它的力量早已消失了。年老谈不到享乐,皱纹不会有魅力,复仇的意志也消耗殆尽,只剩下无力的诅咒。于是悔恨到来了,随之而来的是它的一切毒汁,对过去的无可奈何的抱憾,对未来的无可指望的迷茫。这样,当其他一切强烈冲动销声匿迹之后,我们像落进地狱的魔鬼一样,只会觉得遗憾,却绝不会忏悔。但是你的话唤醒了我身上新的灵魂。你讲得很对,不怕死的人是什么都可以做的!你向我指出了复仇的途径,你可以相信,我会这么做的。它在这颗憔悴的心灵中,本来和别的、与它敌对的情欲,混杂在一起;今后它将会全部占有我,有一天你也会说,不论乌尔莉加的一生怎样,她的死是完全配得上尊贵的托奎尔的女儿这一称号的。现在这个罪恶的城堡已给外面的力量包围,赶快带领那支队伍进攻吧;在你看到城堡东面一角的塔楼上升起一面红旗时,就可以猛力攻打诺曼人,这时他们的内部已困难重重,不要怕他们的弓箭和(石雷)石,你们会攻破城墙的。去吧,请你快走;你按照你的命运行事,也让我按照我的命运做吧。” 塞德里克本来还想追问她那些隐晦的话的含义,但这时传来了牛面将军严厉的声令他在问:“那个吊儿郎当的教士跑哪儿去了?我凭康博斯特洛的海扇壳起誓(注),要是他到处游荡,在我的奴仆中煽风点火,我非送他上百天不可!” -------- (注)康博斯特洛是西班牙一个滨海的城市。据说耶稣的弟于使徒雅各在巴勒斯坦传道时被希律工处死后,神把他的尸体放在一只石船上送回了西班牙(因为他一直在西班牙传教),放在康博斯特洛海边遍地皆是的海扇壳上,从此海扇壳被当作雅各的象征,朝圣者往往在帽檐上装饰海扇壳(参看本书第四章关于朝圣者的描写)。因此康博斯特洛的海扇壳是基督教的一种圣物,与圣徒的遗骸差不多。 “他倒猜对了,”乌尔莉加说,“真是做贼心虚!但是你不要理睬他,回到你的人民那里去,号召撒克逊人发动进攻吧。如果他们乐意唱罗洛的战歌(注),让他们唱好了,复仇是不怕他们虚张声势的。” -------- (注)罗洛是古代斯堪的纳维亚的著名海盗,据说诺曼底公国最早便是由他建立的。 她这么说完,便从一扇暗门中溜走了,牛面将军雷金纳德走进了屋子。塞德里克迫不得已,向傲慢的男爵敬了礼,男爵稍微点了点头,表示还礼。 “神父,那些家伙的忏悔拖得太久了,不过也好,这已是他们最后一次忏悔了。他们作好死的准备了吧?” “一点不错,”塞德里克尽量用他所掌握的法语回答道,一从他们知道落进了谁的手中起,他们已作好了最坏的打算。” “修士先生,”牛面将军说,“我觉得你讲话好像带了一些撒克逊口音,这是怎么回事?” “我是在伯顿的圣维索尔特修道院长大的,”塞德里克答道。 “是吗?”男爵说,“可惜你不是诺曼人,否则就更适合给我办事了,不过现在别无选择,只得让你权且充当信使了。伯顿的圣维索尔特修道院是猫头鹰的窝,应该铲除。这日子不会太久,到那时,教士的长袍也像战士的盔甲一样不能保护撤克逊人了。” “上帝的意旨是不可违抗的,”塞德里克说,气得声音有些发抖,但牛面将军认为这是他害怕的表现。 “我看到,”他说,“你已经在想像我们的军人怎样进入你的食堂,你的酒窖了。但是只要你凭你的圣职替我办事,我不会亏待你,不论别人的遭遇怎样,你在你的修道院里可以稳如磐石,就像蜗牛待在它的壳里一样。” “请您下命令吧,”塞德里克说,忍住了心头的怒火。 “你跟着我从这条过道走,待会儿我让你从边门出去。” 牛面将军迈开大步,带着假想的修士朝前直走,一边交代他要他办的事。 “你看到了,修士先生,那群撒克逊猪猡居然敢包围托奎尔斯通城堡。随你对他们怎么讲,说这个小城堡不堪一击也好,或者别的也好,只要能拖住他们,在二十四个钟头以内不致动手就成。同时你把这封信带去。但是别出声——神父先生,你认得字吗?” “除了祈祷书,我一个大字也不认得,”塞德里克答道。“不过我认得字母,我能背诵祈祷文,多谢圣母和圣维索尔特,我是靠背诵行使圣职的。” “这样你更适合作我的信使。你把这信送往菲利普•马尔沃辛的城堡,说这是我叫你送去的,它是圣殿骑士布里恩•布瓦吉贝尔写的,请他们马上把它送往约克城,愈快愈好;火速骑马前去。同时告诉他们的主人,不要听信谣言,我们在城堡内安然无恙,什么事也没有。丢脸的是给一伙歹徒包围了,逼得我们只好躲在城堡内。但是可想而知,这些混蛋一望见我们的旗帜,一听到我们的马蹄声,就会四散达命!我告诉你,神父,你必须运用你的花言巧语,说服那些歹徒待在原地别动,等我们的朋友一到就收拾他们。我的报复随时注意着他们,它是一只鹰,不吃饱肚子是不会睡觉的。” “凭我的保护神起誓,”塞德里克说,忽然变得精神抖擞,与他的身分不太相称了,“凭生在英国和死在英国的每一个圣徒起誓,您的命令一定会照办!我会用尽一切办法,把那些撒克逊人留在城堡前面,不让一个人离开。” “哈!”牛面将军说,“你的口气有些变了,你讲得又干脆又果断,好像你巴不得消灭那伙撒克逊畜生呢,可你与他们不是属于同一民族的吗?” 塞德里克并不善于弄虚作假,编造谎话,这时他真恨不得汪八的灵活头脑能帮他一把,出个主意。但是老话说得好:急中生智;他在风帽中嘀咕了几句,意思是说他谈到的那些人都是开除教籍的不法之徒,早已失去教会和国家的保护了。 “凭上帝的名义起誓,”牛面将军答道,“你讲的话千真万确;我忘记了一件事:有一伙歹徒居然剥光了一个胖长老的衣服,这跟生长在盐海南边的人(注)有什么不同。不是吗?圣艾夫斯修道院的长老便曾给绑在一棵株树上,那些人一边搜刮他的行囊和钱包,一边强迫他唱赞美诗。啊,我记错了,我的圣母,这是我们自己的一个雇佣兵米德尔顿的戈蒂埃开的玩笑。但是在圣皮斯,抢劫教堂的杯盘、烛台和圣餐杯的,难道不就是他们撒克逊人吗?” -------- (注)指巴勒斯坦人,盐海即今死海。 “他们是不敬上帝的人,”塞德里克答道。 “对,你们储藏的葡萄酒和麦酒都给他们喝光了,这本来是你们假装守夜和做早祷的时候,预备偷偷喝的,不是吗?神父,对这种读圣罪,你是必须报复的。” “真的,必须报复,这毫无疑问,”塞德里克嘟哝道,“圣维索尔特了解我的心情。” 这时牛面将军带着他来到一扇小门,那里的壕沟上有一块木板通往一个小碉楼,这是外围防御工事,它的出击口外便是广阔的田野了。 “现在去吧。如果你执行了我的使命,等我们大功告成,你回到这儿的时候,就会看到,撒克逊人的肉比设菲尔德屠宰场的猪肉还不值钱呢。还有,听着,你看来是一个快活的忏悔神父,那么等我们杀退撒克逊人以后,你再来吧,我一定用最好的葡萄酒款待你,让你喝个痛快。” “当然,我一定会来的,”塞德里克答道。 “暂时先给你这点酬劳,”诺曼人继续说,在小门附近分手时,把一枚金币塞进了塞德里克不愿伸出的手中。“不过记住,如果你欺骗我,办不成我的事,我不仅要剥掉你的衣服,还要剥掉你的皮。” “要是我们下次见面的时候,我办不好我的事,那么我是活该,要剥皮也是罪有应得,”塞德里克一边回答,一边赶紧离开小门,欢天喜地地迈开大步,走进了田野。然后他回过头来,对着城堡,把手中的金币朝那位施主扔了过去,同时大声喊道:“你这个诺曼骗子,让你的钱跟你一起灭亡吧!” 牛面将军听不清他的话,但他的动作令他怀疑
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