Home › The Vicar of Wakefield › The Vicar of Wakefield: Rebecca

The Vicar of Wakefield: Rebecca

With patient courage Rebecca again took post at the lattice. " "What dost thou see, Rebecca?" again demanded the wounded knight. "Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to daze mine eyes and to hide the bowmen who shoot them." "That cannot endure," said Ivanhoe; "if they press not right on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but little against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the Knight of the Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how he bears himself; for as the leader is, so will his followers be." "I see him not," said Rebecca. "Foul craven!" exclaimed Ivanhoe; "does he blench from the helm when the wind blows highest?" "He blenches not! He blenches not!" said Rebecca. "I see him now; he leads a body of men close under the outer barrier of the barbican. They pull down the piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers with axes. His high black plume floats abroad over the throng, like a raven over the field of the slain. They have made a breach in the barriers--they rush in--they are thrust back! Frontde-Boeuf heads the defenders; I see his gigantic form above the press. They throng again to the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand and man to man. God of Jacob! It is the meeting of two fierce tides--the conflict of two oceans moved by adverse winds!"

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer to endure a sight so terrible. "Look forth again, Rebecca," said Ivanhoe, mistaking the cause of her retiring; "the archery must in some degree have ceased, since they are now fighting hand to hand. Look again; there is now less danger." Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately exclaimed: "Holy prophets of the law! Front-de-Boeuf and the Black Knight fight hand to hand on the breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch the progress of the strife. Heaven strike with the cause of the oppressed and the captive!" She then uttered a loud shriek and exclaimed, "He is down--he is down!" "Who is down?" cried Ivanhoe; "for our dear lady's sake, tell me which has fallen?" "The Black Knight," answered Rebecca, faintly; then instantly again shouted with eagerness: "But no--but no! The name of the Lord of Hosts be blessed! He is on foot again and fights as if there were twenty men's strength in his single arm! His sword is broken; he snatches an ax from a yeoman; he pushes Front-de-Boeuf with blow on blow--the giant stoops and totters like an oak under the steel of the woodman. He falls--he falls!... The Black Knight approaches the postern with his huge ax--the thundering blows which he deals--you may hear them above all the din and shouts of the battle. Stones and beams are hailed down on the bold champion; he regards them no more than if they were thistle-down or feathers!" "By Saint John of Acre!" said Ivanhoe, raising himself joyfully on his couch, "methought there was but one man in England that might do such a deed!" Ivanhoe was right; the Black Knight of the Fetterlock was Richard Plantaganet of the Lion Heart, King of England, only just returned to his kingdom from the Holy Land, though but few knew of his arrival as yet. In his absence England had been under the selfish rule of the king's younger brother John, who was planning to usurp the kingdom.