Oswald made a respectful sign of assent. "His brother sits in the
seat, and usurps the patrimony, of a better race, the race of Ulfgar of
Middleham; but what Norman lord doth not the same? This Prior is, they
say, a free and jovial priest, who loves the wine-cup and the bugle-horn
better than bell and book: Good; let him come, he shall be welcome. How
named ye the Templar?"
"Brian de Bois-Guilbert."
"Bois-Guilbert," said Cedric, still in the musing, half-arguing tone,
which the habit of living among dependants had accustomed him to employ,
and which resembled a man who talks to himself rather than to those
around him--"Bois-Guilbert? that name has been spread wide both for
good and evil. They say he is valiant as the bravest of his order;
but stained with their usual vices, pride, arrogance, cruelty, and
voluptuousness; a hard-hearted man, who knows neither fear of earth,
nor awe of heaven. So say the few warriors who have returned from
Palestine.--Well; it is but for one night; he shall be welcome
too.--Oswald, broach the oldest wine-cask; place the best mead, the
mightiest ale, the richest morat, the most sparkling cider, the most
odoriferous pigments, upon the board; fill the largest horns [13]
--Templars and Abbots love good wines and good measure.--Elgitha, let
thy Lady Rowena, know we shall not this night expect her in the hall,
unless such be her especial pleasure."
"But it will be her especial pleasure," answered Elgitha, with great
readiness, "for she is ever desirous to hear the latest news from
Palestine."
Cedric darted at the forward damsel a glance of hasty resentment; but
Rowena, and whatever belonged to her, were privileged and secure from
his anger. He only replied, "Silence, maiden; thy tongue outruns thy
discretion. Say my message to thy mistress, and let her do her pleasure.
Here, at least, the descendant of Alfred still reigns a princess."
Elgitha left the apartment.
"Palestine!" repeated the Saxon; "Palestine! how many ears are turned
to the tales which dissolute crusaders, or hypocritical pilgrims, bring
from that fatal land! I too might ask--I too might enquire--I too might
listen with a beating heart to fables which the wily strollers devise
to cheat us into hospitality--but no--The son who has disobeyed me is no
longer mine; nor will I concern myself more for his fate than for that
of the most worthless among the millions that ever shaped the cross on
their shoulder, rushed into excess and blood-guiltiness, and called it
an accomplishment of the will of God."