*See Hume, Giraldus Cambrensis, The Monk of Croyland, and
Pinnock's Catechism.
Ah, where was Wilfrid of Ivanhoe, the unconquerable champion, to defend
the castle against the royal party? A few thrusts from his lance would
have spitted the leading warriors of the King's host: a few cuts from
his sword would have put John's forces to rout. But the lance and sword
of Ivanhoe were idle on this occasion. "No, be hanged to me!" said the
knight, bitterly, "THIS is a quarrel in which I can't interfere. Common
politeness forbids. Let yonder ale-swilling Athelstane defend his--ha,
ha--WIFE; and my Lady Rowena guard her--ha, ha, ha--SON." And he laughed
wildly and madly; and the sarcastic, way in which he choked and gurgled
out the words "wife" and "son" would have made you shudder to hear.
When he heard, however, that, on the fourth day of the siege, Athelstane
had been slain by a cannon-ball, (and this time for good, and not to
come to life again as he had done before,) and that the widow (if so
the innocent bigamist may be called) was conducting the defence of
Rotherwood herself with the greatest intrepidity, showing herself upon
the walls with her little son, (who bellowed like a bull, and did
not like the fighting at all,) pointing the guns and encouraging the
garrison in every way--better feelings returned to the bosom of the
Knight of Ivanhoe, and summoning his men, he armed himself quickly and
determined to go forth to the rescue.
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