“Peace all!” said the Captain. “And
thou, Jew, think of thy ransom; thou needest not to
be told that thy race are held to be accursed in all
Christian communities, and trust me that we cannot
endure thy presence among us. Think, therefore,
of an offer, while I examine a prisoner of another
cast.”
“Were many of Front-de-Boeuf’s men taken?”
demanded the Black Knight.
“None of note enough to be put to ransom,”
answered the Captain; “a set of hilding fellows
there were, whom we dismissed to find them a new master—–enough
had been done for revenge and profit; the bunch of
them were not worth a cardecu. The prisoner I
speak of is better booty—–a jolly
monk riding to visit his leman, an I may judge by
his horse-gear and wearing apparel.—–Here
cometh the worthy prelate, as pert as a pyet.”
And, between two yeomen, was brought before the silvan
throne of the outlaw Chief, our old friend, Prior
Aymer of Jorvaulx.
------Flower of warriors,
How is’t with Titus Lartius?
MARCIUS.—As with a man busied about decrees,
Condemning some to death and some to exile,
Ransoming him or pitying, threatening the other.
Coriolanus
The captive Abbot’s features and manners exhibited
a whimsical mixture of offended pride, and deranged
foppery and bodily terror.
“Why, how now, my masters?” said he, with
a voice in which all three emotions were blended.
“What order is this among ye? Be ye Turks
or Christians, that handle a churchman?—–Know
ye what it is, ‘manus imponere in servos Domini’?
Ye have plundered my mails—–torn
my cope of curious cut lace, which might have served
a cardinal!—–Another in my place would
have been at his ‘excommunicabo vos’;
but I am placible, and if ye order forth my palfreys,
release my brethren, and restore my mails, tell down
with all speed an hundred crowns to be expended in
masses at the high altar of Jorvaulx Abbey, and make
your vow to eat no venison until next Pentecost, it
may be you shall hear little more of this mad frolic.”
“Holy Father,” said the chief Outlaw,
“it grieves me to think that you have met with
such usage from any of my followers, as calls for
your fatherly reprehension.”
“Usage!” echoed the priest, encouraged
by the mild tone of the silvan leader; “it were
usage fit for no hound of good race —–much
less for a Christian—–far less for
a priest—–and least of all for the
Prior of the holy community of Jorvaulx. Here
is a profane and drunken minstrel, called Allan-a-Dale—–’nebulo
quidam’—–who has menaced me
with corporal punishment—–nay, with
death itself, an I pay not down four hundred crowns
of ransom, to the boot of all the treasure he hath
already robbed me of—–gold chains
and gymmal rings to an unknown value; besides what
is broken and spoiled among their rude hands, such
as my pouncer-box and silver crisping-tongs.”
“It is impossible that Allan-a-Dale can have
thus treated a man of your reverend bearing,”
replied the Captain.
