“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.”  “The postern gate shakes,” continued Rebecca; “it crashes—­it is splintered by his powerful blows—­they rush in—­the outwork is won!  O God! they hurry the defenders from the battlements—­they throw them into the moat!  O men, if ye be indeed men, spare them that can resist no longer!” “The bridge—­the bridge which communicates with the castle—­have they won that pass?” exclaimed Ivanhoe.  “No,” replied Rebecca; “the Templar has destroyed the plank on which they crossed—­few of the defenders escaped with him into the castle—­the shrieks and cries which you hear, tell the fate of the others.  Alas!  I see that it is still more difficult to look upon victory than upon battle.”

“What do they now, maiden?” said Ivanhoe; “look forth yet again—­this is no time to faint at bloodshed.”  “It is over, for a time,” said Rebecca; “our friends strengthen themselves within the outwork which they have mastered.”  “Our friends,” said Ivanhoe, “will surely not abandon an enterprise so gloriously begun, and so happily attained; Oh no!  I will put my faith in the good knight whose ax has rent heart of oak and bars of iron.  Singular,” he again muttered to himself, “if there can be two who are capable of such achievements.  It is,—­it must be Richard Coeur de Lion.”

“Seest thou nothing else.  Rebecca, by which the Black Knight may be distinguished?” “Nothing,” said the Jewess, “all about him is as black as the wing of the night raven.  Nothing can I spy that can mark him further; but having once seen him put forth his strength in battle, methinks I could know him again among a thousand warriors.  He rushes to the fray as if he were summoned to a banquet.  There is more than mere strength; it seems as if the whole soul and spirit of the champion were given to every blow which he deals upon his enemies.  God forgive him the sin of bloodshed! it is fearful, yet magnificent, to behold how the arm and heart of one man can triumph over hundreds.” 
          
                                                —­ Walter Scott.

Notes.—­Ivanhoe, a wounded knight, and Rebecca, a Jewess, had been imprisoned in the castle of Reginald Front de Boeuf.  The friends of the prisoners undertake their rescue.  At the request of Ivanhoe, who is unable to leave his couch, Rebecca takes her stand near a window overlooking the approach to the castle, and details to the knight the incidents of the contest as they take place.  Front de Boeuf and his garrison were Normans; the besiegers, Saxons.

The castles of this time (twelfth century) usually consisted of a keep, or castle proper, surrounded at some distance by two walls, one within the other.  Each wall was encircled on its outer side by a moat, or ditch, which was filled with water, and was crossed by means of a drawbridge.  Before the main entrance of the outer wall was an outwork called the barbacan, which was a high wall surmounted by battlements and turrets, built to defend the gate and drawbridge.  Here, also, were placed barriers of palisades, etc., to impede the advance of an attacking force.  The postern gate was small, and was usually some distance from the ground; it was used for the egress of messengers during a siege;