Jews of the Lionheart

By Eugen Rispart, Major Wm. Schonfield T.D. and Stephen A. Engelking

In the Middle Ages, during the reign of King Richard of England, a terrible anti-Semitic massacre took place in York in 1190. The city's Jewish community was trapped by an angry mob within the tower of York Castle. Members of the community chose to commit suicide rather than be murdered or forcibly baptized by the attackers.
Eugen Rispart's great epic, crammed full of incidents, accurate in historical detail, delineating with a master hand the famous characters of the period, graphic in description, blending tragedy, comedy, and romance takes its place amidst the other masterpieces of Eugen Rispart. Through the great spectacle move the figures of Prince Richard, Eleanor the stern Queen mother, The Earl of Salisbury, Benedict, the Jew of York, and his partner Joscen. We are taken into the intimacy of the Jewish home and into the political arena of the struggle between Prince Richard and Prince John for the throne. Major William Schonfield created this translation in 1933 and it had disappeared until a recent discovery by the editor. It has now been thoroughly revised and additional information added to be made available once again. The reader cannot but become involved in this gripping novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Texianer Verlag
• Release date: Aug 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223269564

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TRANSLATOR’S NOTE

In giving to the English reader a version of Dr. Frankolm’s (Eugen Rispart) graphic novel, I wish to enlist his sympathy for the difficulties under which I have laboured, both because of the complexity of the German original and the problem of adequately rendering Jewish expressions so as to retain their spirit. I trust nevertheless that I have been able to convey something of the correct atmosphere. Wherever I have been able to check the author’s allusions to historical events they have been found to be singularly accurate. The Jew Joscen is variously called Jocaeus, Isaac of York, and Jocelyn in the records, and his partner Benedict (Baruch) of York is also well known, as also that he was compulsorily baptized and afterwards permitted to return to his own faith. The account of the ‘pogrom’ in London on the night of King Richard’s coronation, and the siege of York Castle are historically true in substance, and it was in the former massacre that the famous Rabbi Jacob Tam, the revered author of a commentary on the Talmud called Tosaphot, was slain.

In the translation of excerpts from the Hebrew liturgy, I have used Singer’s Authorized Prayer Book and Festival Prayers, published by George Routledge & Sons Ltd. I am indebted to my son Hugh Schonfield for curtailing the volubility of some of the characters, and paraphrasing certain portions of the original so as to bring them into line with English literary usage.

About the Author

Eugen Rispart (Isaac Asher Francolm) was a German preacher and religious teacher. born at Breslau Dec. 15, 1788; died there July 1, 1849; Ph. D., Leipsig, 1817.

After conducting a Jewish elementary school at Breslau for three years, he was called in 1820 to the community of Königsberg, Prussia, as preacher and religious teacher (one of his rivals for the position being Zunz), and was confirmed in his office by the government.

Francolm did much to modernize the synagogue service and religious instruction, and he introduced into Germany the confirmation of girls. Some Orthodox members of the community brought this matter before the government, and Francolm was forbidden not only to confirm girls, but also to introduce any other innovations into the service, especially preaching in the vernacular.

On the expiration of his contract in 1826 he declined a reengagement, and accepted the position of chief inspector and principal of the Königliche Wilhelmsschule, a Jewish institution at Breslau, in which office he remained until 1847.

Among Francolm's numerous works are: Der Alte Bund: Aufsätze für Israeliten zur Beförderung des Richtigen Verständnisses der Bibel, a religious weekly of which only ten numbers were published, 1820; Die Grundzüge der Religionslehre aus den Zehn Geboten Entwickelt, Neustadt-on-the-Oder, 1826; Die Mosaische Sittenlehre: Zum Gebrauch beim Religionsunterricht, Breslau, 1831; Worte eines Juden nach Beendeter Landestrauer um den König Friedrich Wilhelm III.: An Seine Christlichen Brüder Gerichtet, ib. 1840; Die Juden und die Kreuzfahrer in England Unter Richard Löwenherz. (This book before the reader now in English translation). Besides these he published works of fiction and some books on mathematics and pedagogics.

(Courtesy of the Jewish Encyclopedia at http://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/articles/6275-francolm-isaac-asher)

About the Translator

William Schonfield was born in 1869 in Dirschau (Tczew) Prussia, a town on the Vistual River in Eastern Pomerania, now in Poland, as the second son of Hermann and Charlotte (née Henschel) Schoenfeld of Posen, which was then part of Prussia and today is in Poland. They had married three weeks after the 6th June 1853 in a marriage contract drawn up in Nackel, Germany, thereafter moving to Schubin (today Szubin, Poland). Charlotte was 21 and Hermann was 30. Her father was the local master baker Henschel Arndt in Nackel. Her mother was Hannchen née David. Hermann was the Cantor, lived in Schubin and was the son of Wolf Schoenfeld and Ester née Ettig-Schoenfeldchen from Grätz (today Grodzisk Wielkopolski in Poland). The documentation states that those present were of the Mosaic Religion and this implies minority of Charlotte Henschel with the therefore ensuing restriction of ability to negotiate. It was thus necessary, at that time, for the father to sign the required marriage documents. Hermann was described as the son of the still-living man of private means. In those days it was expected that the wife would bring a dowry into the marriage, which in this case was some five hundred Thaler as well as gold and silver objects, furniture (including one servant’s bedstead, kitchen utensils, bedding, clothing, two wall pictures and a violin). Hermann later moved to Glasgow in Scotland, presumably with his son and daughter-in-law.

It is hard for us to imagine the world into which William was born. There had been serious restrictions imposed on Jews living in that part of Prussia but after the establishment of the North German Confederation with the law of July 3, 1869, all remaining statutory restrictions were abolished. Some of the restrictions applied to marriage whereby only a certain number of marriages were allowed each year and the family would have to demonstrate that it had sufficient wealth etc. By 1871, Dirschau had been fully incorporated into the German Empire. The town had been occupied by Polish troops in the Napoleonic invasion at the beginning of the 19th century and became part of Prussia in 1815. In 1742, it was part of Silesia which had been seized by King Frederick the Great of Prussia in the War of the Austrian Succession, becoming the Prussian Province of Silesia.

William’s wife Florence was the eldest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Lionel B. Joseph. Lionel (1826-1905). She was also the great-great-grand-daughter of Barnet Levy, whose daughter Judith married Lyon Joseph. The writer conjectures that they may have been related to Nathan Solomon Joseph who lived from 1834-1909 and who was a philanthropist, social reformer, architect and Jewish communal leader. It is worth noting in this context that he collaborated in the design of the New West End Synagogue. In any case, the family were very much part of the Jewish ‘aristocracy’ and known for being somewhat unconventional.

William was probably the first Jew to join the London Scottish Regiment in 1892 and he became Lance-Corporal in his second year of service. He was promoted to Major in 1909 and gained high commendation for his training scheme for specialists. He retired from the army in 1911 and joined the Territorial Force Reserve. He was appointed to command a Battalion Headquarters Depot at the beginning of the First World War and continued to work in administration and training until 1919 when he was demobilized. He became Vice-President of the Jewish Ex-Servicemen’s Legion and travelled to Palestine on their behalf. He also acted in his lifetime as the Honorary Treasurer of the Princess Elizabeth Hospital for Children and Knew Her Majesty personally when she was the Princess of Wales. He was also responsible for recruiting for the Jewish Battalion.

William was also a member of the committee of the Jewish Religious Union and honorary president of the Southend and Westcliff Zionist Association, whose meetings he would attend with his son Hugh who assisted him with this translation in 1933.

From: A Life for Mankind—The Biography of Hugh J. Schonfield by Stephen Arthur Engelking

I

One sunny day in the month of October, 1188, on which a genial summer lingered as if unwilling to take its departure, two young men were walking leisurely down a short and narrow lane, which twisted its way between fences and hedges towards the Cheape. Hardly a twig stirred among the apple trees in the gardens of the well-to-do citizens, and many of the houses appeared completely deserted. An oppressive silence brooded over the city.

The King was in Normandy, attempting to quell the rising of his son Richard, and some of the landed gentry had followed him there. Others, thankful for the absence of a suspicious monarch, who kept them continually on the alert to avoid his displeasure and the consequent loss of their estates, were making holiday. It was therefore with considerable surprise that the visitors found the outlet into the main thoroughfare blocked by a crowd of people. There had been no warning of their presence, no excitement. All was calm and quiet, and the gaze of most was directed to the far end of the Cheape from which something was evidently expected to make its appearance.

Would it not be prudent to find out what is going on before we venture further? suggested one of the young men, detaining his companion.

We? Venture! exclaimed the other, contemptuously emphasizing the word. God’s death! Can an attempt to pass through a peaceful crowd gathered out of idle curiosity be called venturesome? If you are so careful of your safety, I can dispense with your company, but, raising his musical though somewhat sonorous voice, "at least allow me to proceed."

The speaker’s face was partially concealed by a cap drawn well down, while his figure was enveloped in an ample black cloak, which the mild temperature seemed to render superfluous.

By all that’s holy, be calm, implored the other, who, clad unostentatiously in chain mail, bore on his shoulder the red cross of the crusader. Remember where you are, and that the slightest indiscretion may prove your undoing. Do you think I care about a possible brawl? It’s not a fight but your recognition I’m afraid of. Someone in this crowd may know you. Most unwillingly I consented to accompany you to your Irish sweetheart. You insisted on entrusting the girl to my care, and I depended upon your assurance that the way to her lay through remote and unfrequented roads. But here people are gathering, and it would be quite easy to come into unpleasant collision which must be avoided at all costs. Let me go forward alone and discover the meaning of this concourse.

The poor girl, soliloquized he of the cloak, she was really a good-hearted soul.

You are not answering, persisted the armed one. Sire! Sire! Whither are your thoughts drifting?

Sire me not, burst out the other laughing. "Merdaunt is my name. Your memory is short. Your brain appears to be fuddled with fear of this rabble. Fear is a word which should never be in the mouth of a knight and warrior of the Church, even if it concerns the safety of a friend.

To ease your mind, Chateaugrain, the venerable Ranulph, archdeacon to his Grace of Canterbury, has arranged a solemn procession, which he is winding up with an address in support of the crusade. These good citizens, who at the mention of the name of Saladin are quick to hide behind their wives’ petticoats, have come to see the show. Mark how they crane their long necks. The consecrated banners are very likely discernible in the distance. We are quite safe from people like these. For the time being they will pay no attention to us. All the same, I have no particular wish to approach closer. I am disgusted with this holy farce, performed to make folks believe that the King, in spite of the war in Normandy, has not forgotten his vow. Shame on it! Saladin sits throned in the holy city; the Cross lies trampled in the mud, desecrated and insulted by unbelievers, and here a father makes war on his son and seeks to deprive him of his lawful inheritance, abuses him most foully, and in an unnatural quarrel sheds Christian blood which should flow for the honour of God in battle with the Saracen. God’s teeth! Where are Europe’s valiant knights? Have a hundred years cooled all zeal in Christendom? Does not shame redden the cheeks of those recreant descendants of the thousands of heroes whose bones lie rotting on the banks of Jordan and Orontes? He shrugged his shoulders expressively.

Come, Chateaugrain, I am wandering. Let us walk up and down until this procession has passed. I am in no mood to listen to a prating priest, whose thoughts are on the bishopric King Henry will bestow upon him if he can induce a few more of his listeners to take the cross. To wear the sign of Christian and warrior, forsooth. To take a solemn oath and forget to keep it.

Noble Sire, said the knight with a deep blush. Your reproach lies heavily on me. I have borne the cross for nigh upon a year.

Be not foolish, replied he who called himself Merdaunt in a softened voice. You cannot war alone when monarchs hesitate to join forces and attack the worthiest opponent they can ever encounter. It is least of all for me to reproach you, to whose cause you have dedicated your knightly service.

Now, by my patron saint! cried Chateaugrain, laughing. The service I rendered you to-day can scarce be termed knightly.

Say, not so, replied Merdaunt earnestly. What can be more chivalrous than protecting forsaken women? Treat not your errand lightly. Interest yourself in the girl. The poor child deserves it. I leave London again soon and cannot care for her. You, however, will remain here, and stranger as you are will be the best observer of those who are against me, as of those who at present declare for me. Say what you will to deceive the girl. Any fairy-tale will serve to prove that our parting had to be. Paint me as black as you will, only do your utmost to induce her to marry the ranger of Tushill. The poor wench deserves to be provided with a good husband. She loved me deeply. She almost makes me regret my inconstancy.

Is she the only one who complains of your infidelity? half timidly, half daringly, suggested the knight.

By my sword, no, answered Merdaunt smiling. But you are unjust to reproach me. Youth is impetuous, Chateaugrain, it boils over and flings us into the cauldron of frivolous adventures. Bless the charming creatures! Next to the joy of clashing swords and splintered lances I know of nothing pleasanter than to make love to them.

Will your betrothed be pleased to hear you speak thus? observed the knight in an undertone.

My betrothed! cried Merdaunt excitedly. Ha! The pretty dove. She may well permit these flutters. My father compensates her for what the son denies. Harkee, Chateaugrain, I require no reminder of this betrothed from you. An evil spirit has prompted you to mention her. If we are to remain friends, keep him away from you. The sound of solemn singing broke in upon the conversation. The procession was now passing the opening of the lane. The glint of pikes became visible over the heads of the crowd, showing that a sheriff and his band were in attendance. Then followed the consecrated banners and crucifixes borne by acolytes, chanting as they moved slowly forward. The still air was filled with the scent of incense as the thurifer censed the people, and all heads were bowed as the great crucifix, richly ornamented, was carried by.

In a few minutes the outlet from the lane became free, most of the spectators having swelled the company which followed in the wake of the procession towards Paul’s Cross, and the young men were able to continue on their way. They had hardly set foot in the Cheape, however, before angry shouts arrested their attention. Looking back on the tail of the procession from whence the uproar emanated, they were startled to see cudgels brandished aloft, while voices bellowed in an indistinct medley.

Suddenly a female figure broke away from the throng. Swiftly she sped along the deserted street, her flight marking her as the object of the crowd’s displeasure. Shouting and cursing, a swarm of furious men and women detached themselves from the mass of people and hurried to overtake the fugitive, who, like a hunted doe, was endeavouring to make good her escape. Gradually she showed signs of exhaustion. Her speed slackened. She commenced to stagger, and just as her exulting enemies came up with her she managed to reach a large building not far from the spot where the two young men had taken up their position. Summoning up all her remaining strength, she mounted the broad stairway leading to a massive gate, only to find it locked. In a half-fainting condition she sank to her knees and rested her head against the iron-studded entrance.

The onlookers were now able to observe her more closely.

She wore a peculiarly shaped garment of a heavy yellow-coloured silken material, which, while it chastely enveloped her form, disclosed the graceful outlines of budding womanhood. A dark brown silk mantilla, in which she may have been cloaked earlier, had dropped from one of her shoulders and remained suspended from the other. From under a neat, turban-like, folded headdress an abundance of glossy, black locks fell upon her neck and bosom, completely screening her features.

A raging mass had now gathered at the foot of the steps, surrounding the almost insensible girl with disgusting yells. No one had yet laid hands on her. Curses and threats alone filled the ear of the forlorn creature. More and more came rushing up, the throng became denser, and before Merdaunt and Chateaugrain were aware, they were completely hemmed in. A diversion now took place as an old grey haired woman, panting and breathless, pushed her way to the side of the defenceless victim, who, noticing her, regained sufficient of consciousness and strength to rise with an effort and fling herself into her arms. Setting her gently aside, the old woman stepped half-way in front of her and addressed the crowd in words which the din made audible only to the nearest. All that she succeeded in doing, however, was to increase the aggravation of the mob.

What is the Welsh witch doing here? was the cry which came from several directions. Down with her! Hang the old hag with the young one! Burn them both! No! Tie them together and let them swim down the Thames! Yah! roared a ruffian close to Merdaunt, who with his companion had been pushed closer in. Chuck the old procuring wretch into the Thames. Strip the young toad of her silken bits and hang her.

What crime has the wench committed? enquired Merdaunt.

How the devil should I know? answered the fellow. Can’t you see she’s a blasted bitch of a Jewess?

She was discovered in the street when the procession was passing, said a decently dressed citizen. What business has the Jewess here when the Cross of the Saviour is borne by. She profanes it by her accursed presence. For this alone she is worthy of death, unless she prefers to receive the sacrament of holy baptism.

What do you mean, baptize a Jewess? interrupted another. Do you not know that the King has set his face against it? He has compelled all baptized Jews to revert to their accursed superstition, and rightly so. What profit is in to him when this scum is led by force along the road to salvation, and he has to forego the rich revenues derived from them? No! Jew must remain Jew. They are damned and must pay. No baptism. The Jewess must be hanged, burnt or drowned, no matter which.

Meanwhile the subject of discussion was in peril of being torn limb from limb. In a temporary lull, however, the old woman, to whom some sort of fearful consideration was shown, contrived to make herself heard.

You call yourselves Christians, she rated. Would you commit murder but a few moments after beating your breasts before the image of the Saviour? Yonder goes the venerable priest who will tell you of the land consecrated by the footsteps of the Lord, now contaminated by the dissolute worshippers of the idol Mahmoud. But you disdain to listen to him. You would vent your rage, which should be directed against the infidel hordes, upon a poor Jew child. Sinners you are, betrayers of the holy sepulchre. What has this child done to you, look you? I carried her in infancy upon my hands. I know every nook and corner of her heart. There is no guile in it. Why do you stand there casting lustful glances at her when you ought to be following the banners of the Church?

Ha! shouted a sturdy prentice. We have listened to as fine a crusading sermon as any shorn priest can deliver, and the best of it is that a witch, if not the devil’s own grandmother, reminds us of our Christian duty. Can you beat that?

A loud burst of laughter greeted this sally, mixed with yells and cat-calls, and shouts of Away with the witch! Don’t keep us waiting, old hag! Hand over the spawn of Satan!

Ay, Hannah Meredith, cried an elderly citizen thrusting himself forward. Provoke us no longer, or you’ll rue it. Leave the wench to us. She is not worthy of your protection. Let us be her judges. Why should a Jewess come to scoff at our holy rites?

How now! Is it you, neighbour? returned Hannah, composing her furrowed features and folding her shrivelled arms. Look you, I am beholden to you. You are a sensible man. You at least ask, and shall be answered. You know my son Owen who has been appointed ranger at Tushill by his Highness Prince Richard, whom God preserve. He has been suffering from ague for the last fortnight. This good girl brought him some physic which the learned Rabbi Nehemiah, Chief Rabbi of the Jews, knows well how to prepare, and on her way home she encountered the procession, of which she knew as little as I. It was too late to overtake her and to conduct her back when I was told of it. Most certainly, I knew not that a procession would pass here, said the trembling girl in an extraordinarily sweet voice.

These are empty excuses, snorted the lad who had previously spoken. Do not listen to her. This crafty race would deceive even its faithful friend the devil. The Jewess came to insult the Cross. Tear her blasphemous tongue from her throat.

Why should a Christian place confidence in their Chief Rabbi, whose hellish arts kill the soul to preserve the body? cried another voice. The old woman is just as guilty as the shameless hussy she is shielding.

These words sufficed to add fresh fuel to the passion of the mob, rendered undecided by the speech of the old Meredith. It reluctantly saw itself baulked of its prey, and as a gale after a short pause of delusory stillness breaks forth with greater intensity, so now a clamour arose, and during the frightful crush which ensued everyone pushed forward to seize the Jewess, who, terror-stricken, took refuge behind her old attendant.

I am almost sorry for the wretch, said Chateaugrain. I really think her guiltless.

Pshaw! retorted Merdaunt. What matters one Jewess more or less? We have enough of such vermin.

It concerns me not either, returned the knight. For aught I care she may die. Indeed, I wish she were already hanged, so that we might be free of this throng.

A shout of jubilation induced both to glance once more in the direction of the steps.

As many of the crowd as could find room had now mounted and at the top stood the sturdy lad, who after a brief struggle with the old woman had overcome her determined resistance and thrown her to the ground. His hands now grasped the girl. The old woman had sprung to her feet with surprising agility, but the crowd seized her and held her fast, while the fellow, pulling off the girl’s veil, ripped it into shreds and sent the pieces floating into the air.

A face of bewitching beauty in spite of its deathly pallor became visible. For a moment it overpowered even her brutal aggressor, and he stared undecided what to do into the noble countenance.

Quickly, however, the spark of human sympathy was quenched, and he clasped the fainting girl in his arms to snatch her from her post, unmoved by her sobs and the lamentations of her nurse.

Suddenly he found himself in an iron grip. A mighty blow which followed sent him precipitately down the steps, carrying the nearest with him in his fall. Merdaunt placed himself beside the Jewess.

The action had been so swift that Chateaugrain had not even noticed how his companion, forcibly parting the throng, had broken away from his side. And such a tumult immediately arose, and the compressed heap of humanity became so tightly wedged, that the knight found himself unable, in spite of his furious efforts, to force his way through.

Merdaunt faced the rabble which pressed madly upon him.

With every blow of his fist an assailant fell. But others came on, until, tearing a thickly knotted stave from the Hand of one, and swinging it with terrible effect, he quickly cleared a space about him.

With glowing face and sparkling eyes he taunted the mob. Back you rascals (thwack)! To your workshops sluggards! Soil innocent women with your lousy paws, would you! Ha! Take home your menfolk, you women. Nothing is to be had here but broken bones and cracked sconces! Overawed and staggered by the gigantic strength of the man, the crowd gave back, howling at him like a pack of hungry wolves. For the time being the Jewess was forgotten. The attack directed against her had been one of common race hatred for the people to whom she belonged, rather than for herself. The indignation against the intrepid Christian who had dared to defend her vented itself in baffled cries mixed with the groans of the injured and the shrieks of their women.

Who is this fellow? Kill him! Tear him down! was shouted on all sides, but none dared to execute the threat. The saner elements drew off to concert a plan to surround him on the staircase and assault him simultaneously from all points. In the meantime Chateaugrain had contrived to force his way through with drawn sword, and now placed himself beside his companion.

What! You have drawn your sword! exclaimed Merdaunt, amused. Think you, you are fighting against the flower of chivalry?

At this moment, I have no other thought than the danger into which you have wantonly thrust yourself, replied Chateaugrain. All I know is that I must stake my life to save yours.

Your knowledge is at fault, rejoined Merdaunt with a frown. I can manage well enough.

By all the saints I implore you, entreated the knight. Give way. Your well-known valour must succumb to superior numbers. Leave this girl. Your strong arm and my sword will see us through. Do you want to die in ignominy? Is your noble life to be sacrificed for a mere Jewess?

Oh! Have pity on my youth, pleaded the girl, clinging to her old nurse. Forsake me not. The God of heaven whom we both worship will strengthen your mighty arm against thousands in defence of my innocence. A deep flush suffused her cheeks and heightened her beauty. Merdaunt, whose look rested on her with delight, hardly noticed Hannah’s entreaties joined to those of the maid.

Make your mind easy, you lovely child, he said softly. Be assured no harm shall befall you. And you, Chateaugrain, sheathe your sword, hasten after the procession and bring back the sheriff and his troop. I can maintain my position against this pack. No! Do not speak. I will not be gainsaid. By the eyes of God, go, and carry out my orders. The swelling veins on the brow of the speaker, a certain sign of wrath terrible in its outburst, warned Chateaugrain that to demur would be useless. He hastened along the route groaning, Oh! This headstrong obstinacy! It will be his ruin in the end.

The mob, which had retreated before the armoured knight and placed no obstacle in the way of his departure, no sooner found their enemy alone once more than with a roar they renewed the attack.

Merdaunt gazed calmly into the seething mass, and, swinging his cudgel, with joyful shouts laid about him with right good will. To get close to him was impossible.

His assailants speedily recognized that their numbers availed them nothing against this extraordinary champion. Those whom chance or rashness had placed in the forefront had received such a warm reception that their ardour cooled perceptibly; but the pressure from those in the rear, secure against the blows from above, forced the unwilling upwards, and the circle about Merdaunt grew steadily narrower. Not his courage, but the weight of the mass which threatened him, was making the issue doubtful, when the gate opened half-way and an outstretched hand drew Hannah Meredith into the house, she in turn pulling the struggling Jewess along with her.

The deafening shouts of the people called Merdaunt’s attention to what was passing behind. Slowly he retired towards the entrance, quickly pursued by those nearest to him. Stepping back into the house, he felled with a mighty stroke one who endeavoured to force his way in. The gate crashed to, leaving the attackers to exhaust their blind fury upon its solid bulk.

We owe you thanks, said Merdaunt to a well-grown youth who was engaged in barring the gate with a stout iron bolt. You opened just in time. And who may you be?

Why! ’tis my own dear son, Owen Meredith, ranger at Tushill, cried the old woman before he had time to reply.

Who came here to woo the pretty Kitty, I’ll be bound, supplemented Merdaunt. See you, my good woman, I know your son’s affairs better than you think. Kitty will surrender, my lad, and the service you have rendered me to-day shall be rewarded with a rich wedding gift.

You seem to know a good deal about me, said the astonished Owen.

Exactly, Merdaunt responded with a smile. Chateaugrain made some mention of you.

You know Sir Chateaugrain? queried Owen. Perhaps he is your friend?

Something of the sort, airily replied Merdaunt. But now it is my turn to ask, and I see your mother is with me; how came you here so opportunely to succour us?

That is easily told, said the youth, turning to his mother. When you had gone I had a presentiment that something was amiss and hurried after you. ’Twas then I heard the shouting and saw you standing on the steps. Knowing my way about here, I sprang over the fence, ran through the garden, and so arrived in this hall, which the steward, who lives in the lodge near the Thames, rarely keeps locked.

That was fortunate, observed Merdaunt. We shall now be able to reach the river unobserved. And who owns this house? Some eminent person, surely.

Indeed, it belongs to the Earl of Salisbury.

The father-in-law of the royal bastard William Longsword, ha! Who is identifying himself so closely with the Prince’s party. He bit on the last words with a slight gesture of vexation as if he had said too much.

"Rather say was identified, sir, replied the ranger. And, he added in a whisper stepping closer, as a friend of Sir Chateaugrain, I venture to say that all that is over. The Earl is expected here daily to negotiate with the Bishop of Durham. He is not the only one who has deserted the Prince. Our affairs stand exceeding well."

How know you all this? queried Merdaunt with a surprise which left undecided how this information had affected him.

Servants often hear what is carefully concealed from their betters, answered the youth, nodding his head knowingly.

You seem to know more than is wanted for your hunting preserves, sirrah, said Merdaunt looking at him sharply.

I should advise you to keep a curb on your tongue. But enough of this. The rascals without have not yet wearied of their din, and presumably will not withdraw until they are dispersed with armed force. I have attended to that. Now conduct us to the Thames. After which, return here and await Sir Chateaugrain and the sheriff, and tell him whither we have gone. Merdaunt turned to the women.

On entering the hall the Jewess had fallen upon her knees and with trembling lips recited the blessing of escape from peril: Praised be Thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who bestowest loving kindness upon Thy people Israel. She now threw herself at the feet of Merdaunt, clasped his knees, and passionately poured forth her thanks. Oh my Hannah! she cried emotionally to her nurse, happy am I, that my eyes look upon so real a Christian. He did not shrink from the shame attached to my race. He only saw in me the persecuted and oppressed. Like a sword-less Samson he stood before the fury of the Philistines. God raised this man to save me when my anguished soul despaired.

Would you think less of me, that I only saw in you an ill-treated beauty? asked Merdaunt, not without an unpleasant feeling of shame at praise which he knew to be undeserved. But do not excite yourself by talking, lovely creature. Compose yourself, and follow me to a place of safety.

Hannah gave the necessary information as to the whereabouts of the girl’s home, and declared that she would on no account leave her.

The banks of the Thames were soon reached, and a boat carried Merdaunt and the two women downstream upon its tranquil and mirror-like surface.

For a while the strangely assorted companions sat silent in the small vessel, and gave themselves up to their thoughts. The life on the peaceful river formed a striking contrast to the scene of grim fury through which the frail maiden had just passed. Small skiffs darted in all directions, and from the larger vessels lying at anchor came the sound of raucous singing intermingled with the screams of gulls, alert-eyed for scraps of food. With the soft lap-lapping of the waters in the