indomitable pride and resolution.--But where is
Front-de-Boeuf? That horn is sounded more and more clamorously."

"He is negotiating with the Jew, I suppose," replied De Bracy, coolly;
"probably the howls of Isaac have drowned the blast of the bugle.
Thou mayst know, by experience, Sir Brian, that a Jew parting with his
treasures on such terms as our friend Front-de-Boeuf is like to offer,
will raise a clamour loud enough to be heard over twenty horns and
trumpets to boot. But we will make the vassals call him."

They were soon after joined by Front-de-Boeuf, who had been disturbed in
his tyrannic cruelty in the manner with which the reader is acquainted,
and had only tarried to give some necessary directions.

"Let us see the cause of this cursed clamour," said
Front-de-Boeuf--"here is a letter, and, if I mistake not, it is in
Saxon."

He looked at it, turning it round and round as if he had had really some
hopes of coming at the meaning by inverting the position of the paper,
and then handed it to De Bracy.

"It may be magic spells for aught I know," said De Bracy, who possessed
his full proportion of the ignorance which characterised the chivalry of
the period. "Our chaplain attempted to teach me to write," he said, "but
all my letters were formed like spear-heads and sword-blades, and so the
old shaveling gave up the task."

"Give it me," said the Templar. "We have that of the priestly character,
that we have some knowledge to enlighten our valour."

"Let us profit by your most reverend knowledge, then," said De Bracy;
"what says the scroll?"

"It is a formal letter of defiance," answered the Templar; "but, by
our Lady of Bethlehem, if it be not a foolish jest, it is the most
extraordinary cartel that ever was sent across the drawbridge of a
baronial castle."

"Jest!" said Front-de-Boeuf, "I would gladly know who dares jest with me
in such a matter!--Read it, Sir Brian."

The Templar accordingly read it as follows:--"I, Wamba, the son of
Witless, Jester to a noble and free-born man, Cedric of Rotherwood,
called the Saxon,--And I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph, the swineherd---"

"Thou art mad," said Front-de-Boeuf, interrupting the reader.

"By St Luke, it is so set down," answered the Templar. Then resuming his
task, he went on,--"I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph, swineherd unto the
said Cedric, with the assistance of our allies and confederates, who
make common cause with us in this our feud, namely, the