hence they took shipping for Calais. And in
this little voyage, being exceedingly sea-sick, and besides elated at
the thought of meeting his sovereign, the good knight cast away that
profound melancholy which had accompanied him during the whole of his
land journey.

CHAPTER II.

THE LAST DAYS OF THE LION.

From Calais Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe took the diligence across country to
Limoges, sending on Gurth, his squire, with the horses and the rest of
his attendants: with the exception of Wamba, who travelled not only as
the knight's fool, but as his valet, and who, perched on the roof of the
carriage, amused himself by blowing tunes upon the conducteur's French
horn. The good King Richard was, as Ivanhoe learned, in the Limousin,
encamped before a little place called Chalus; the lord whereof, though a
vassal of the King's, was holding the castle against his sovereign with
a resolution and valor which caused a great fury and annoyance on the
part of the Monarch with the Lion Heart. For brave and magnanimous as
he was, the Lion-hearted one did not love to be balked any more than
another; and, like the royal animal whom he was said to resemble, he
commonly tore his adversary to pieces, and then, perchance, had leisure
to think how brave the latter had been. The Count of Chalus had found,
it was said, a pot of money; the royal Richard wanted it. As the count
denied that he had it, why did he not open the gates of his castle
at once? It was a clear proof that he was guilty; and the King was
determined to punish this rebel, and have his money and his life too.

He had naturally brought no breaching guns with him, because those
instruments were not yet invented: and though he had assaulted the place
a score of times with the utmost fury, his Majesty had been beaten
back on every occasion, until he was so savage that it was dangerous
to approach the British Lion. The Lion's wife, the lovely Berengaria,
scarcely ventured to come near him. He flung the joint-stools in his
tent at the heads of the officers of state, and kicked his aides-de-camp
round his pavilion; and, in fact, a maid of honor, who brought a
sack-posset in to his Majesty from the Queen after he came in from the
assault, came spinning like a football out of the royal tent just as
Ivanhoe entered it.

"Send me my drum-major to flog that woman!" roared out the infuriate
King. "By the bones of St. Barnabas she has burned the sack! By St.
Wittikind, I will have