“Prior,” said Ivanhoe, “thou dost mistake—I am stout enough to exchange buffets with any who will challenge me to such a traffic—But were it otherwise, may I not aid him were he in danger, by other means than by force of arms? It is but too well known that the Saxons love not the Norman race, and who knows what may be the issue, if he break in upon them when their hearts are irritated by the death of Athelstane, and their heads heated by the carousal in which they will indulge themselves? I hold his entrance among them at such a moment most perilous, and I am resolved to share or avert the danger; which, that I may the better do, I would crave of thee the use of some palfrey whose pace may be softer than that of my destrier.”
“Surely,” said the worthy churchman; “you shall have mine own ambling jennet, and I would it ambled as easy for your sake as that of the Abbot of Saint Albans. Yet this will I say for Malkin, for so I call her, that unless you were to borrow a ride on the juggler’s steed that paces a hornpipe amongst the eggs, you could not go a journey on a creature so gentle and smooth-paced. I have composed many a homily on her back, to the edification of my brethren of the convent, and many poor Christian souls.”
“I pray you, reverend father,” said Ivanhoe, “let Malkin be got ready instantly, and bid Gurth attend me with mine arms.”
“Nay, but fair sir,” said the Prior, “I pray you to remember that Malkin hath as little skill in arms as her master, and that I warrant not her enduring the sight or weight of your full panoply. O, Malkin, I promise you, is a beast of judgment, and will contend against any undue weight—I did but borrow the Fructus Temporum from the priest of Saint Bees, and I promise you she would not stir from the gate until I had exchanged the huge volume for my little breviary.”
“Trust me, holy father,” said Ivanhoe, “I will not distress her with too much weight; and if she calls a combat with me, it is odds but she has the