The Legacy of Ivanhoe

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The Legacy of Ivanhoe

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by Walter Scott Cross
Based upon characters created by Sir Walter Scott
Copyright 2000
For information about this page, send e-mail to Walt Cross

Introduction At the end of his novel "Ivanhoe" Scott has his protagonist, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, seemingly die at the lance of Wilfred of Ivanhoe. However, there is no mark upon his body, and onlookers assume that he died of a "conflict of passions". I believe that Scott, a possible very distant relative of mine through the Kerr family line, intended to write a sequel to Ivanhoe with a resurrected Bois-Guilbert playing a major role. In view of Scott never writing that novel, I decided to. The book is scheduled to be completed and published in the fall of 2000.

Chapter I
A Resurrection

Richard Coeur de Lion, King of England, stared down at the fallen knight with a furrowed brow. His gaze rose to meet those of his assembled retainers. "It would seem I am come too late. My intent to settle this matter with Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert is circumvented by fate." He said, turning toward the pale faced countenance of young Wilfred of Ivanhoe.

Blood seeped from the joints of the youthful knight's armor, especially from his left side where the wound dealt him at the recent tourney at Ashby Town had again opened its red lips. The pallor of pain showed through his dark face, still tanned from his recent sojourn in the Holy Land. Despite his near brush with death, Wilfred's blue eyes gazed upon the armored body of Bois-Guilbert with compassion rather than hate.

Lowering his sword tip to the ground, King Richard leaned upon its hilt, placing one mailed hand atop the other as he contemplated Ivanhoe. "But for your recent wounding Ivanhoe, I would have worried not, as to the outcome of this combat. And yet, you have dealt for this false knight even in your weakened state." Richard said, a note of admiration creeping into his voice.

Wilfred shook off his momentary lapse of attention to the Lion King and looked up from the still body before them. "We are all creatures of fate sire, I had but only now crossed lances with this proud man ere heaven snatched him as a fox takes a grape. he died from the violence of his own conflicting passions. A conflict born between his lustful desire for a woman, and his religion."

King Richard nodded. "I am well acquainted with conflicting passions. Be that as it may, heaven be exalted for acting in the stead of a courageous albeit foolish knight, for your wound has reopened. Come, peace be upon Bois-Guilbert, let this man see to his remains while I deal with those still living. I would have a word with yonder Grand Master of the Templars, then we shall see to your needs."

Richard swung into the saddle and led the way to where Lucas de Beaumanoir, the graying patriarch of the Order of the Knights of the Temple, sat ahorse. de Beaumanoir was the cause of the recent stuggle between Ivanhoe and Bois-Guilbert, a struggle that decided the fate of Rebecca, daughter of the Jew, Isaac of York.

That unhappy gentlewoman was led away by her father the instant the contest was decided and God's will known. Vainly had she objected, wishing to communicate her gratitude to Ivanhoe.

Gaining their own mounts, Ivanhoe and the knights of the king's retinue rode across the field as the two men in attendance upon Bois-guilbert raised the stricken and inert knight upon his own shield and bore him toward the dark stoned towers of Castle Templestowe.

Entering the enclosed courtyard in silence, the shield bearers turned in the direction of the chapel with their grim burden. Squire Henry Fitz-Walter felt his hair stand on end and with an oath he dropped the end of the shield he carried as the corpse of Brian de Bois-Guilbert sat up and then leaped to the ground.

As Henry crossed himself the man at the other end of the shield, Baldwin de Oyley squire and friend to the supposed dead knight, stopped in confusion and spun about, his jaw dropping in surprise as he saw his master alive. Bois-Guilbert, face twisted in a mask of cold fury, held a dagger to Fitz-Walter’s throat. “Breath not a word of my speedy recovery if you would live.” Bois-Guilbert hissed.

“My lord, you live!” de Oyley blurted as he moved to his master’s side. “We, both of us, were saddened by your premature death at the hands of Ivanhoe.” He continued, placing his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Fitz-Walter will say nothing lord.”

Bois-Guilbert stared long into Henry’s eyes. “Of you I have no doubt Baldwin. What say you Fitz-Walter, have I your word you will keep my secret, even from your master?” The dark haired and countenanced knight asked, relaxing his blade and letting it fall from Henry’s throat.

Henry shook his head, his face still registering the shock Bois-Guilbert’s resurrection had dealt him. “No lord, I cannot in conscience keep your deceit from my oath-master de Malvoisin.” Henry said with an open and honest face.

“Albert de Malvoisin will likely not live long himself once Richard learns of his duplicity in the treason of Prince John!” Baldwin exclaimed.

“All the more reason he should know of this!” Henry replied, a stubborn look crossing his face.

“Yes, this knowledge could gain him some clemency, Richard has no love for me. You serve your master well.” Bois-Guilbert said, turning away from the faithful squire and sheathing his dagger. “Can you at least give me time to make my shameful withdrawal?” Bois-Guilbert continued as he made his way toward the stark stone walls of the castle. A sharp cry caused him to turn, hand resting on his sheathed sword.

He watched in surprise as Baldwin tugged his reddened dagger from Fitz-Walter’s throat, the squire slumping to the ground to kick his life away in a spreading pool of his own blood. Baldwin straightened and looked at Bois-Guilbert. “He is far too honorable a man. His body shall take your place in the grave my lord. In the confusion sure to be caused by Richard’s displeasure, he will seem to have beaten a hasty retreat from royal retribution. And all men will think you dead.”

“Are we come then to murder Baldwin, you and I?” Bois-Guilbert asked rhetorically as he turned sadly away. “Rebecca, what lows my comrade and I discover for your sake! The murder of a fellow Templar and Christian...” He paused, realizing suddenly that he could no longer be a Templar. Ashamed of the avenue he had taken to avoid combat, and of the dark deed just executed for his own sake, Bois-Guilbert’s chin fell to his chest, his hand rising to touch his forehead in grief.

“Your certain victory on the field over the wounded Ivanhoe would just as certainly doom Rebecca to her death, de Beaumanoir planned to burn her once the combat showed God’s will!” Baldwin blurted. “You and her were to be an example to other Templars not to seek the pleasures of the flesh. And she would not accept rescue at your hands, and so she summoned the champion Ivanhoe to fight her cause. But he would have lost to you. This was your only way out!” He continued.

Rebecca rejected his offer to surrender his position as heir apparent to the Grand Master of the Order of Templars. He offered to take her as his queen, albeit an invisible one, for the Grand Master was also a priest of the Catholic church.

Shaking off his furious thoughts he turned and strode to the courtyard gate to watch de Beaumanoir’s hasty retreat before King Richard. That bold and chivalrous knight seemingly dismissing the Grand Master and his followers with short shrift.

“I shall bury you outside hallowed ground lord, for you died unshriven and unabsolved.” Baldwin said as he dragged Fitz-Walter’s body away.

“It is meet, for truly Brian de Bois-Guilbert, crusader and knight of the Temple, died this day, at least in his soul.” The broken knight said, staring into the setting sun.
Chapter II
A Ship to Spain
Rebecca of York, daughter of Isaac, rode easily atop the palfrey provided her by the Lady Rowena to carry her to the sea. Her father rode before her, accompanied by Rabbi Ben Samuel. They all were surrounded and afforded protection by an armed escort sent with them by Wilfred of Ivanhoe.

“I overheard the servants of Ivanhoe speaking, and they claim that Brian de Bois-Guilbert died of his torn passions, that Ivanhoe’s lance touched him not.”

Alice, former handmaiden of Lady Rowena said, glancing askance at Rebecca.

“How so?” Rebecca asked, tossing her head and allowing the fingers of the wind to brush her long black hair away from her beautiful face. Delicate arched brows surmounted large full lashed eyes that shined the light of a westering sun. Her heart shaped lips, red without benefit of artful coloring, rose distainfully. “His only passion of which I am aware was that of lust!” She stated forcefully.

“Oh no Rebecca!” Alice objected. “He loved you so much that he could not bear to be the instrument of your death. And so he died of the conflict in his noble heart!” She cried, striking a stalwart pose while trying to keep her seat in the saddle.

Rebecca looked kindly upon the young and pretty girl with her flashing hazel eyes and fair colored hair that marked her of the Saxon race. The orphaned daughter of one of Cedric the Saxon’s lesser liege men, she was made a member of that nobleman’s house-hold as a handmaiden to Lady Rowena, Ivanhoe’s intended wife. When learning of Rebecca’s intended trip to Moorish Spain to study and practice her healing arts under the more liberal rule of the Moors, she had begged to go. It seemed natural for her to express this desire, for she spent many of her idle hours treating the scrapes and minor injuries of Cedric’s numerous household. That worthy man was loath to give his assent, citing the dangers of the journey and the unseemliness of a Saxon noblewoman traveling as companion to a Jewess. Alice prevailed however, and was Rebecca’s fellow traveler and student of the healing arts.

“You are a romantic Alice. I’m afraid that Brian de Bois-Guilbert was but a coarse and lustful man that yearned for wealth, position, and...”

“For you.” Alice finished. “Richard, the King, said he died of a broken heart for the love of you.” The young woman continued.

“Richard is a romantic too I’m afraid. Ah, here we are come to the port, and none too soon.” Rebecca replied, her eyes searching the lowering clouds, their edges swept ragged by the winds accompanying them. Her father and the Rabbi had dismounted and were huddled with the ship’s master. Rebecca stared at the gray, white capped sea as it steadily rolled toward the shore, rocking the small ship they would soon board. Winds whipped the crest of each wave into a fine spray that traveled the length of several yards to settle upon her face in a gentle mist. Quickly the warm spring sunshine was blocked by the galloping outriders of the approaching storm. A sudden cold wind made Rebecca shiver.

“I’ve never seen the sea before!” Alice cried above the rising winds. “Isn’t it grand!” She exclaimed, excitement animating her face. She turned her sunflower like countenance to Rebecca and smiled. Rebecca returned the smile, suddenly grateful that this woman-child would accompany her and share her joys and apprehensions of the coming journey. Perhaps with her companionship she could forget the strain and terror she had but recently escaped. Perhaps also she could ignore the ache in her heart, an ache imposed by two men. One was kind, brave to a fault and her champion, the very imbodiment of all that is good in the Saxon race, so good that Rebecca would gladly have foregone the dictates of her faith for him. But Wilfred of Ivanhoe would marry Rowena, his female counterpart in the Saxon ideal and his perfect consort. The other was equally handsome and brave, but as dark of mind and countenance as Wilfred was of light and kindness. Brian de Bois-Guilbert had not taken Rebecca’s rejection of him lightly. A forceful man that took what he wanted, he wanted Rebecca, and it destroyed him. Yet for all her loathing of him she recalled the excitement that coursed through her at his touch, though she had recoiled from him. And even as she despised him for what he was, she realized that he had offered her everything of value in his life, including giving up his high position among the Templars.

Robes flapping in the still strengthening winds, Issac trudged through the unfamiliar footing the sandy beach afforded him, and gripped the palfrey’s bridal. “The ship’s master says we must hasten aboard before the tide recedes. He will urge the loading along, for he feels a storm is about to fall upon us.” Issac said, his beard bobbing as he spoke and bending in the stiff breeze. Added to his concern furrowed brow and eyes watering from the windblown sand, he presented a rather comical sight.

Rebecca leaned forward and covered his hand with her own, feeling the knobby arthritic knuckles of the hands that had striven for her all her life. “Put your concerns aside father, all will be well.” She said in a reassuring tone as she smiled.

Isaac’s face softened. “You are a good daugther Rebecca, God may not have given me the son I desired, but he blessed me with the best of daughters.”

Glancing with some embarrassment at Alice as Rebecca kissed his cheek, Issac led both of their mounts toward the waiting ship.
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