Before many more minutes had gone a sylvan repast was hastily prepared beneath a huge oak-tree for the King of England. Amongst those who partook of the forest hospitality of the outlaws were Ivanhoe and Gurth, who just then came on the scene, the former now all but cured of his wound, thanks to the healing balsam with which he had been provided by Rebecca the Jewess.
When the feast was concluded, the king, attended by Ivanhoe, Wamba, and Gurth, proceeded on his way to Coningsburgh. As the travellers approached the ancient Saxon fortress, they could see the huge black banner floating from the top of the tower, which announced that the obsequies of the late owner were still in the act of being solemnized. All around the castle was a scene of busy commotion, the whole countryside being gathered from far and near to partake of the funeral banquet. Cooks and mendicants, strolling soldiers from Palestine, pedlars, mechanics, wandering palmers, hedge-priests, Saxon minstrels and Welsh bards, together with jesters and jugglers, formed a motley and hungry gathering, such as could only be seen on the occasion which now brought them together; and through this riotous crowd Richard and his followers with difficulty made their way.
As they entered the apartment where Cedric sat, Ivanhoe muffled his face in his mantle. Upon the entrance of Richard, the Saxon arose gravely to bid him welcome. Having greeted him and his friends with the mournful ceremony suited to the occasion, Cedric led his knightly guest to another apartment, where he was about to leave him, when the Black Knight took his hand.
"I crave to remind you, noble thane," he said, "that when we last parted you promised to grant me a boon."
"It is granted ere named, noble knight," said Cedric, still unaware that he was speaking to the king.
"Know me, then, from henceforth," said the Black Knight, "as
Richard Plantagenet; the boon I crave is that thou wilt forgive
and receive to thy paternal affection this good knight here,
Wilfred of Ivanhoe."
"And this is Wilfred!" said Cedric, pointing to his son.
"My father! my father!" said Ivanhoe, prostrating himself at
Cedric's feet, "grant me thy forgiveness!"
"Thou hast it, my son," said Cedric, raising him up. But he had scarce uttered the words when the door flew open, and Athelstane, arrayed in the garments of the grave, stood before them, pale, haggard, and like something arisen from the dead.
The effect of this apparition on the persons present was utterly appalling. Cedric started back in amazement. Ivanhoe crossed himself, repeating prayers in Saxon, Latin, and Norman-French, while Richard alternately said "Benedicite" and swore, "Mort de ma vie!"