The next day joined in the tournament. It was a grand sight. The horses pranced, the plumes flowed in the wind. The refreshments were executed by contract, at so much a head, by a body of adventurers, who had combined together to keep down prices.
"Nay, beshrew thee, man!" exclaimed John, the Smith, to Thomas the Jones—a contraction of joiner. "It is these combinations—co-operations, as Sir Evans, the Clerk at the church over yonder hath it—that ruin trade." Before Thomas the Jones or joiner could reply, there was a crash, and it was known that Sir Brian had been overcome by a Knight who had no crest.
"He does not deserve to win," said a Herald to a Pursuivant—"defrauding us of our fees! No coat-of-arms; no pedigree! It is simply disgraceful."
"Ay, and so it is," replied the under-officers of the College of Arms. "But see yonder is Isaac of York the Jew. Join me in a bond, and we will avail ourselves of his usury." And within twenty-four hours the two gentles had borrowed one-and-sevenpence-halfpenny!
Chapter III.
In the meanwhile Sir Brian had carried off Rebecca, been slain, and disposed of.
Chapter IV.
Then there was a magnificent wedding, as Wilfrid of Ivanhoe, no longer the disowned, but the heir to estates belonging to a highly respectable county family led his bride to the altar.
"Methinks she takes the cake," whispered Wamba the Jester.
"Not until after the breakfast," replied Richard Cœur de Lion, throwing off his disguise as the Nameless Knight, and appearing in the full costume of a monarch.