“Silence, fool!” said Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe, in a voice both majestic and wrathful.  “If thou knowest not care and grief, it is because thou knowest not love, whereof they are the companions.  Who can love without an anxious heart?  How shall there be joy at meeting, without tears at parting?” ("I did not see that his honor or my lady shed many anon,” thought Wamba the Fool; but he was only a zany, and his mind was not right.) “I would not exchange my very sorrows for thine indifference,” the knight continued.  “Where there is a sun, there must be a shadow.  If the shadow offend me, shall I put out my eyes and live in the dark?  No!  I am content with my fate, even such as it is.  The Care of which thou speakest, hard though it may vex him, never yet rode down an honest man.  I can bear him on my shoulders, and make my way through the world’s press in spite of him; for my arm is strong, and my sword is keen, and my shield has no stain on it; and my heart, though it is sad, knows no guile.”  And here, taking a locket out of his waistcoat (which was made of chain-mail), the knight kissed the token, put it back under the waistcoat again, heaved a profound sigh, and stuck spurs into his horse.

As for Wamba, he was munching a black pudding whilst Sir Wilfrid was making the above speech, (which implied some secret grief on the knight’s part, that must have been perfectly unintelligible to the fool,) and so did not listen to a single word of Ivanhoe’s pompous remarks.  They travelled on by slow stages through the whole kingdom, until they came to Dover, whence 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.