The Avenger; Or The Jewish Father

by James S. Wallace

This short story was published in the Pensacola Gazette, (Pensacola, FL) on Saturday, 5 Aug 1843. Its style is typical of mid-nineteenth century writing in America.

—the last embrace of foes,
When grapling in the flight, they fold
Those arms that ne'er shall loose their hold.
Friends meet to part love laughs at faith,
True foes once met,—are joined til death,
BYRON

The splendor of chivalry never shone with greater lustre than during the reign of Cosmo Duke of Medina. The knights who owed him allegiance were among the most renowned in Christendom, and none excelled in chivalric spirit and grace of person, the younger heir of the duchy, Julio de Montalvan. It was the day on which the Duke was celebrating the semi-centennial year of his reign when the grateful rejoicings of his people were increased by the return of Count Julio, from conquest, at the head of a princely train—the knights and the retainers of his father. Shrilly rang the soul arousing trumpets, and the suburban mountains re-echoed back the sound, as if participating in the heartfelt rejoicings of a freed people, which arose long, loud, and heartily to heaven.

Between each pause, wild and thrilling melodies pealed out triumphantly, for the land had been oppressed and was free! Banners waved their scutcheoned pride, and ladies' 'kerchiefs scattered perfume in the air. Bright eyes looked on heroes, and many who had looked on death, unmoved, amid the carnage of the battle-field, now quailed before a timid maiden's glances. As each gallant knight galloped by, at the head of his followers, the grateful people hailed him with acclamations, and invoked blessings on their deliverers. The pageant passed, and the crowd was sweeping towards the list, where the aged monarch in person intended to thank the victors, and hold a tourney, when a warrior rode by unattended—his armor hacked and bruised, and in his hand he held a torn and soiled banner. Vainly had he been urged to take the precedence his valor merited, for when dismay had seized the ranks of Count Julio, he it was who had turned the fortunes of the day, by his intrepid daring—few were the knights so reckless as to follow where he led, and he ever stood alone, apparently uninfluenced by the examples of others. Many thought his headstrong daring arose from despair, but the well-judging few discovered that though he held elite at a cheap rate, he manifested no disposition to sacrifice it rashly he was apparently laboring under some poignant grief, but none could divine its source, as he shunned all intimacy with his brethren in arms, and passed by even the common terms of courtesy.

The list presented a glorious spectacle—glittering with the golden armor of mailed knights, and blazing with the beautiful maids decked in their proudest habiliments. The monarch was bowed down by the weight of years; age had exercised its withering influence over him, in all except his eye—his limbs were shrivelled, and his grey head shook with the palsy of time, but his eye was unquenched—that still was kingly. When he arose to address the assembled multitude, their repressed breathings were distinctly heard arising like the softened murmur of the ocean, when the storm has sunk to rest, and the glad rays of the unclouded sun play brightly on the panting waters. His words were few, but energetic; warriors were seen to weep, and woman's tears fell fast, as the venerable old Duke thanked God for his country's deliverance!

At length, all the knights who had distinguished themselves above their compeers, were summoned by marshals before the throne, and the Duke, in token of his gratitude, swore by his knightly honor he would grant each one's request—even were it half of his Dukedom. Many a splendid fief, and many a lovely dame, did the good old Duke bestow that day, on those whose valiancy had saved their country.

Last of all, that lonely warrior in the battened armor and broken helm, presented himself before the throne; he offered a powerful contrast to the younger knights whose breast-plates of gold, silken scarfs and sparkling with jewels, shone like the setting sun upon the towers of a Turkish minaret. He approached reverentially, and even with an air of timidity; the Duke arose, and taking him by the hand, bade him stand up.

"Brave man," said he, "under God thou hast been the means of delivering my people from oppression—gallant have been thy deeds, and although thou bearest not blazoned on thy shield the badge of knightly honor, still art thou of nature's nobility, thy deeds have enobled thee; name thy reward for glorious shall it be, worthy thy prowess and by my ducal name, that thy descendants may boast of thee, as their country's deliverer; we love thee, and would advance thee; speak!—what is thy wish?"

"Sir Duke," replied the warrior in broken accents, and in a tone, as from the depth of a charnel house, "honors cannot descend from me to my posterity—I am the scathed trunk, which storms have stripped of all its branches—I therefore ask nought of thee, save a fresh steed for my own is nearly spent with toil, and a suit of armor, but I forewarn thee, noble Duke! for the use I shall make of these will turn thy thanks to curses, and show I merit not favor from thee!"

"Stranger," replied the Duke, "thy words are full of mystery, but they boon is granted."

"I have yet another question," hastily rejoined the warrior, "may any knight in the world, whether he be King, Emperor, or Kaisar, refuse my challenge, consistent with honor?"

"Of a certainty not," answered the Duke, "I pronounce thee noble, if thou wert not so before—Julio, my son, thy sword—kneel stranger, at my throne—reverence thy God, serve thy country, be true to thy lady love, and arise a knight of the order of Medina, and Count Mareschal of our realm! Now, thou art a match for the proudest hero in Christendom."

"Then," thundered forth the stranger, springing like lightning to his feet with nervous haste, "I challenge thine own son, Count Julio, he whose sword is still in thine hand—to mortal combat for life and death—as one who has been false to the honor of a knight, and to his oath—as a remorseless, treacherous villain!—which, as I will prove, so God maintain me!"

An awful silence reigned around;—the young Count, who was standing at his father's side, appeared thunderstruck!—the Duke himself was speechless with surprise, and the numerous armed retainers partook of the general astonishment—Count Julio was the first who recovered himself, and thus broke silence.

"Stern libeller of knightly fame, I know thee not, and might refuse an unaccredited challenger, but my liege father has pronounced thee noble, and I accept thy challenge:—so keep me heaven as thou liest."

"Amen!" sternly ejaculated the stranger knight, and every one who heard the voice trembled, for it seemed unearthly, so deep and dreadful was its tone.

"Heaven judge the right!" exclaimed the Duke, "to morrow's dawn shall witness the combat; ourself will be the sponsor of our new created Mareschal, for such assertions against our son must speedily be effaced or proven; —the air which a true knight inhales is polluted by such dreadful criminations!"

On the following day, while darkness was yet struggling with the rising sun, thousands had assembled around the lists. At length the Duke and his nobles entered the arena—they were not greeted with the same joyous shouts they were accustomed to receive, for there was a panic terror which swayed the minds of the many; all were expecting some great or horrible event, and the few who hailed the good of Duke as he entered, shrank back in affright from the hollow sounds of their own voices!"

Hushed indeed was every tongue, when the challenger rode into the lists, in a complete suit of sable armor, mounted on a sable charger, whose tread seemed to shake the solid arena. There was nothing of trickery about its rider—no curvettings nor prancings for the sake of display: compared with the gay and splendid dresses of the lovely dames, the dark knight seemed like a thunder cloud, huge, black and threatening—slowly floating along a bright summer sky—the prophet of desolation!—Nothing could contrast more strongly than the behavior of the young Prince: he rode into the lists with the air of a graceful and practiced chevalier; his bearing was gallant to the extreme. The crowd naturally, loving display burst into an involuntary shout of admiration; the dark knight sat unmoved!

After the necessary preparations had been concluded, the charge was sounded—the combatants closed, and Count Julio sank down as though he had been a reed! Being, however an experienced horseman and courageous knight he disengaged himself from his fallen charger, and seized his battle axe from the saddle-bow—'twas in vain—the stranger knight aimed but one blow, and he fell lifeless to the ground—his brains were scattered around the lists!

Horror, and trembling speechlessness seized all present, but the conquerer turned from the scene, and with an air of dignity approached the throne.

"You stand amazed, great Duke!" said he, "would to heaven the calamity could have been averted from your house; you now are childless, so am I—your happiness has ended with your son's life, and I, the author of his death, most sincerely mourn your bereavement!"

"My son! my Julio!" groaned the unhappy Duke.

Hear me, great Cosmo, ere you prejudge!" continued the stranger, " I, also was once happy in a child, but now I wander, hopeless, homeless, and companionless! I had a daughter—but one, and she—oh, God of Abraham! was fair as Jepha's sacrifice—fair, good and excellent in mind! but she is dead,—this weapon drank her blood—this very weapon now crimsoned with your son's, was steeped in the life blood of an only daughter—my very vitality—I felt it so, for as my sword pierced her heart, judge, on heavens! who felt the greatest agony! Then, kneeling o'er her prostrate form, while the murderous instrument was yet reeking in my hand—I made a vow—this day it is accomplished—its point is now stained with the blood of her—seducer!"

"Ah! sayest thou so? the villain hath deserved his doom!" said the Duke, striving to subdue the father in the sovereign.

"Rightly thou namest him," replied the stranger, "he—like a villain, lured her from her home—her happy home of infancy, from these fond , doting arms, and from her mother's grave, and then his guilty passion satiated, left her to perish in obscurity and want! But as a wounded bird will seek its parents nest, so did she drag her wasted form to the loved haunts of infancy—again I saw her—her pure frame desecrated—and she was sacrificed!—Sir Duke! I am of a despised race, but my ancestors were princes in Judea. I sought revenge upon your villain son—he bade his menials lash me from his palace steps! I felt the whip, while she stood by in mockery! I then sought the means of matching myself with him, and found them in thy service. He is dead—my daughter, my sacrificed Lola is avenged! Christians, I am a jew, but am I not a man? I expect your vengeance!—take it, as I have done!"

The words became choked in his throat!—he turned, and pointed with a laugh of horror to his victim, then tottered towards him, and fell lifeless on the body. They raised his visor—grey locks were beneath it, but his countenance still indicated the prime of life! grief had performed the work of time!