Written for the Rare Women Fanfic Exchange 2013. Thanks to Morbane for helping me resolve a plot point, and to certain anonymous persons for their encouragement. Except for a few which may be attributable to Sir Walter, all remaining errors are entirely mine.

Go thou thy way, and I go mine,
Apart, yet not afar;
Only a thin veil hangs between
The pathways where we are.
And "God keep watch 'tween thee and me,"
This is my prayer:
He looks thy way, He looketh mine,
And keeps us near.

-Julia A. Baker, "Mizpah"

Our scene opens in the early years of the thirteenth century, when King John had brought the powers of England abroad to defend the lands of his Angevin heritage against Philip Augustus of France. This war the English king ultimately prosecuted with such indifferent success as caused the chroniclers of the time to give him the soubriquets of "John Soft-sword" and "John Lackland"; but it was still some dozen years before the Battle of Bouvines was to deal a fatal blow to John's hopes of maintaining the Angevin empire. At present, John maintained himself at Rouen in Normandy, a city possessing a strong castle. He led his army in constant marches and counter-marches from one place to another in the vicinity of that town, without, however, venturing to give battle to the enemy. His hasty and unpredictable movements were caused, it is said, by his fear of treachery on the part of his barons; a fear which later events showed not to be altogether ill-founded.

It may easily be seen that every time the King changed quarters, the army was obliged to move as well, with consequent inconvenience. The King, his high nobles, and those commanders possessing the royal favor were sure of finding fair lodgings; but a knight of lower rank, and one moreover known to be suffering the disfavor of the King, was liable to find himself roofless if he did not bestir himself. To avert this mischance, the squire to one such knight had seized upon a farmhouse which had been abandoned by its inhabitants at the rumor of war, and guarded it jealously against potential interlopers. Having welcomed his lord to his temporary abode, Gurth (for he it was) saw the knight's men, horses, and gear safely bestowed, and stationed himself outside with some satisfaction. (We hope our readers will not have forgotten the former swineherd, who in his office of squire now followed his master to the wars in France.)

His watchfulness was not in vain, for he espied a stranger approaching their lodgings: a man muffled closely in his mantle, as if he wished to escape too curious observation. The stranger caught sight of the cottage with a gesture of satisfaction; and yet, having found it, he seemed in no haste to approach it but hesitated at some little distance, alike reluctant to go forward or withdraw. Gurth's suspicions having been aroused by these furtive movements, the squire wasted no time. He moved softly closer until he was certain the stranger could not escape him, then pounced like a hound upon a rabbit.

"Stand where thou art," the Saxon demanded abruptly, "and state thy business here." The former command was unnecessary as, held in Gurth's firm grip, the stranger could not have moved from the spot; he made however no attempt to escape, only started when he felt the hand on his shoulder and turned large dark eyes upon his captor. The falling aside of his mantle, dropped when he was seized by the Saxon, revealed a young man whose bearing had but little of the soldier, and whose features and garb were more suited to an Eastern clime than the land where they found themselves, and who moreover wore on his person the distinguishing marks which the prejudice of the time imposed upon those of the Jewish faith.

"A Jew!" exclaimed Gurth with some disdain.

The stranger did not deny it, but asked timidly, "Is this not the dwelling-place of Wilfred son of Cedric, the Knight of Ivanhoe?"

"And what if it is?" demanded Gurth. "What is thy business with him? Speak, and quickly."

"I am the bearer of a letter," the Jew replied meekly, "which I am to give into his hand alone."

"I serve him," replied Gurth brusquely. "Give it me, and I will see it delivered."

"That were not in accordance with my mission," the other replied. "I prithee, call the knight forth."

"The knight is not to be summoned at the will of every nameless vagabond," said Gurth. "Either give me thy letter, or be off with thee!"

The messenger seemed somewhat dismayed by this, but not inclined to avail himself of either alternative. "And yet," he began anew, "it will advantage thy master much."

"My master is a good Christian," said Gurth, "and deals not with Jews save at need. State thy business plainly, or begone." Whereupon he advanced on the messenger as if he meant to removed him bodily from the premises.

At this juncture, roused by the commotion, the knight himself came forth from the house. "What is the matter, Gurth?" he demanded in a tone of authority.

"A Jew," Gurth replied, "who claims he has a letter, but will not say from whom."

The messenger made a low obeisance. "Art thou the English knight Wilfred of Ivanhoe?" he inquired humbly.

"I am he so called," Ivanhoe replied. "Whence comest thou, and what is thy will of me?"

"Only to deliver this to thy hand," the Jew replied, and drew from his garments a folded letter tied with a thread of silk.

Ivanhoe took it with some curiosity. "On whose part hast thou undertaken to deliver it?" he inquired. "For to come alone into an armed camp, in time of war, was not without peril."

The Jew bowed his head and humbly requested that the knight read the missive, wherein all should be made clear; "for," he said, "I am straitly enjoined not to tell to any person either who sent me or who it is that I serve."

"Surely," said Gurth, "that does not apply to him to whom thou'rt sent."

"To him also," returned the Israelite.

Ivanhoe meanwhile broke open and perused the letter. It was written in the Saxon tongue, at which he wondered much; for the language of his fathers was known but to few among the Norman knights of King John's army, and they would not use it by choice. The tenor of the message was as follows:

"Sir Knight: be on thy guard, for a snare is laid for thee, and thou art given into the hand of thine enemies. They wait in ambush for thee at the bridge of Chesnai, with a band of armed men. One highly placed hath given his countenance to thy destruction; but with the blessing of the Lord of Hosts, thou wilt overcome even this peril. Scorn not this warning from one whom thy strong arm didst uphold in time past. Farewell."

The knight speedily made the contents of the letter known to Gurth.

Gurth drew his sword in menacing fashion, thinking rather to frighten the messenger than to do him any harm. "What know'st thou of this plot? Wert thou a party to it?"

The messenger paled and murmured a prayer to the God of his fathers, but his resolution did not waver. "By the Covenant," he declared, "I know no more than the letter says. Kill me if thou wilt, but I will allow myself to be slain before betraying what I am instructed not to tell."

Ivanhoe hastened to restrain his squire's vehemence. "Enough, Gurth. I will not suffer him to be harmed, whose only crime is loyalty to his master." Turning to the Jew, he inquired, "What is thy name, at least? If that was not forbidden as well." The young man, after a moment's hesitation, confessed his name to be Benjamin. "Then, Benjamin, take my thanks to thy master. And for thyself –"

The knight signed for Gurth to bring his purse; but Benjamin shook his head. "I will take no reward," he said. "Only let me go, since I have fulfilled my errand." Seeing that he was unlikely to obtain any more satisfactory answers, Ivanhoe nodded his assent. The messenger rose cautiously to his feet, then suddenly dashed off as if a legion of devils were at his heels.

"Gone to our enemies, I doubt not," said Gurth. "For why should we trust an unknown messenger, on the part of an unknown master? Perhaps they are in league with our enemies, and this supposed warning only meant to draw you into a trap."

"Perhaps," answered Ivanhoe. "Yet if he came from an enemy, why should he warn us at all? I believe the message to be honorably meant; and of a surety, I will take thought how to encounter the danger which it speaks of."

It may be the reader, like Ivanhoe, is wondering who sent him the letter, and how the writer came by the information it contained. To answer that, we must turn back a short span of time and transfer the scene to the town of Rouen.

A Norman knight, one Henry de Basingbourne, had managed to secure lodgings in the town itself. Thither came a comrade of his to seek him out, only to find the knight lying on his sickbed. "What, Sir Henry, ill at such a time? 'Tis badly chosen."

"Is it thou, Stephen Pointel?" said the unfortunate knight, with difficulty raising himself on his elbow. "I' faith, 'tis not as I would choose; but they say I have been even near to death."

"Marry, God forbid," said Pointel, crossing himself. "But who is this?" He had not marked a female attendant, who had been sitting silently at the foot of the bed with her head bowed, absorbed in thought or in prayer, but who now raised her head at his approach.

"A Jewess from the town, who is highly praised as a healer of sickness and wounds. My men had to bring her here almost by force, since – I am told – her kindred were loath to let her go forth; but they prevailed, whether by threats or offers of money, I know not."

Pointel looked upon her with some unease. "What, Basingbourne?" he inquired dubiously. "Thou wouldst accept remedies from a Jewess?"

To which the other replied with an oath that he would accept aid from the devil himself; "for I tell thee, the Christian leeches had given me up for lost; and my soul is not in such a state that I wish to face the eternal judgement."

"It is my profession to bring healing to the sick," the Jewish maiden said with dignity, "whether Jew or Gentile. Illnesses and their remedies make no distinction of creed. Fear not for your comrade; he hath been in some danger, but the Angel of Death hath passed over, and he will soon be well enough to rise from his bed."

"That is well," said Pointel, "but now leave us. I have some matters to speak of in private."

She inclined her head to the two knights without servility and glided from the room.

"If this daughter of an accursed race restores me to health as she has promised," said Basingbourne, "it were worth all the gold in the King's treasury."

"More than that, I hope," his comrade returned; "for rumor speaks the King's coffers nigh empty. But to speak soberly, thy illness could not have come at a worse time. I had come to seek thy aid in a matter which I hoped would make my fortune and thine. Knowest thou Wilfred of Ivanhoe?"

The Jewish maiden paused outside the room at hearing a name which was well known to her, if not to Basingbourne. It was not her habit to listen to gossip nor matters which did not concern her; yet under the circumstances we trust she may be excused for listening, with increasing anxiety, to the following conversation.

To Pointel's query, Basingbourne replied, "I have heard the name – a favorite of King Richard, was he not?"

"Enough in itself," said Pointel, "to draw the disfavor of King John; and he hath been incautious enough to draw the King's anger to himself again. It seems he took offense at some small adventure of Le Pescaire and his mercenaries –"

"Who occupy Normandy as if it were an enemy country, rather than the King's rightful inheritance."

"Be that as it may, the knight of Ivanhoe took it amiss and made so bold as to bring it to the King's notice."

"A foolish undertaking," said Basingbourne, "and may cost him dear."

"So I purpose," Pointel replied, lowering his voice. "I have orders for the valiant Ivanhoe, that he is summoned to Rouen at the King's pleasure. Yet it is more to the King's pleasure, should he never arrive."

Basingbourne shifted restlessly on his couch. "Wherefore dost thou bring this matter to me?"

"I had hoped thou wouldst lend me thine arm; since it may not be, lend me some of thy trusty men for the expedition."

"But if it should fail," the knight said uneasily, "will the King's warrant bear thee out?"

"It will not fail," said Pointel. "The knight is brave, but not invulnerable. He will come alone, or with a single squire; and a band of men in wait at the bridge of Chesnai will soon settle him. The matter may be blamed on the peasants of the countryside, or traitors in league with the French, or a private quarrel; and the King, whatever his public declarations, will not be eager to find the truth of the matter."

Basingbourne turned his face away. "Do as thou list," he said, "and take what men thou needest; but I wish to know nothing of it."

"If thou be'st afeard," the other said with a touch of scorn, "I will take good care thy name come not into the matter – either now, or when I make report to the King."

"I am weary," said Basingbourne. "Do what you will, so you trouble me not."

Pointel proceeded to speak to the knight's men and arrange matters as he would; while the Jewish maiden, the unseen auditor of this virtuous conversation, hastily wrote a few lines to warn Ivanhoe, and sent them with her servant Benjamin; with what result, we have already seen.

Pointel, for his part, lost little time in putting his plans into execution. He stationed his men, and those he had borrowed from his ally, carefully in concealment, and awaited the approach of Ivanhoe. At length the knight appeared, accompanied only by Gurth, and Pointel gave the signal to attack and himself drew his sword to take part in the assault.

Ivanhoe, no whit dismayed, sounded a horn which he wore at his side. At this signal, a group of his men who had by prearrangement followed at a slight distance, hastened to his aid. Between the valor of Ivanhoe, the dogged ferocity of Gurth, and the loyalty of his followers, it was not long before Ivanhoe and his men were able to turn the tables on their ambushers, and like the Israelite champion of old 'met, fought, vanquished all the rageful train.'

Pointel, barely escaping, betook himself to safety in a nearby thicket; where he demanded of himself in vain how the knight came to be alerted. He found himself in the unenviable position of weighing whether it would be safer to bring his royal master word of failure, or take to his heels and not report at all. And there we will leave him for the nonce.

The next day, a cart containing two persons might be seen driven along a road near Rouen. The driver of the cart was that Benjamin who had proved so effective a messenger; the other, the Jewish maiden noted for her skill in healing, in whom perhaps the reader familiar with Sir Walter's tale has already recognized Rebecca. She communed silently with herself in the following words: "It is better thus, that we should not meet again. I know the plot failed, and he is safe; the agitation of the Nazarene knight Sir Henry when he dismissed me was eloquent enough, as one who feared to be caught in the snare of his own treachery; and Benjamin was able to espy the arms of the knight of Ivanhoe from a distance as he rode into the town. I have aided him in my poor way, as recompense for his former kindness toward my father's house, but there is no need for us to speak; what portion have I in him, or he in me?" And she resolved to strengthen her heart against the treacherous emotions which urged that she should not leave Rouen without once more seeking out the knight of Ivanhoe.

And yet, Rebecca's adventures were not yet over. A group of King John's soldiers were gathered by the wayside, keeping watch upon the road; who, when they saw the cart with its occupants, hastened to surround it.

Alarmed, Benjamin drew closer to Rebecca, in whose courage he had great trust. "What do you wish with us?" Rebecca asked calmly. "We can be little assistance or hindrance to a warlike host."

"Wealth is the sinews of war, they say," replied one of the soldiers. "If you wish to pass, you must pay us a toll."

"This is more like the behavior of outlaws than of soldiers," replied Rebecca, "and yet, since we must pay for our passage, say what sum ye would have."

The soldiers seemed little satisfied with the weight of her slender purse. "That cannot be all thy gold. Who ever heard of a Jew without wealth?" demanded one.

"What is that wooden chest in the cart?" demanded another. "If it holds any treasure, we must have our share before ye be suffered to go on your way."

"Its contents," replied Rebecca, "are not such as will satisfy you. It contains only treasure of wisdom, which, alas! men of your kind prize not."

A murmur of discontent came from the soldiers, and one of them declared, "Whatever the treasure, we will see it for ourselves." One of them was so bold as to climb into the cart, where he drew his knife to pry open the chest. Benjamin, forgetting fear in his indignation, would have interposed his own person, at whatever peril to his life, but his mistress stopped him with a gesture. "Stand back from the chest," she said; "it contains holy books, which should not be handled by unhallowed hands. I myself will open it and show them unto you." Such was her dignity and presence, that the soldier halted, abashed.

She lifted the lid of the chest and revealed indeed a quantity of books, most written in the Hebrew language, but also in the tongues of all lands where the unfortunate Jewish people had sojourned in their travels. "Treasures these are indeed," said she, "but they will not avail you. Take this purse then, and go your way." And she offered her silken purse, embroidered with Hebrew characters.

"Are we to believe thou hast no other wealth?" said one of the soldiers sullenly. "It is well known that the women of the Jews bedeck themselves with jewels –"

"I wear no jewels," the maiden replied calmly, "and those I once had are well-bestowed; may she who bears them now be forever blessed and fortunate!"

As if her words were an invocation, Ivanhoe now appeared beside the cart, accompanied by Gurth. In their concern for the hoped-for prize, the soldiers had neglected to keep an eye on their surroundings, so that the knight and his squire were able to approach unnoticed.

"Whosoever ye be," Ivanhoe said sternly, "that threaten a defenseless maiden, begone! If English, it is unworthy of Englishmen; if otherwise, ye dishonor the leader of this host, whom I am sworn to serve."

The soldiers murmured, but Ivanhoe was both resolute and well-armed, and Gurth scowled upon them with such a fierce look, that they sullenly withdrew and allowed the travellers to proceed.

Rebecca lowered her eyes, attempting to conceal the agitation which filled her at seeing the knight of Ivanhoe brought so unexpectedly before her.

"I will escort thee, maiden," said Ivanhoe, "lest thou suffer any more insult from these men. A land at war, I shame to speak it, is not always safe for those who are peaceful. Which is thy road?"

"Toward the Seine," Rebecca answered. "A boat waits for us there, to carry us down the river to the harbor; thence we may take ship once more into our own land."

Ivanhoe reined his horse to the slow speed of the mule that drew the cart, and they proceeded in silence until the group of soldiers was behind them. Ivanhoe was the first to break the silence. Turning toward Rebecca, he declared, "Maiden, again I am indebted to thee. For I perceive it was thou who sent good warning of the ambush."

"Nay," Rebecca replied in a stifled voice, "not so. Thou didst preserve my life and honor, and still more, the life of my father. The debt is upon our side."

"But how came thou to learn of their plans?" Ivanhoe inquired.

"Being in Rouen," Rebecca replied, "attending on an elderly kinsman, I was sought out by the attendants of that knight, who heard that I possess some skill in healing. My people advised against it, but I went with them willingly, since it has become my appointed task to relieve the suffering of all men, whether Jew, Christian or Moslem. I verily believe it was the hand of God which set me in a place to overhear their plot against thee, as Mordechai of Shushan heard and foiled the plot against King Ahasuerus. "

"And how camest thou hither to Rouen? Doth thy father Isaac dwell here? I will think but poorly of him if he hath sent thee forth alone in pursuit of gain."

"Nay," said Rebecca, "this land is no safe refuge for one of my people, where the Jews are held as serfs to the King. My father is well, thanks be to Heaven, and he dwells still in Granada, under the protection of its rulers. Only old age presses upon him, so he could not make such a journey as was needful. Rabbi Eleazar ben Simon, a kinsman of my father's and a revered scholar of our people dwelling near Rouen, felt the end of his days draw near. He possessed a store of precious books which he would not have fall into ignorant hands; wisdom of sages of our faith who have expounded passages of our law, and books of medicine. It was therefore my duty to attend him, to make his last days comfortable once his illness was past cure, and to ensure that so great a treasure of knowledge not be lost. If I can, I will bring his books to Granada, and give them into the care of those who will most profit by them."

"I have experienced thy skill at healing," said Ivanhoe, "and know it well. Alas! Would a leech of thy skill had been with us at Châlus. King Richard might be still a shield to England's honor and a terror to his enemies." He bowed his head, still grieved by the death of the rash and lion-hearted king he had served.

"The ways of the Lord are above the state of kings," Rebecca said quietly, "and if He wills, he brings their plans to naught. Yet heed me, since King Richard is no longer a shield to those who served him. Knowest thou who laid the plot against thee?"

"The prisoners I took from the ambush," said Ivanhoe, "I have given into the hands of William Marshal, the Earl of Pembroke. He is a knight of irreproachable honor, and he will help to find the head of this treachery."

"Yet if, as the words of those wicked men implied, King John himself gave countenance to the plot against thee –"

Ivanhoe's brow darkened. "I cannot think it," he said.

"Bethink thee, he that gave his own brother to captivity, as Joseph was sold into Egypt by his brethren, and even now holds captive Arthur of Brittany, the son of his brother, may have little care for one who is a stranger to him. And it is perilous to offend a king."

"Perilous or not," said Ivanhoe, "I must do what honor commands."

With some diffidence, Rebecca ventured to suggest that the knight return into England for a time, "where," she said, "those who have cause to hold thee dear will surely rejoice in thy presence and safety."

"That may not be, Rebecca," said Ivanhoe sternly. "It is not the part of a knight to flee from danger; and a true Englishman must fight the enemies of his country, wherever they may be." Half to himself, he added, "Now do we miss King Richard sorely. The French King ranges at will through Normandy. We lose ground foot by foot; and each foot, by heaven! paid for in the blood of good English men. While King John – but there are things a true subject must not say." Ivanhoe sighed; for King Richard had often vexed his loyal knight by his rashness, but never by guile or hesitation to strike.

"Alas," said Rebecca, "then thou hast not long enjoyed the fruits of thy valor. I had imagined – I had thought thee dwelling at home in peace."

"The fruit of valor, as thou namest it," said Ivanhoe, "is the honor of one's name, which alone remains after us."

"Verily, it is said that a good name is to be prized above rubies; yet my people mean a sage learned in the Law, one who makes peace and rebuilds the broken places." Rebecca bowed her head and continued more softly, "If thou rejoicest in battle, as is the wont of thy warlike people, it may be that those in England who hold thee dear would rather have thee at their side, than upholding England's glory in this land where thy king leads thee in the pride of his heart."

"The Lady of Ivanhoe," replied the knight, "values my honor as her own; and she knows well that honor calls me from her side. I may safely leave my son and my household in her care; the more as both are defended by my father, who would not suffer any harm to befall them."

"A son!" Rebecca repeated, much touched by this intelligence. "May he be a joy to her who bore him and a light unto the nations; and, like his father, may he be known as a defender of the innocent. And yet," she added, "I wonder thou wilt be so long from his side, even at the command of honor. Who will guide and teach the child, while his father is far away in Normandy and Aquitaine?"

Ivanhoe affected cheerfulness, though her words echoed what was in his own heart. "While I am across the sea," he said, "or if I do not return, my father will guide him in the ways of valor; and his mother will teach him to be merciful and obedient to ladies. For the rest, it is God's will." In spite of his words, the knight's thought rested for a long moment, as if in a vision, on the beloved woods and fields of his home and those dear to him who dwelt there.

"If thou dost not scorn the prayers of a Jewess," said Rebecca, "I will add my prayers unto those of thy lady and thy noble father, that thou mayst see England again."

"Be it as thou wilt," returned Ivanhoe courteously. "I will refuse no prayers that are made from a generous heart. Yet I doubt not that English strength of arm will hold this land in safety."

Raising her eyes, Rebecca saw that they were at last drawing near to the spot on the river Seine where she and Benjamin were to embark. She excused herself to speak with the boatman, and saw the precious chest of books safely bestowed. Benjamin leaped lightly into the boat with the confidence of youth. Rebecca paused yet a moment, whether because of the unsteadiness of the vessel or some other cause, we do not venture to say.

Ivanhoe dismounted and offered her his mailed hand, which after a slight hesitation she took, to assist her into the boat. But for a moment she leaned on his strength; then she stepped lightly into the boat and settled her garments around her, the faithful Benjamin at her side.

"Farewell, maiden!" said Ivanhoe. "May God grant thee a safe journey."

"May the Lord of Hosts shield thee with his protection," Rebecca replied tremulously, "in all the ways thou goest!"

Unwilling to linger, the boatman pushed off from the dock and sought the mid-stream where the current was strongest. Ivanhoe mounted his horse to depart; and yet he paused, as if held in place by some power stronger than his will. Rebecca had folded her hands in her lap, with her head bowed; and thus she remained. And yet, it must be confessed that her fortitude weakened enough for a single glance backward at where the knight sat on horseback.

Upon the shore, Ivanhoe gazed after the boat until it was swept from his sight by a bend of the river.