Burlesques William Makepeace Thackeray

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"I want neither money nor armor," said the ferocious knight; "tell this to the Alfaqui, Jew.
And I will keep the child, his daughter, to serve the messes for my dogs, and clean the
platters for my scullions."
"Deprive not the old man of his child," here interposed the Knight of Ivanhoe; "bethink
thee, brave Don Beltran, she is but an infant in years."
"She is my captive, Sir Knight," replied the surly Don Beltran; "I will do with my own as
becomes me."
"Take 200,000 dirhems," cried the Jew; "more!—anything! The Alfaqui will give his life
for his child!"
"Come hither, Zutulbe!—come hither, thou Moorish pearl!" yelled the ferocious warrior;
"come closer, my pretty black-eyed houri of heathenesse! Hast heard the name of Beltran
de Espada y Trabuco?"
"There were three brothers of that name at Alarcos, and my brothers slew the Christian
dogs!" said the proud young girl, looking boldly at Don Beltran, who foamed with rage.
"The Moors butchered my mother and her little ones, at midnight, in our castle of Murcia,"
Beltran said.
"Thy father fled like a craven, as thou didst, Don Beltran!" cried the high-spirited girl.
"By Saint Jago, this is too much!" screamed the infuriated nobleman; and the next moment
there was a shriek, and the maiden fell to the ground with Don Beltran's dagger in her side.
"Death is better than dishonor!" cried the child, rolling on the blood-stained marble
pavement. "I—I spit upon thee, dog of a Christian!" and with this, and with a savage laugh,
she fell back and died.
"Bear back this news, Jew, to the Alfaqui," howled the Don, spurning the beauteous corpse
with his foot. "I would not have ransomed her for all the gold in Barbary!" And shuddering,
the old Jew left the apartment, which Ivanhoe quitted likewise.
When they were in the outer court, the knight said to the Jew, "Isaac of York, dost thou not
know me?" and threw back his hood, and looked at the old man.
The old Jew stared wildly, rushed forward as if to seize his hand, then started back,
trembling convulsively, and clutching his withered hands over his face, said, with a burst of
grief, "Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe!—no, no!—I do not know thee!"