[Contents]CHAPTER IX.The Combat—Departure of the Scots—Master Kyle Swears by St. Cuthbert.Hepborne was not slow on his part, and in a very short time the Castle-yard was again in commotion, and grooms and esquires were seen running in all directions, bringing out horses and buckling on trappings. Hepborne’s gallant steed Beaufront was led proudly forth from his stall by Mortimer Sang, and was no sooner backed by his master than he pranced, neighed, and[78]spurned the ground, as if he had guessed of the nature of the work he had to do. Attended by Assueton and their small party of followers, Sir Patrick rode slowly down to the mead of Norham, extending from under the elevated ground on which the Castle stood, for a considerable way to the westward, between the village and the bank of the Tweed. Here he halted, and patiently awaited the arrival of his opponent. Piersie came in all his pomp, mounted on a dapple-grey horse, of remarkable strength, figure, and action. Both horse and rider were splendidly arrayed, and his friends and people came crowding after him, boasting loudly of the probable issue of the combat. Sir Walter de Selby came last, attended by some few officers, esquires, and meaner people, and joined Hepborne’s party, stationed towards one end of the field, Sir Rafe Piersie’s having filed off and taken post towards the other extremity of it. Little time was lost in preparation. The two judges placed themselves opposite to the middle of the space, and there the combatants met and measured lances.The bugle-mot gave them warning, so turning their steeds round, they each rode back about a furlong towards their respective parties, and, suddenly wheeling at the second sound of the bugle, they ran their furious course against each other with lance in rest. The shock was tremendous. The clash of their armour echoed from the very walls of the neighbouring Castle; nor had the oldest and most experienced men-at-arms who were there present ever seen anything like it. Sir Patrick Hepborne received his adversary’s lance, with great adroitness, on his shield, at such an angle that it glanced off broken in shivers; yet the force was so great that it had almost turned him in his saddle. But he, on his part, had borne his point so stoutly, so steadily, and so truly, that, taking his adversary in the centre of the body, he tossed him entirely over the croupe of his horse. Piersie lay stunned by the fall; and Sir Patrick, checking Beaufront in his career, made a circuit around his prostrate adversary, and speedily dismounting, went up to him, and kneeling on the ground beside him, lifted up his head, and opened his vizor and beaver to give him freer air. Sir Richard de Lacy and Assueton came up.“Sir Richard,” said Hepborne, “thou seest his life is in mine hands; and after the bragging and insolent threats he used towards me, perhaps I might be deemed well entitled to use the privileges of my victory, and take it. But I engaged in this affair only to wipe off the disgrace thrown on this good old knight, Sir Walter de Selby, in whose hospitality I and my brother-in-arms have so liberally shared; and the blot having[79]been thus removed, by God’s blessing on mine arm, I leave Piersie his life, that he may use it against me when next we meet in fair fight in bloody field, should the jarring rights of our two countries summon us against each other. But through thee, his friend, I do most solemnly enjoin him that, on the honour of a knight, he shall hold Sir Walter de Selby as acquitted of all intention of doing him any injury or insult in the matter of the marriage he contemplated with the Lady Eleanore, and that he think not of doing Sir Walter violence on that account.”For all this Sir Richard de Lacy immediately pledged himself in name of Sir Rafe Piersie; and the discomfited knight, who was still insensible, having been lifted up by his esquires, was straightway borne towards the Castle. As they were carrying him away, Mortimer Sang, who had by chance caught the dapple-grey steed, as he scoured past him on the field after his rider’s overthrow, trotted up to the group leading him by the bridle. The worthy esquire had heard and treasured up the taunts and boasting of Piersie’s people, as they were approaching the field.“Hath any of ye lost perchance a pomely grise-coloured horse, my masters?” exclaimed he; “here is a proper powerful destrier, if he had been but well backed. Hast thou no varlet of a pricksoure squire who can ride him? Here, take him, some of ye; and, hark ye, let his saddle be better filled the next time ye do come afield.”Piersie’s men were too much crestfallen to return his jibes, so he rode back to the group that surrounded the conqueror, chuckling over his triumph. The good old Sir Walter de Selby, his eyes running over with gratitude, approached Sir Patrick Hepborne, and embraced him cordially.“The time hath been,” said he, “the time hath been, Sir Patrick, when it pleased Heaven to permit me to reap the same guerdon of inward satisfaction thou art now feeling, and could the weight of a few years have been lifted from off this hoar head, by God’s blessing, thou shouldst not have had this noble chance of gathering fame at the cost of Sir Rafe Piersie. As it is, I thank thee heartily for thy gallant defence of an old man, as well as for the generous use thou hast made of thy victory. Come, let us to the Castle, that by my treatment of thee, and Sir Rafe Piersie, I may forthwith prove my gratitude to the one and my forgiveness of the other.“Thanks, most hospitable knight,” said Sir Patrick, “I beseech thee in mine own name, and that of my friend, to receive our poor thanks for thy kind reception of us at Norham. But[80]now our affairs demand our return to our own country; nay, had it not been for this unlooked-for deed of arms, we had been ere now some miles beyond that broad stream. We boune us now for Scotland. Farewell, and may the holy St. Cuthbert keep thee in health and safety. We may yet haply meet again.”Sir Walter de Selby was grieved to find that all his efforts to detain the two knights were ineffectual.“Since it is thy will, then, to pleasure me no longer with thy good company and presence, Sirs Knights, may the blessed Virgin and the holy St. Andrew guide you in safety to your friends; and may you find those you love in the good plight you would wish them to be.” And saying so, he again cordially embraced both the knights, and slowly returned towards the Castle with his attendants.The bustle and commotion occasioned by the appearance of the knights and their followers on the mead of Norham, the sound of the bugle, and the clash of the shock, had brought out many of the inhabitants of the village to see what was a-doing. Amongst these was the black-eyed Mrs. Kyle, who came up to Master Mortimer Sang, and laying hold of his bridle-rein—“When goest thou for Scotland?” said she anxiously.“Even now, fair dame,” said he calmly.“Then go I with thee, Sir Squire,” returned she. “Let me have a seat on that batt-horse; I can ride right merrily there.”“Nay, my most beautiful Mrs. Kyle,” replied Sang, “that may in no wise be, seeing I am an honest virtuous esquire, not one of those false faitors who basely run away with other men’s wives. Thou canst not with me, I promise thee.”“Yea, but thou didst promise to take me,” cried Mrs. Kyle, a flood of tears bursting from her eyes, as she began to reproach Sang, with a voice half-chocked by the violence of her sobbing. “So false foiterer that thou art, I—I—I—I must be foredone by thee, must I, after all thy losengery and flattery? Here have I kept goodman Kyle all this time i’ the vault, ygraven, as a body may say, that I mought the more sickerly follow thee when thou wentest. Oh, what will become of me? I am but as one dead.”“Why, thou cruel giglet, thou,” cried Sang, “didst thou in very truth mean to go off to Scotland with me, and leave thy poor husband ygraven i’ the vault to die the most horrible of deaths? Did not I tell thee to let him out at thy leisure and on thine own good terms? By the mass, a pretty leisure hast thou taken, and pretty terms hast thou resolved to yield him.”[81]“Nay, judge not so hastily, good Sir Squire,” replied Mrs. Kyle. “That I would boune me to Scotland is sure enow; but, as to leaving Sylvester Kyle to die a cruel death, Thomas Tapster here knows that I taught him the use of the sliding plank and the clicket of the trap door, and that Master Sylvester was to receive his franchise as soon as Tweed should be atween us. But what shall I do? I can never go back to the Norham Tower again; goodman Sylvester will surely amortise me attenes when he doth get freedom.”“Squire,” said Hepborne, “thou must e’en get thee back to the village, and make her peace with the bear her husband: we shall wait for thee at the ferry-boat.”“Nay, as for that matter,” said Sang, “I must go back at any rate, for I have yet to pay the rascal for the excellent supper we had of him, and for the herborow of our party for the night we spent there. Come along then, Dame Kyle, I see thou art not quite so savage as I took thee to be.”They soon reached the hostel, and Master Mortimer Sang, dismounting from his horse in the yard, entered, and strode along the passage to the place where he knew the trap-door to be, and, sliding aside the plank that covered its fastenings, he hoisted up the lever.“Sylvester Kyle, miserable lossel wight,” cried he, “art thou yet alive? Sinner that thou art, I have compassion on thee, and albeit thou hast been there but some short space—small guerdon for thy wicked coulpe, seeing thou art in the midst of so great a mountance of good provender and drink, with which to fill thine enormous bowke—I condescend to let thee come forth. Come up, come up, I say, and show thy face, that we may hold parley as to the terms of thine enlargement.”A groaning was heard from the farther end of the place, and by and by Sylvester’s head appeared above the steps, his countenance wearing the most miserable expression. Horrible fear of the agonizing death he had thought himself doomed to die had prevented him from touching food; but the anxious workings of his mind had done even more mortification upon him than a starvation of a fortnight could have accomplished. The red in his face was converted into a deadly pale copper hue, for even death itself could never have altogether extinguished the flame in his nose; his teeth projected beyond his lips, and chattered against each other from the cold he had undergone: and his eyes stared in their sockets, from the united effects of want and terror.“Should it please me to give thee the franchise, thou[82]agroted lorrel, thou,” said the Squire, “wilt thou give me thy promise to comport thyself more honestly in time to come, to have done with all knavery and chinchery, and to give thy very best to all Scots who may, in time to come, chance to honour thy hostelry with their presence?”“Oh, good Sir Squire,” replied the host, “anything—I will promise anything that thou mayest please.”“Nay, nay, Sir Knave,” cried Sang, “horrow tallowcatch that thou art—no generals—swear me in particulars—item by item, dost thou hear, as thou framest thy reckonings? If thou dost not down goeth the trap-door again, and I leave thee here to meditate and ypend my proposal, until my return from the Holy Wars, whether I am boune. By that time thou wilt be more humble, and more coming to my terms. Swear.”“I swear, by the holy St. Cuthbert,” replied the host, “that all Scots shall henceforth be entertained with the best meats and drinks the nale of the Norham Tower can afford, yea, alswa the best herborow it can yield them.”“’Tis well,” said Sang; “swear me next, then, and let the oath be strong, that thou wilt never again score double.”“Nay, Master Squire, that is a hard oath for a tapster to take; ’tis warring against the very nicest mystery of my vocation,” said Kyle.“No matter, Sir Knave,” said Sang, “I shall not have my terms agrutched by thee. An thou swearest not this, down thou goest, and I leave thee to settle scores with a friend of thine below, with whom thou wilt find the single reckoning of thy sins a hard enough matter for thee to pay.”“Oh, for mercy’s sake, touch not the trap-door, Sir Squire, and I will swear anything,” cried Kyle, much alarmed at seeing Sang’s brawny arm preparing to turn it over upon his head.“Well, thou horrow lossel,” cried Sang, “dost thou swear thou wilt never more cheat, or score double?”“I do, I do,” said the host; “by the holy Rood, I swear that I will never cheat or score double again. God help me,” cried he, after a pause, “how shall I eschew it, and what shall I do without it?”“Now, thou prince of knaves,” cried Sang, “thou hast yet one more serment to swallow. Swear by the blessed Virgin, that thou wilt receive thy wife back into thy bosom, and abandoning thy former harshness towards her, that thou wilt kindly cherish her, and do thy possible to comfort and pleasure her, forgetting all that may have hitherto happened amiss between ye. I restore her to thee pure. She was not to blame for my[83]being in the vault with her. The coulpe was all thine own. Thou madest me ravenous with hunger by thy villainous chinchery. My nose, through very want, became as sharp in scent as that of a sleuth-hound. I winded the steam that came from the trap-door, yea, from the very common room where I sat. I ran it up hot foot, and descending the stair, I had but just begun to feast mine eyes with that thou hadst denied to my stomach, when thy pestiferous voice was heard. Thy wife is as virtuous and innocent as the child unborn. So swear, I say.”Master Sylvester Kyle shook his head wofully, and looked very far from satisfied; but he had no alternative; he swore as the squire wished him to do, and then was permitted to issue from his subterranean prison.“And now, Sir Knave,” said Sang, “do but note my extreme clemency. Thou wouldst have starved me, the knights, and our good company, because we were Scots, for the which grievous sin I did put thee in a prison full of goodly provender and rich drinks; whence I now let thee forth, with thy greedy carcase crammed to bursting, and thy whole person plump and fair as a capon. Do but behold him, I beseech ye, how round he looks. Now get thee to thine augrim-stones, and cast up thine account withal. Thou knowest pretty well what we have had, for thou didst give me the victuals and wine with thine own hand.”“Nay, good Sir Squire,” said Kyle, glad to escape, “take it all, in God’s name, as a free gift, and let us part good friends.”“Nay, nay,” said Master Sang, “we take no such beggarly treats, we Scottish knights and squires. Come, come—thy reckoning, thy reckoning, dost hear? No more words; my master doth wait, and I must haste to join him.”Kyle, with his wife’s assistance, and that of the pebbles or augrim-stones, by which accounts were usually made out in those days, scored up the first fair reckoning he had ever made in his life, and Sang paid it without a word.“And now,” said he, “let us, as thou saidst, Master Kyle, let us e’en part good friends. Bring me a stirrup-cup of thy best.”The host hastened to fetch a cup of excellent Rhenish. They drank to each other, and shook hands with perfect cordiality; and the squire, smacking the pouting lips of Mrs. Kyle, mounted his horse, and rode away to join his party.As the knights and their small retinue were crossing the Tweed in the ferry-boat, Hepborne cast his eyes up to the keep of the Castle, towering high above them, and frowning defiance upon Scotland. A white hand appeared from a narrow window, and waved a handkerchief; and, by a sort of natural impulse,[84]he was about to have waved and kissed his fervently in return.“Pshaw!” said he, pettishly checking himself, for being so ready to yield to the impulse of his heart. The white hand and handkerchief waved again—and again it waved ere he reached the Scottish shore; but he manfully resisted all temptation, and gave no sign of recognition.As he mounted, however, he looked once more. The hand was still there, streaming the little speck of white. His resolution gave way—he waved his hand, and his eyes filling with tears, he dashed the rowels of his spurs against the sides of his steed, sprang off at full gallop, and was immediately lost amongst the oak copse through which lay their destined way.
[Contents]CHAPTER IX.The Combat—Departure of the Scots—Master Kyle Swears by St. Cuthbert.Hepborne was not slow on his part, and in a very short time the Castle-yard was again in commotion, and grooms and esquires were seen running in all directions, bringing out horses and buckling on trappings. Hepborne’s gallant steed Beaufront was led proudly forth from his stall by Mortimer Sang, and was no sooner backed by his master than he pranced, neighed, and[78]spurned the ground, as if he had guessed of the nature of the work he had to do. Attended by Assueton and their small party of followers, Sir Patrick rode slowly down to the mead of Norham, extending from under the elevated ground on which the Castle stood, for a considerable way to the westward, between the village and the bank of the Tweed. Here he halted, and patiently awaited the arrival of his opponent. Piersie came in all his pomp, mounted on a dapple-grey horse, of remarkable strength, figure, and action. Both horse and rider were splendidly arrayed, and his friends and people came crowding after him, boasting loudly of the probable issue of the combat. Sir Walter de Selby came last, attended by some few officers, esquires, and meaner people, and joined Hepborne’s party, stationed towards one end of the field, Sir Rafe Piersie’s having filed off and taken post towards the other extremity of it. Little time was lost in preparation. The two judges placed themselves opposite to the middle of the space, and there the combatants met and measured lances.The bugle-mot gave them warning, so turning their steeds round, they each rode back about a furlong towards their respective parties, and, suddenly wheeling at the second sound of the bugle, they ran their furious course against each other with lance in rest. The shock was tremendous. The clash of their armour echoed from the very walls of the neighbouring Castle; nor had the oldest and most experienced men-at-arms who were there present ever seen anything like it. Sir Patrick Hepborne received his adversary’s lance, with great adroitness, on his shield, at such an angle that it glanced off broken in shivers; yet the force was so great that it had almost turned him in his saddle. But he, on his part, had borne his point so stoutly, so steadily, and so truly, that, taking his adversary in the centre of the body, he tossed him entirely over the croupe of his horse. Piersie lay stunned by the fall; and Sir Patrick, checking Beaufront in his career, made a circuit around his prostrate adversary, and speedily dismounting, went up to him, and kneeling on the ground beside him, lifted up his head, and opened his vizor and beaver to give him freer air. Sir Richard de Lacy and Assueton came up.“Sir Richard,” said Hepborne, “thou seest his life is in mine hands; and after the bragging and insolent threats he used towards me, perhaps I might be deemed well entitled to use the privileges of my victory, and take it. But I engaged in this affair only to wipe off the disgrace thrown on this good old knight, Sir Walter de Selby, in whose hospitality I and my brother-in-arms have so liberally shared; and the blot having[79]been thus removed, by God’s blessing on mine arm, I leave Piersie his life, that he may use it against me when next we meet in fair fight in bloody field, should the jarring rights of our two countries summon us against each other. But through thee, his friend, I do most solemnly enjoin him that, on the honour of a knight, he shall hold Sir Walter de Selby as acquitted of all intention of doing him any injury or insult in the matter of the marriage he contemplated with the Lady Eleanore, and that he think not of doing Sir Walter violence on that account.”For all this Sir Richard de Lacy immediately pledged himself in name of Sir Rafe Piersie; and the discomfited knight, who was still insensible, having been lifted up by his esquires, was straightway borne towards the Castle. As they were carrying him away, Mortimer Sang, who had by chance caught the dapple-grey steed, as he scoured past him on the field after his rider’s overthrow, trotted up to the group leading him by the bridle. The worthy esquire had heard and treasured up the taunts and boasting of Piersie’s people, as they were approaching the field.“Hath any of ye lost perchance a pomely grise-coloured horse, my masters?” exclaimed he; “here is a proper powerful destrier, if he had been but well backed. Hast thou no varlet of a pricksoure squire who can ride him? Here, take him, some of ye; and, hark ye, let his saddle be better filled the next time ye do come afield.”Piersie’s men were too much crestfallen to return his jibes, so he rode back to the group that surrounded the conqueror, chuckling over his triumph. The good old Sir Walter de Selby, his eyes running over with gratitude, approached Sir Patrick Hepborne, and embraced him cordially.“The time hath been,” said he, “the time hath been, Sir Patrick, when it pleased Heaven to permit me to reap the same guerdon of inward satisfaction thou art now feeling, and could the weight of a few years have been lifted from off this hoar head, by God’s blessing, thou shouldst not have had this noble chance of gathering fame at the cost of Sir Rafe Piersie. As it is, I thank thee heartily for thy gallant defence of an old man, as well as for the generous use thou hast made of thy victory. Come, let us to the Castle, that by my treatment of thee, and Sir Rafe Piersie, I may forthwith prove my gratitude to the one and my forgiveness of the other.“Thanks, most hospitable knight,” said Sir Patrick, “I beseech thee in mine own name, and that of my friend, to receive our poor thanks for thy kind reception of us at Norham. But[80]now our affairs demand our return to our own country; nay, had it not been for this unlooked-for deed of arms, we had been ere now some miles beyond that broad stream. We boune us now for Scotland. Farewell, and may the holy St. Cuthbert keep thee in health and safety. We may yet haply meet again.”Sir Walter de Selby was grieved to find that all his efforts to detain the two knights were ineffectual.“Since it is thy will, then, to pleasure me no longer with thy good company and presence, Sirs Knights, may the blessed Virgin and the holy St. Andrew guide you in safety to your friends; and may you find those you love in the good plight you would wish them to be.” And saying so, he again cordially embraced both the knights, and slowly returned towards the Castle with his attendants.The bustle and commotion occasioned by the appearance of the knights and their followers on the mead of Norham, the sound of the bugle, and the clash of the shock, had brought out many of the inhabitants of the village to see what was a-doing. Amongst these was the black-eyed Mrs. Kyle, who came up to Master Mortimer Sang, and laying hold of his bridle-rein—“When goest thou for Scotland?” said she anxiously.“Even now, fair dame,” said he calmly.“Then go I with thee, Sir Squire,” returned she. “Let me have a seat on that batt-horse; I can ride right merrily there.”“Nay, my most beautiful Mrs. Kyle,” replied Sang, “that may in no wise be, seeing I am an honest virtuous esquire, not one of those false faitors who basely run away with other men’s wives. Thou canst not with me, I promise thee.”“Yea, but thou didst promise to take me,” cried Mrs. Kyle, a flood of tears bursting from her eyes, as she began to reproach Sang, with a voice half-chocked by the violence of her sobbing. “So false foiterer that thou art, I—I—I—I must be foredone by thee, must I, after all thy losengery and flattery? Here have I kept goodman Kyle all this time i’ the vault, ygraven, as a body may say, that I mought the more sickerly follow thee when thou wentest. Oh, what will become of me? I am but as one dead.”“Why, thou cruel giglet, thou,” cried Sang, “didst thou in very truth mean to go off to Scotland with me, and leave thy poor husband ygraven i’ the vault to die the most horrible of deaths? Did not I tell thee to let him out at thy leisure and on thine own good terms? By the mass, a pretty leisure hast thou taken, and pretty terms hast thou resolved to yield him.”[81]“Nay, judge not so hastily, good Sir Squire,” replied Mrs. Kyle. “That I would boune me to Scotland is sure enow; but, as to leaving Sylvester Kyle to die a cruel death, Thomas Tapster here knows that I taught him the use of the sliding plank and the clicket of the trap door, and that Master Sylvester was to receive his franchise as soon as Tweed should be atween us. But what shall I do? I can never go back to the Norham Tower again; goodman Sylvester will surely amortise me attenes when he doth get freedom.”“Squire,” said Hepborne, “thou must e’en get thee back to the village, and make her peace with the bear her husband: we shall wait for thee at the ferry-boat.”“Nay, as for that matter,” said Sang, “I must go back at any rate, for I have yet to pay the rascal for the excellent supper we had of him, and for the herborow of our party for the night we spent there. Come along then, Dame Kyle, I see thou art not quite so savage as I took thee to be.”They soon reached the hostel, and Master Mortimer Sang, dismounting from his horse in the yard, entered, and strode along the passage to the place where he knew the trap-door to be, and, sliding aside the plank that covered its fastenings, he hoisted up the lever.“Sylvester Kyle, miserable lossel wight,” cried he, “art thou yet alive? Sinner that thou art, I have compassion on thee, and albeit thou hast been there but some short space—small guerdon for thy wicked coulpe, seeing thou art in the midst of so great a mountance of good provender and drink, with which to fill thine enormous bowke—I condescend to let thee come forth. Come up, come up, I say, and show thy face, that we may hold parley as to the terms of thine enlargement.”A groaning was heard from the farther end of the place, and by and by Sylvester’s head appeared above the steps, his countenance wearing the most miserable expression. Horrible fear of the agonizing death he had thought himself doomed to die had prevented him from touching food; but the anxious workings of his mind had done even more mortification upon him than a starvation of a fortnight could have accomplished. The red in his face was converted into a deadly pale copper hue, for even death itself could never have altogether extinguished the flame in his nose; his teeth projected beyond his lips, and chattered against each other from the cold he had undergone: and his eyes stared in their sockets, from the united effects of want and terror.“Should it please me to give thee the franchise, thou[82]agroted lorrel, thou,” said the Squire, “wilt thou give me thy promise to comport thyself more honestly in time to come, to have done with all knavery and chinchery, and to give thy very best to all Scots who may, in time to come, chance to honour thy hostelry with their presence?”“Oh, good Sir Squire,” replied the host, “anything—I will promise anything that thou mayest please.”“Nay, nay, Sir Knave,” cried Sang, “horrow tallowcatch that thou art—no generals—swear me in particulars—item by item, dost thou hear, as thou framest thy reckonings? If thou dost not down goeth the trap-door again, and I leave thee here to meditate and ypend my proposal, until my return from the Holy Wars, whether I am boune. By that time thou wilt be more humble, and more coming to my terms. Swear.”“I swear, by the holy St. Cuthbert,” replied the host, “that all Scots shall henceforth be entertained with the best meats and drinks the nale of the Norham Tower can afford, yea, alswa the best herborow it can yield them.”“’Tis well,” said Sang; “swear me next, then, and let the oath be strong, that thou wilt never again score double.”“Nay, Master Squire, that is a hard oath for a tapster to take; ’tis warring against the very nicest mystery of my vocation,” said Kyle.“No matter, Sir Knave,” said Sang, “I shall not have my terms agrutched by thee. An thou swearest not this, down thou goest, and I leave thee to settle scores with a friend of thine below, with whom thou wilt find the single reckoning of thy sins a hard enough matter for thee to pay.”“Oh, for mercy’s sake, touch not the trap-door, Sir Squire, and I will swear anything,” cried Kyle, much alarmed at seeing Sang’s brawny arm preparing to turn it over upon his head.“Well, thou horrow lossel,” cried Sang, “dost thou swear thou wilt never more cheat, or score double?”“I do, I do,” said the host; “by the holy Rood, I swear that I will never cheat or score double again. God help me,” cried he, after a pause, “how shall I eschew it, and what shall I do without it?”“Now, thou prince of knaves,” cried Sang, “thou hast yet one more serment to swallow. Swear by the blessed Virgin, that thou wilt receive thy wife back into thy bosom, and abandoning thy former harshness towards her, that thou wilt kindly cherish her, and do thy possible to comfort and pleasure her, forgetting all that may have hitherto happened amiss between ye. I restore her to thee pure. She was not to blame for my[83]being in the vault with her. The coulpe was all thine own. Thou madest me ravenous with hunger by thy villainous chinchery. My nose, through very want, became as sharp in scent as that of a sleuth-hound. I winded the steam that came from the trap-door, yea, from the very common room where I sat. I ran it up hot foot, and descending the stair, I had but just begun to feast mine eyes with that thou hadst denied to my stomach, when thy pestiferous voice was heard. Thy wife is as virtuous and innocent as the child unborn. So swear, I say.”Master Sylvester Kyle shook his head wofully, and looked very far from satisfied; but he had no alternative; he swore as the squire wished him to do, and then was permitted to issue from his subterranean prison.“And now, Sir Knave,” said Sang, “do but note my extreme clemency. Thou wouldst have starved me, the knights, and our good company, because we were Scots, for the which grievous sin I did put thee in a prison full of goodly provender and rich drinks; whence I now let thee forth, with thy greedy carcase crammed to bursting, and thy whole person plump and fair as a capon. Do but behold him, I beseech ye, how round he looks. Now get thee to thine augrim-stones, and cast up thine account withal. Thou knowest pretty well what we have had, for thou didst give me the victuals and wine with thine own hand.”“Nay, good Sir Squire,” said Kyle, glad to escape, “take it all, in God’s name, as a free gift, and let us part good friends.”“Nay, nay,” said Master Sang, “we take no such beggarly treats, we Scottish knights and squires. Come, come—thy reckoning, thy reckoning, dost hear? No more words; my master doth wait, and I must haste to join him.”Kyle, with his wife’s assistance, and that of the pebbles or augrim-stones, by which accounts were usually made out in those days, scored up the first fair reckoning he had ever made in his life, and Sang paid it without a word.“And now,” said he, “let us, as thou saidst, Master Kyle, let us e’en part good friends. Bring me a stirrup-cup of thy best.”The host hastened to fetch a cup of excellent Rhenish. They drank to each other, and shook hands with perfect cordiality; and the squire, smacking the pouting lips of Mrs. Kyle, mounted his horse, and rode away to join his party.As the knights and their small retinue were crossing the Tweed in the ferry-boat, Hepborne cast his eyes up to the keep of the Castle, towering high above them, and frowning defiance upon Scotland. A white hand appeared from a narrow window, and waved a handkerchief; and, by a sort of natural impulse,[84]he was about to have waved and kissed his fervently in return.“Pshaw!” said he, pettishly checking himself, for being so ready to yield to the impulse of his heart. The white hand and handkerchief waved again—and again it waved ere he reached the Scottish shore; but he manfully resisted all temptation, and gave no sign of recognition.As he mounted, however, he looked once more. The hand was still there, streaming the little speck of white. His resolution gave way—he waved his hand, and his eyes filling with tears, he dashed the rowels of his spurs against the sides of his steed, sprang off at full gallop, and was immediately lost amongst the oak copse through which lay their destined way.
CHAPTER IX.The Combat—Departure of the Scots—Master Kyle Swears by St. Cuthbert.
The Combat—Departure of the Scots—Master Kyle Swears by St. Cuthbert.
The Combat—Departure of the Scots—Master Kyle Swears by St. Cuthbert.
Hepborne was not slow on his part, and in a very short time the Castle-yard was again in commotion, and grooms and esquires were seen running in all directions, bringing out horses and buckling on trappings. Hepborne’s gallant steed Beaufront was led proudly forth from his stall by Mortimer Sang, and was no sooner backed by his master than he pranced, neighed, and[78]spurned the ground, as if he had guessed of the nature of the work he had to do. Attended by Assueton and their small party of followers, Sir Patrick rode slowly down to the mead of Norham, extending from under the elevated ground on which the Castle stood, for a considerable way to the westward, between the village and the bank of the Tweed. Here he halted, and patiently awaited the arrival of his opponent. Piersie came in all his pomp, mounted on a dapple-grey horse, of remarkable strength, figure, and action. Both horse and rider were splendidly arrayed, and his friends and people came crowding after him, boasting loudly of the probable issue of the combat. Sir Walter de Selby came last, attended by some few officers, esquires, and meaner people, and joined Hepborne’s party, stationed towards one end of the field, Sir Rafe Piersie’s having filed off and taken post towards the other extremity of it. Little time was lost in preparation. The two judges placed themselves opposite to the middle of the space, and there the combatants met and measured lances.The bugle-mot gave them warning, so turning their steeds round, they each rode back about a furlong towards their respective parties, and, suddenly wheeling at the second sound of the bugle, they ran their furious course against each other with lance in rest. The shock was tremendous. The clash of their armour echoed from the very walls of the neighbouring Castle; nor had the oldest and most experienced men-at-arms who were there present ever seen anything like it. Sir Patrick Hepborne received his adversary’s lance, with great adroitness, on his shield, at such an angle that it glanced off broken in shivers; yet the force was so great that it had almost turned him in his saddle. But he, on his part, had borne his point so stoutly, so steadily, and so truly, that, taking his adversary in the centre of the body, he tossed him entirely over the croupe of his horse. Piersie lay stunned by the fall; and Sir Patrick, checking Beaufront in his career, made a circuit around his prostrate adversary, and speedily dismounting, went up to him, and kneeling on the ground beside him, lifted up his head, and opened his vizor and beaver to give him freer air. Sir Richard de Lacy and Assueton came up.“Sir Richard,” said Hepborne, “thou seest his life is in mine hands; and after the bragging and insolent threats he used towards me, perhaps I might be deemed well entitled to use the privileges of my victory, and take it. But I engaged in this affair only to wipe off the disgrace thrown on this good old knight, Sir Walter de Selby, in whose hospitality I and my brother-in-arms have so liberally shared; and the blot having[79]been thus removed, by God’s blessing on mine arm, I leave Piersie his life, that he may use it against me when next we meet in fair fight in bloody field, should the jarring rights of our two countries summon us against each other. But through thee, his friend, I do most solemnly enjoin him that, on the honour of a knight, he shall hold Sir Walter de Selby as acquitted of all intention of doing him any injury or insult in the matter of the marriage he contemplated with the Lady Eleanore, and that he think not of doing Sir Walter violence on that account.”For all this Sir Richard de Lacy immediately pledged himself in name of Sir Rafe Piersie; and the discomfited knight, who was still insensible, having been lifted up by his esquires, was straightway borne towards the Castle. As they were carrying him away, Mortimer Sang, who had by chance caught the dapple-grey steed, as he scoured past him on the field after his rider’s overthrow, trotted up to the group leading him by the bridle. The worthy esquire had heard and treasured up the taunts and boasting of Piersie’s people, as they were approaching the field.“Hath any of ye lost perchance a pomely grise-coloured horse, my masters?” exclaimed he; “here is a proper powerful destrier, if he had been but well backed. Hast thou no varlet of a pricksoure squire who can ride him? Here, take him, some of ye; and, hark ye, let his saddle be better filled the next time ye do come afield.”Piersie’s men were too much crestfallen to return his jibes, so he rode back to the group that surrounded the conqueror, chuckling over his triumph. The good old Sir Walter de Selby, his eyes running over with gratitude, approached Sir Patrick Hepborne, and embraced him cordially.“The time hath been,” said he, “the time hath been, Sir Patrick, when it pleased Heaven to permit me to reap the same guerdon of inward satisfaction thou art now feeling, and could the weight of a few years have been lifted from off this hoar head, by God’s blessing, thou shouldst not have had this noble chance of gathering fame at the cost of Sir Rafe Piersie. As it is, I thank thee heartily for thy gallant defence of an old man, as well as for the generous use thou hast made of thy victory. Come, let us to the Castle, that by my treatment of thee, and Sir Rafe Piersie, I may forthwith prove my gratitude to the one and my forgiveness of the other.“Thanks, most hospitable knight,” said Sir Patrick, “I beseech thee in mine own name, and that of my friend, to receive our poor thanks for thy kind reception of us at Norham. But[80]now our affairs demand our return to our own country; nay, had it not been for this unlooked-for deed of arms, we had been ere now some miles beyond that broad stream. We boune us now for Scotland. Farewell, and may the holy St. Cuthbert keep thee in health and safety. We may yet haply meet again.”Sir Walter de Selby was grieved to find that all his efforts to detain the two knights were ineffectual.“Since it is thy will, then, to pleasure me no longer with thy good company and presence, Sirs Knights, may the blessed Virgin and the holy St. Andrew guide you in safety to your friends; and may you find those you love in the good plight you would wish them to be.” And saying so, he again cordially embraced both the knights, and slowly returned towards the Castle with his attendants.The bustle and commotion occasioned by the appearance of the knights and their followers on the mead of Norham, the sound of the bugle, and the clash of the shock, had brought out many of the inhabitants of the village to see what was a-doing. Amongst these was the black-eyed Mrs. Kyle, who came up to Master Mortimer Sang, and laying hold of his bridle-rein—“When goest thou for Scotland?” said she anxiously.“Even now, fair dame,” said he calmly.“Then go I with thee, Sir Squire,” returned she. “Let me have a seat on that batt-horse; I can ride right merrily there.”“Nay, my most beautiful Mrs. Kyle,” replied Sang, “that may in no wise be, seeing I am an honest virtuous esquire, not one of those false faitors who basely run away with other men’s wives. Thou canst not with me, I promise thee.”“Yea, but thou didst promise to take me,” cried Mrs. Kyle, a flood of tears bursting from her eyes, as she began to reproach Sang, with a voice half-chocked by the violence of her sobbing. “So false foiterer that thou art, I—I—I—I must be foredone by thee, must I, after all thy losengery and flattery? Here have I kept goodman Kyle all this time i’ the vault, ygraven, as a body may say, that I mought the more sickerly follow thee when thou wentest. Oh, what will become of me? I am but as one dead.”“Why, thou cruel giglet, thou,” cried Sang, “didst thou in very truth mean to go off to Scotland with me, and leave thy poor husband ygraven i’ the vault to die the most horrible of deaths? Did not I tell thee to let him out at thy leisure and on thine own good terms? By the mass, a pretty leisure hast thou taken, and pretty terms hast thou resolved to yield him.”[81]“Nay, judge not so hastily, good Sir Squire,” replied Mrs. Kyle. “That I would boune me to Scotland is sure enow; but, as to leaving Sylvester Kyle to die a cruel death, Thomas Tapster here knows that I taught him the use of the sliding plank and the clicket of the trap door, and that Master Sylvester was to receive his franchise as soon as Tweed should be atween us. But what shall I do? I can never go back to the Norham Tower again; goodman Sylvester will surely amortise me attenes when he doth get freedom.”“Squire,” said Hepborne, “thou must e’en get thee back to the village, and make her peace with the bear her husband: we shall wait for thee at the ferry-boat.”“Nay, as for that matter,” said Sang, “I must go back at any rate, for I have yet to pay the rascal for the excellent supper we had of him, and for the herborow of our party for the night we spent there. Come along then, Dame Kyle, I see thou art not quite so savage as I took thee to be.”They soon reached the hostel, and Master Mortimer Sang, dismounting from his horse in the yard, entered, and strode along the passage to the place where he knew the trap-door to be, and, sliding aside the plank that covered its fastenings, he hoisted up the lever.“Sylvester Kyle, miserable lossel wight,” cried he, “art thou yet alive? Sinner that thou art, I have compassion on thee, and albeit thou hast been there but some short space—small guerdon for thy wicked coulpe, seeing thou art in the midst of so great a mountance of good provender and drink, with which to fill thine enormous bowke—I condescend to let thee come forth. Come up, come up, I say, and show thy face, that we may hold parley as to the terms of thine enlargement.”A groaning was heard from the farther end of the place, and by and by Sylvester’s head appeared above the steps, his countenance wearing the most miserable expression. Horrible fear of the agonizing death he had thought himself doomed to die had prevented him from touching food; but the anxious workings of his mind had done even more mortification upon him than a starvation of a fortnight could have accomplished. The red in his face was converted into a deadly pale copper hue, for even death itself could never have altogether extinguished the flame in his nose; his teeth projected beyond his lips, and chattered against each other from the cold he had undergone: and his eyes stared in their sockets, from the united effects of want and terror.“Should it please me to give thee the franchise, thou[82]agroted lorrel, thou,” said the Squire, “wilt thou give me thy promise to comport thyself more honestly in time to come, to have done with all knavery and chinchery, and to give thy very best to all Scots who may, in time to come, chance to honour thy hostelry with their presence?”“Oh, good Sir Squire,” replied the host, “anything—I will promise anything that thou mayest please.”“Nay, nay, Sir Knave,” cried Sang, “horrow tallowcatch that thou art—no generals—swear me in particulars—item by item, dost thou hear, as thou framest thy reckonings? If thou dost not down goeth the trap-door again, and I leave thee here to meditate and ypend my proposal, until my return from the Holy Wars, whether I am boune. By that time thou wilt be more humble, and more coming to my terms. Swear.”“I swear, by the holy St. Cuthbert,” replied the host, “that all Scots shall henceforth be entertained with the best meats and drinks the nale of the Norham Tower can afford, yea, alswa the best herborow it can yield them.”“’Tis well,” said Sang; “swear me next, then, and let the oath be strong, that thou wilt never again score double.”“Nay, Master Squire, that is a hard oath for a tapster to take; ’tis warring against the very nicest mystery of my vocation,” said Kyle.“No matter, Sir Knave,” said Sang, “I shall not have my terms agrutched by thee. An thou swearest not this, down thou goest, and I leave thee to settle scores with a friend of thine below, with whom thou wilt find the single reckoning of thy sins a hard enough matter for thee to pay.”“Oh, for mercy’s sake, touch not the trap-door, Sir Squire, and I will swear anything,” cried Kyle, much alarmed at seeing Sang’s brawny arm preparing to turn it over upon his head.“Well, thou horrow lossel,” cried Sang, “dost thou swear thou wilt never more cheat, or score double?”“I do, I do,” said the host; “by the holy Rood, I swear that I will never cheat or score double again. God help me,” cried he, after a pause, “how shall I eschew it, and what shall I do without it?”“Now, thou prince of knaves,” cried Sang, “thou hast yet one more serment to swallow. Swear by the blessed Virgin, that thou wilt receive thy wife back into thy bosom, and abandoning thy former harshness towards her, that thou wilt kindly cherish her, and do thy possible to comfort and pleasure her, forgetting all that may have hitherto happened amiss between ye. I restore her to thee pure. She was not to blame for my[83]being in the vault with her. The coulpe was all thine own. Thou madest me ravenous with hunger by thy villainous chinchery. My nose, through very want, became as sharp in scent as that of a sleuth-hound. I winded the steam that came from the trap-door, yea, from the very common room where I sat. I ran it up hot foot, and descending the stair, I had but just begun to feast mine eyes with that thou hadst denied to my stomach, when thy pestiferous voice was heard. Thy wife is as virtuous and innocent as the child unborn. So swear, I say.”Master Sylvester Kyle shook his head wofully, and looked very far from satisfied; but he had no alternative; he swore as the squire wished him to do, and then was permitted to issue from his subterranean prison.“And now, Sir Knave,” said Sang, “do but note my extreme clemency. Thou wouldst have starved me, the knights, and our good company, because we were Scots, for the which grievous sin I did put thee in a prison full of goodly provender and rich drinks; whence I now let thee forth, with thy greedy carcase crammed to bursting, and thy whole person plump and fair as a capon. Do but behold him, I beseech ye, how round he looks. Now get thee to thine augrim-stones, and cast up thine account withal. Thou knowest pretty well what we have had, for thou didst give me the victuals and wine with thine own hand.”“Nay, good Sir Squire,” said Kyle, glad to escape, “take it all, in God’s name, as a free gift, and let us part good friends.”“Nay, nay,” said Master Sang, “we take no such beggarly treats, we Scottish knights and squires. Come, come—thy reckoning, thy reckoning, dost hear? No more words; my master doth wait, and I must haste to join him.”Kyle, with his wife’s assistance, and that of the pebbles or augrim-stones, by which accounts were usually made out in those days, scored up the first fair reckoning he had ever made in his life, and Sang paid it without a word.“And now,” said he, “let us, as thou saidst, Master Kyle, let us e’en part good friends. Bring me a stirrup-cup of thy best.”The host hastened to fetch a cup of excellent Rhenish. They drank to each other, and shook hands with perfect cordiality; and the squire, smacking the pouting lips of Mrs. Kyle, mounted his horse, and rode away to join his party.As the knights and their small retinue were crossing the Tweed in the ferry-boat, Hepborne cast his eyes up to the keep of the Castle, towering high above them, and frowning defiance upon Scotland. A white hand appeared from a narrow window, and waved a handkerchief; and, by a sort of natural impulse,[84]he was about to have waved and kissed his fervently in return.“Pshaw!” said he, pettishly checking himself, for being so ready to yield to the impulse of his heart. The white hand and handkerchief waved again—and again it waved ere he reached the Scottish shore; but he manfully resisted all temptation, and gave no sign of recognition.As he mounted, however, he looked once more. The hand was still there, streaming the little speck of white. His resolution gave way—he waved his hand, and his eyes filling with tears, he dashed the rowels of his spurs against the sides of his steed, sprang off at full gallop, and was immediately lost amongst the oak copse through which lay their destined way.
Hepborne was not slow on his part, and in a very short time the Castle-yard was again in commotion, and grooms and esquires were seen running in all directions, bringing out horses and buckling on trappings. Hepborne’s gallant steed Beaufront was led proudly forth from his stall by Mortimer Sang, and was no sooner backed by his master than he pranced, neighed, and[78]spurned the ground, as if he had guessed of the nature of the work he had to do. Attended by Assueton and their small party of followers, Sir Patrick rode slowly down to the mead of Norham, extending from under the elevated ground on which the Castle stood, for a considerable way to the westward, between the village and the bank of the Tweed. Here he halted, and patiently awaited the arrival of his opponent. Piersie came in all his pomp, mounted on a dapple-grey horse, of remarkable strength, figure, and action. Both horse and rider were splendidly arrayed, and his friends and people came crowding after him, boasting loudly of the probable issue of the combat. Sir Walter de Selby came last, attended by some few officers, esquires, and meaner people, and joined Hepborne’s party, stationed towards one end of the field, Sir Rafe Piersie’s having filed off and taken post towards the other extremity of it. Little time was lost in preparation. The two judges placed themselves opposite to the middle of the space, and there the combatants met and measured lances.
The bugle-mot gave them warning, so turning their steeds round, they each rode back about a furlong towards their respective parties, and, suddenly wheeling at the second sound of the bugle, they ran their furious course against each other with lance in rest. The shock was tremendous. The clash of their armour echoed from the very walls of the neighbouring Castle; nor had the oldest and most experienced men-at-arms who were there present ever seen anything like it. Sir Patrick Hepborne received his adversary’s lance, with great adroitness, on his shield, at such an angle that it glanced off broken in shivers; yet the force was so great that it had almost turned him in his saddle. But he, on his part, had borne his point so stoutly, so steadily, and so truly, that, taking his adversary in the centre of the body, he tossed him entirely over the croupe of his horse. Piersie lay stunned by the fall; and Sir Patrick, checking Beaufront in his career, made a circuit around his prostrate adversary, and speedily dismounting, went up to him, and kneeling on the ground beside him, lifted up his head, and opened his vizor and beaver to give him freer air. Sir Richard de Lacy and Assueton came up.
“Sir Richard,” said Hepborne, “thou seest his life is in mine hands; and after the bragging and insolent threats he used towards me, perhaps I might be deemed well entitled to use the privileges of my victory, and take it. But I engaged in this affair only to wipe off the disgrace thrown on this good old knight, Sir Walter de Selby, in whose hospitality I and my brother-in-arms have so liberally shared; and the blot having[79]been thus removed, by God’s blessing on mine arm, I leave Piersie his life, that he may use it against me when next we meet in fair fight in bloody field, should the jarring rights of our two countries summon us against each other. But through thee, his friend, I do most solemnly enjoin him that, on the honour of a knight, he shall hold Sir Walter de Selby as acquitted of all intention of doing him any injury or insult in the matter of the marriage he contemplated with the Lady Eleanore, and that he think not of doing Sir Walter violence on that account.”
For all this Sir Richard de Lacy immediately pledged himself in name of Sir Rafe Piersie; and the discomfited knight, who was still insensible, having been lifted up by his esquires, was straightway borne towards the Castle. As they were carrying him away, Mortimer Sang, who had by chance caught the dapple-grey steed, as he scoured past him on the field after his rider’s overthrow, trotted up to the group leading him by the bridle. The worthy esquire had heard and treasured up the taunts and boasting of Piersie’s people, as they were approaching the field.
“Hath any of ye lost perchance a pomely grise-coloured horse, my masters?” exclaimed he; “here is a proper powerful destrier, if he had been but well backed. Hast thou no varlet of a pricksoure squire who can ride him? Here, take him, some of ye; and, hark ye, let his saddle be better filled the next time ye do come afield.”
Piersie’s men were too much crestfallen to return his jibes, so he rode back to the group that surrounded the conqueror, chuckling over his triumph. The good old Sir Walter de Selby, his eyes running over with gratitude, approached Sir Patrick Hepborne, and embraced him cordially.
“The time hath been,” said he, “the time hath been, Sir Patrick, when it pleased Heaven to permit me to reap the same guerdon of inward satisfaction thou art now feeling, and could the weight of a few years have been lifted from off this hoar head, by God’s blessing, thou shouldst not have had this noble chance of gathering fame at the cost of Sir Rafe Piersie. As it is, I thank thee heartily for thy gallant defence of an old man, as well as for the generous use thou hast made of thy victory. Come, let us to the Castle, that by my treatment of thee, and Sir Rafe Piersie, I may forthwith prove my gratitude to the one and my forgiveness of the other.
“Thanks, most hospitable knight,” said Sir Patrick, “I beseech thee in mine own name, and that of my friend, to receive our poor thanks for thy kind reception of us at Norham. But[80]now our affairs demand our return to our own country; nay, had it not been for this unlooked-for deed of arms, we had been ere now some miles beyond that broad stream. We boune us now for Scotland. Farewell, and may the holy St. Cuthbert keep thee in health and safety. We may yet haply meet again.”
Sir Walter de Selby was grieved to find that all his efforts to detain the two knights were ineffectual.
“Since it is thy will, then, to pleasure me no longer with thy good company and presence, Sirs Knights, may the blessed Virgin and the holy St. Andrew guide you in safety to your friends; and may you find those you love in the good plight you would wish them to be.” And saying so, he again cordially embraced both the knights, and slowly returned towards the Castle with his attendants.
The bustle and commotion occasioned by the appearance of the knights and their followers on the mead of Norham, the sound of the bugle, and the clash of the shock, had brought out many of the inhabitants of the village to see what was a-doing. Amongst these was the black-eyed Mrs. Kyle, who came up to Master Mortimer Sang, and laying hold of his bridle-rein—
“When goest thou for Scotland?” said she anxiously.
“Even now, fair dame,” said he calmly.
“Then go I with thee, Sir Squire,” returned she. “Let me have a seat on that batt-horse; I can ride right merrily there.”
“Nay, my most beautiful Mrs. Kyle,” replied Sang, “that may in no wise be, seeing I am an honest virtuous esquire, not one of those false faitors who basely run away with other men’s wives. Thou canst not with me, I promise thee.”
“Yea, but thou didst promise to take me,” cried Mrs. Kyle, a flood of tears bursting from her eyes, as she began to reproach Sang, with a voice half-chocked by the violence of her sobbing. “So false foiterer that thou art, I—I—I—I must be foredone by thee, must I, after all thy losengery and flattery? Here have I kept goodman Kyle all this time i’ the vault, ygraven, as a body may say, that I mought the more sickerly follow thee when thou wentest. Oh, what will become of me? I am but as one dead.”
“Why, thou cruel giglet, thou,” cried Sang, “didst thou in very truth mean to go off to Scotland with me, and leave thy poor husband ygraven i’ the vault to die the most horrible of deaths? Did not I tell thee to let him out at thy leisure and on thine own good terms? By the mass, a pretty leisure hast thou taken, and pretty terms hast thou resolved to yield him.”[81]
“Nay, judge not so hastily, good Sir Squire,” replied Mrs. Kyle. “That I would boune me to Scotland is sure enow; but, as to leaving Sylvester Kyle to die a cruel death, Thomas Tapster here knows that I taught him the use of the sliding plank and the clicket of the trap door, and that Master Sylvester was to receive his franchise as soon as Tweed should be atween us. But what shall I do? I can never go back to the Norham Tower again; goodman Sylvester will surely amortise me attenes when he doth get freedom.”
“Squire,” said Hepborne, “thou must e’en get thee back to the village, and make her peace with the bear her husband: we shall wait for thee at the ferry-boat.”
“Nay, as for that matter,” said Sang, “I must go back at any rate, for I have yet to pay the rascal for the excellent supper we had of him, and for the herborow of our party for the night we spent there. Come along then, Dame Kyle, I see thou art not quite so savage as I took thee to be.”
They soon reached the hostel, and Master Mortimer Sang, dismounting from his horse in the yard, entered, and strode along the passage to the place where he knew the trap-door to be, and, sliding aside the plank that covered its fastenings, he hoisted up the lever.
“Sylvester Kyle, miserable lossel wight,” cried he, “art thou yet alive? Sinner that thou art, I have compassion on thee, and albeit thou hast been there but some short space—small guerdon for thy wicked coulpe, seeing thou art in the midst of so great a mountance of good provender and drink, with which to fill thine enormous bowke—I condescend to let thee come forth. Come up, come up, I say, and show thy face, that we may hold parley as to the terms of thine enlargement.”
A groaning was heard from the farther end of the place, and by and by Sylvester’s head appeared above the steps, his countenance wearing the most miserable expression. Horrible fear of the agonizing death he had thought himself doomed to die had prevented him from touching food; but the anxious workings of his mind had done even more mortification upon him than a starvation of a fortnight could have accomplished. The red in his face was converted into a deadly pale copper hue, for even death itself could never have altogether extinguished the flame in his nose; his teeth projected beyond his lips, and chattered against each other from the cold he had undergone: and his eyes stared in their sockets, from the united effects of want and terror.
“Should it please me to give thee the franchise, thou[82]agroted lorrel, thou,” said the Squire, “wilt thou give me thy promise to comport thyself more honestly in time to come, to have done with all knavery and chinchery, and to give thy very best to all Scots who may, in time to come, chance to honour thy hostelry with their presence?”
“Oh, good Sir Squire,” replied the host, “anything—I will promise anything that thou mayest please.”
“Nay, nay, Sir Knave,” cried Sang, “horrow tallowcatch that thou art—no generals—swear me in particulars—item by item, dost thou hear, as thou framest thy reckonings? If thou dost not down goeth the trap-door again, and I leave thee here to meditate and ypend my proposal, until my return from the Holy Wars, whether I am boune. By that time thou wilt be more humble, and more coming to my terms. Swear.”
“I swear, by the holy St. Cuthbert,” replied the host, “that all Scots shall henceforth be entertained with the best meats and drinks the nale of the Norham Tower can afford, yea, alswa the best herborow it can yield them.”
“’Tis well,” said Sang; “swear me next, then, and let the oath be strong, that thou wilt never again score double.”
“Nay, Master Squire, that is a hard oath for a tapster to take; ’tis warring against the very nicest mystery of my vocation,” said Kyle.
“No matter, Sir Knave,” said Sang, “I shall not have my terms agrutched by thee. An thou swearest not this, down thou goest, and I leave thee to settle scores with a friend of thine below, with whom thou wilt find the single reckoning of thy sins a hard enough matter for thee to pay.”
“Oh, for mercy’s sake, touch not the trap-door, Sir Squire, and I will swear anything,” cried Kyle, much alarmed at seeing Sang’s brawny arm preparing to turn it over upon his head.
“Well, thou horrow lossel,” cried Sang, “dost thou swear thou wilt never more cheat, or score double?”
“I do, I do,” said the host; “by the holy Rood, I swear that I will never cheat or score double again. God help me,” cried he, after a pause, “how shall I eschew it, and what shall I do without it?”
“Now, thou prince of knaves,” cried Sang, “thou hast yet one more serment to swallow. Swear by the blessed Virgin, that thou wilt receive thy wife back into thy bosom, and abandoning thy former harshness towards her, that thou wilt kindly cherish her, and do thy possible to comfort and pleasure her, forgetting all that may have hitherto happened amiss between ye. I restore her to thee pure. She was not to blame for my[83]being in the vault with her. The coulpe was all thine own. Thou madest me ravenous with hunger by thy villainous chinchery. My nose, through very want, became as sharp in scent as that of a sleuth-hound. I winded the steam that came from the trap-door, yea, from the very common room where I sat. I ran it up hot foot, and descending the stair, I had but just begun to feast mine eyes with that thou hadst denied to my stomach, when thy pestiferous voice was heard. Thy wife is as virtuous and innocent as the child unborn. So swear, I say.”
Master Sylvester Kyle shook his head wofully, and looked very far from satisfied; but he had no alternative; he swore as the squire wished him to do, and then was permitted to issue from his subterranean prison.
“And now, Sir Knave,” said Sang, “do but note my extreme clemency. Thou wouldst have starved me, the knights, and our good company, because we were Scots, for the which grievous sin I did put thee in a prison full of goodly provender and rich drinks; whence I now let thee forth, with thy greedy carcase crammed to bursting, and thy whole person plump and fair as a capon. Do but behold him, I beseech ye, how round he looks. Now get thee to thine augrim-stones, and cast up thine account withal. Thou knowest pretty well what we have had, for thou didst give me the victuals and wine with thine own hand.”
“Nay, good Sir Squire,” said Kyle, glad to escape, “take it all, in God’s name, as a free gift, and let us part good friends.”
“Nay, nay,” said Master Sang, “we take no such beggarly treats, we Scottish knights and squires. Come, come—thy reckoning, thy reckoning, dost hear? No more words; my master doth wait, and I must haste to join him.”
Kyle, with his wife’s assistance, and that of the pebbles or augrim-stones, by which accounts were usually made out in those days, scored up the first fair reckoning he had ever made in his life, and Sang paid it without a word.
“And now,” said he, “let us, as thou saidst, Master Kyle, let us e’en part good friends. Bring me a stirrup-cup of thy best.”
The host hastened to fetch a cup of excellent Rhenish. They drank to each other, and shook hands with perfect cordiality; and the squire, smacking the pouting lips of Mrs. Kyle, mounted his horse, and rode away to join his party.
As the knights and their small retinue were crossing the Tweed in the ferry-boat, Hepborne cast his eyes up to the keep of the Castle, towering high above them, and frowning defiance upon Scotland. A white hand appeared from a narrow window, and waved a handkerchief; and, by a sort of natural impulse,[84]he was about to have waved and kissed his fervently in return.
“Pshaw!” said he, pettishly checking himself, for being so ready to yield to the impulse of his heart. The white hand and handkerchief waved again—and again it waved ere he reached the Scottish shore; but he manfully resisted all temptation, and gave no sign of recognition.
As he mounted, however, he looked once more. The hand was still there, streaming the little speck of white. His resolution gave way—he waved his hand, and his eyes filling with tears, he dashed the rowels of his spurs against the sides of his steed, sprang off at full gallop, and was immediately lost amongst the oak copse through which lay their destined way.