CHAPTER LVIII.

[Contents]CHAPTER LVIII.Combat between Douglas and Hotspur—The Fight for the Pennon.As the Earl of Douglas was sitting in his pavilion, in conversation with his chaplain, Richard Lundie, on the second day of his being before Newcastle, a squire in waiting announced to him that one of Lord Moray’s men wished to have a private interview with him.“Give him entrance speedily,” said the Douglas, “his business may be of moment. He seeth me in private when he seeth me alone with him who knoweth mine inmost soul.”The squire bowed and retired, and immediately returned to introduce—Rory Spears.“Rory Spears!” exclaimed the Douglas; “what hath brought thee hither, and what hath my brother of Moray to tell my private ear through thy mouth? Thou art not the messenger he is used to send between us for such affairs. Were it a matter of wood or river craft, indeed, we might both recognize thee as a right trusty and merry ambassador; but at this time we have other game upon our hands. What hath Lord Moray to say?”“My Lord Yearl o’ Douglas, naebody kens whaur gowd lies till it be howkit out,” replied Rory, with an obeisance. “Albeit that thou and the Yearl o’ Moray, my noble master, have never[427]yet discovered my talents that way, it proveth not that I do lack them. He who is stranger to the soil may chance to divine that, the which he who owneth it hath never dreamt of; and he——”“What doth all this tend to, Rory Spears?” demanded the Earl of Douglas, interrupting him rather impatiently. “Trust me, though I may have trifled with thee at Tarnawa, this is no time for such idlesse.”“Bide a wee, my Lord Yearl, bide a wee,” said Rory, with great composure; “call it not trifling till thou art possessed of the value of what I have to effunde unto thee. I was going to tell thee that he who doth own a man like me, ay, or a horse beast, for instance, may ken less o’ his qualifications than he who doth see him but for a gliff.”“But what hath all this to do with thy message from Moray to me?” cried the Douglas.“Nought at all, my Lord Yearl,” replied Rory, “for I hae no message frae him. But,” added he, assuming an air of unusual importance, “it hath much to do, I rauckon, with the embassage the which I am at this moment charged with by the Hotspur.”“The Hotspur—thou charged with a message from the Hotspur!—How can that be? Quick—try not my patience longer; where hast thou encountered the Hotspur?” exclaimed the Douglas eagerly.Rory proceeded to give the Earl a sketch of the history of his capture, as well as of his being sent for by Sir Harry Piersie.“He telled me, my Lord Yearl o’ Douglas,” continued he, “that he heard I confessed mysel to be ane esquire o’ the Yearl o’ Moray’s. I didna daur to contradick Hotspur, the mair because I am in a manner the Yearl’s henchman. ‘I hae made yelection o’ thee,’ said he to me, ‘as the fittest man for my job amang a’ the Scottish prisoners in Newcastle. Thou art to bear a message of importance frae me to the gallant Douglas. Tell him Hotspur hath had the renommie o’ his prowess rung in his lugs till the din hath stirred up his inmost soul and made his very heart yearn to encounter sae mokell bravery. Yet hath my evil fortune so willed it,’ quoth he, ‘that though I have sought him unceasing for these two days, yet have I never had the chance to meet him hand to hand.’ ”“Nay, and God wot, I have not been wanting in my search after the noble Hotspur,” replied Douglas with energy. “But what said he more?”“ ‘Get thee to the Douglas, Sir Squire,’ said he to me.[428]‘Tell him that I do entreat him, for the love he bears to chivalry, that he may so order his next assault that I may not fail to meet him in person. Be the manner and terms of our encounter of his own fixing, and let him trust to the word of a Piersie for their fulfilment on this side, as I shall to the unbroken faith of a Douglas. Bear this to him, Sir Squire, and take thy liberty and this golden chain for thy guerdon.’ ”“Bravo, Harry Hotspur!” cried the Douglas, rising from his seat, whilst his eyes flashed fire from the joyous tumult of his heroic spirit; “bravo, brave heart! trust me thou shalt not lack thy desire. Quick—let me hasten to reply to the gallant Piersie’s challenge with that promptness the which it doth so well merit. My most faithful and attached Lundie,” continued he, addressing his chaplain,—“get thee to the provost, if thou lovest me, and use thy good judgment to choose me out from among our English prisoners one who may be best fitted for being the bearer of mine answer. Let him be an esquire, for we would rather surpass than fall short of Hotspur’s courtesy.”“Nay, an ye would surpass the courtesy of the gallant Hotspur,” said Rory, who stood by, “ye maun e’en send him a knight, for he did send thee ane esquire,—ay, and ane esquire with a golden chain round his craig.”“Right,” cried the Douglas in the fulness of his joy—“right, Squire Rory Spears; for esquire thou shalt hereafter be, sith it hath pleased Harry Piersie to make thee so. And if a knight is not to be had, by St. Andrew I’ll make one for the purpose of this embassage.”“Hear ye, Maister Ritchie Lundie,” cried Rory; “I take thee witness that my Lord the Yearl o’ Douglas hath allowed me the rank the which the noble Hotspur did confer on me when I did act as his ambassador. Let not this escape thy memory”.“Fear thee not, Rory Spears,” said the Douglas; “I shall myself see that thine honours shall be duly recognized.”Lundie soon returned with an English esquire, selected from among the prisoners. The Earl of Douglas made Rory repeat over in his presence the message of which he had been the bearer from Hotspur.“And now, Sir Squire,” said Douglas, “thou hast heard the wish of that gallant leader, the noble Hotspur. Be thou the bearer of mine answer. Tell Sir Harry Piersie that for a man to have oped his eyes at noon-day without beholding the light of heaven would have been as easy as to have had ears without their being filled with the renowned achievements of the flower of English chivalry. The Douglas burns to meet him; and that[429]time may in no wise be lost, but each forthwith have his desire, tell him that the Douglas will be on the field anon with fifty lances. Let Sir Harry Piersie come forth with a like number at his back, and let this be the understanding between the parties, that both escorts halt within view of each other, and that both knights singly run a career with grounden spears at the outrance, the knights to be left to themselves. Be thou, I say, the bearer of these terms and conditions; but ere thou goest vouchsafe me thy name.”“My name is Thomas Scrope, so please thee, my Lord,” replied the esquire.“Within there,” said the Douglas; “call in my knights and officers. And now, Sir Squire,” said he, after the pavilion was filled, and he had given some necessary orders, “kneel down on this cushion, that before this brilliant knot of Scottish chivalry I may do due honour to him who is to bear my message to the Hotspur.” The English esquire obeyed. The Douglas ordered a pair of golden spurs to be buckled on his heels by the hands of the two eldest Scottish knights present. They then belted him with a magnificent sword, a gift from the Earl, who immediately bestowed on him the accolade, saying—“I dub thee Knight, in the name of God and St. Michael; be faithful, bold, and fortunate. And now rise up, Sir Thomas Scrope.”Astounded and confused with this unlooked-for honour, the newly-created knight but awkwardly received the congratulations which poured in on him from those present. The Douglas himself conducted him to the door, where a noble horse, fully caparisoned, awaited him.“Get thee to saddle, then, Sir Thomas Scrope,” cried he, “and tarry not till thou hast possessed the Hotspur of our reply to his message. Say more—that if he liketh not the terms let him name conditions of his own, to the which I do hereby agree par avance; and let me have them forthwith, for in an hour hence I shall be in the field in front of these lines. God speed thee, Sir Thomas.”“Might it not have been better, my Lord,” said Richard Lundie, after they were again alone, “might it not have been better to have taken a new sun to gild so glorious a combat? The day is already far spent.”“Yea, it is so,” replied the Douglas; “but to-morrow we move hence from this idle warfare, and I would not willingly go without proving the metal of the gallant Hotspur, so ’tis as well that his impatience be gratified.”[430]The bruit of the coming encounter spread like wild-fire through the camp, and the whole chivalry within its circuit pressed forward to be admitted of the chosen band who were to witness the onset of the two bravest knights in Christendom. Lord Douglas’s difficulty was how to select so as to avoid giving offence, and he required all his judgment to manage this. Sir Patrick Hepborne had the good fortune to be one of those who were admitted into the honourable ranks.When the gay little cohort of mounted lances were drawn forth in array, and the Douglas’s banner was displayed, the stout Earl sprang on a powerful black war-horse, that had neighed and pranced whilst he was held by two esquires, but that became quiet and gentle as a lamb when backed by his heroic master. The whole Scottish line turned out to gaze, and shouts of applause arose that re-echoed from the walls of Newcastle. Immediately afterwards Sir Harry Piersie appeared before the barriers of the town, mounted on a milk-white steed, and as Douglas, even at that distance, could perceive that his escort was of similar strength and description to his own, he had the satisfaction of thinking that the terms he had proposed had been accepted. The fortifications were soon covered by the garrison, who crowded to behold the combat, and the Scottish cheers were loudly returned by the English. A trumpet call from the Piersie band was instantly returned by one from that of Lord Douglas, who immediately gave the word for his knights to advance, whilst he rode forward so as to gain a position about fifty yards in front of them, that he might be the better seen by the opposite party. Having brought up his escort to a point sufficiently near (as he judged) for the arrangement agreed on, he halted them, and ordered them to remain steady, whilst he continued to approach until he came within a due distance for running his course against Hotspur, who had also come forward a considerable way before his attendants.The trumpets from both bands sounded nearly at once, as if by mutual consent—both knights couched their lances—their armed heels made the blood spring from the sides of their coursers—and they flew like two thunderbolts towards the shock. Anxious suspense hung on both sides as they were stretching over the field, and the silence of the moment was such that the full crash of the collision entered every listening ear, however distant. Loud and exulting cheers from the Scottish lines, which, though they came so far, altogether drowned the uncouth sounds of dismay that ran along the walls of Newcastle, proclaimed the success of the Douglas, whose resistless arm, nerved[431]with a strength that few men could boast, bore the no less gallant Hotspur clean out of his saddle, though, owing to his adroitness in covering his person against his adversary’s point, he was hardly if at all wounded.The band of English knights who attended him, forgetting the nature of the combat, as well as the express orders they had received from Piersie, saw their adored leader on the green sward, and thinking only of the jeopardy he lay in, began shouting—“Hotspur, Hotspur, to the rescue!” and ere the bold Douglas could well check the furious career of his horse, he was in the midst of a phalanx of his advancing foes. Abandoning his ponderous lance, he grasped the enormous mace that hung at his saddle-bow, and bestirred himself with it so lustily that three or four of the English chevaliers were in as many seconds dashed from their seats to the earth, in plight so grievous that there was but little chance of their ever filling them again. But the throng about the hero was so great, and their blows rained so thickly and heavily upon him, that his destruction must have been inevitable long ere his own band could have reached him, had not the noble Hotspur, whom some of his people were by this time carrying hurriedly away, called out to the knights of his party in a voice of command that was rarely disobeyed—“Touch not the Douglas—harm not a hair of his head, as ye would hope for heaven. What, would ye assault at such odds the brave Douglas, who hath relied on the word of a Piersie? Shame, shame on ye, gentlemen. Your zeal for Hotspur’s safety came not well at this time for Hotspur’s honour. Trust me, his life stood in no peril with so chivalric a foe.”Awed and ashamed by these chiding words, the English knights fell back abashed, and made way for the valiant Douglas, who emerged from among them like a hunted lion from among the pack of puny hounds who have vainly baited him.“Halt! chevaliers,” cried he, rising in his saddle, and raising his right arm, as he in his turn addressed his own band, who were pouring furiously down on the English knights, shouting, “Douglas, Douglas, to the rescue!” “Halt,” cried he again, “halt, in the name of St. Andrew! Let the gallant Hotspur retreat in peace. I blame not him for this small mistake of his trusty followers, the which, after all, was but an excusable error of affection. And as for thee, Piersie, I thank thee for thy courtesy. Depardieux, thou hast proved thyself to be brave as honourable and honourable as brave. Can I say more? By the honour of knighthood, thou hast proved thyself to be Harry[432]Piersie, and in that name all that is excellent in chivalry is centred. The chance hath been mine now; it may be thine anon, if it do so please Heaven. Get thee to refresh thyself then, for we shall forthwith beat up thy quarters with a stiffer stoure than any thou hast yet endured.”“Douglas,” cried Piersie, who was by this time remounted, “Douglas, thou art all, and more than all that minstrels have called thee. Farewell, till we again meet, and may our meeting be speedy.”With these parting words, the two leaders wheeled off their respective bands.Immediately after the Earl of Douglas had returned to the camp, a council of war was held, and, after a short deliberation, preparations were made for instantly assaulting and scaling the fortifications. The army was drawn out from its entrenchments and was led to the attack arranged in three divisions. The Earl of Douglas, attended by the little chosen band of knights who had that day vowed him their special service, led on the central body directly against the barriers. The right and left wings, commanded by the Earls of Dunbar and Moray, marched on steadily, to attempt the storm of the walls at two several points on each side of the gates, in defiance of a heavy shower of arrows from the English bowmen, mingled with some weightier missiles from the balistæ, which sorely galled them, and which they could but ill return with their cross-bows. Each of these flanking divisions covered the approach of a number of wains, laden with hay and straw collected from the neighbouring country; and so soon as they had come near enough to the fortifications, a signal was given, the wains were brought suddenly forward, and hurled one over another into the ditch, so as in many places to fill it up, and admit of the ladders being raised against the wall with great success. The Scottish soldiers rent the air with their shouts, and wielding their destructive battle-axes, rushed like furies to the escalade. But the English were so well prepared, and defended themselves so manfully that they beat back the assailants at every point, and soon succeeded in setting fire to the combustible materials in the ditch, by throwing down lighted brands, so that all hope of forcing an entrance in that way was soon at an end.Meanwhile the Douglas forcibly assaulted the wooden barriers that defended the entrance to the town; and Piersie and his chivalry, who were immediately within them, no sooner heard the war-cry of “Douglas, Douglas! jamaisarrière!” than, collecting themselves into one great body, they rushed out on[433]the Scottish forces with so resistless an impetus, that nothing could withstand the fury of the stream. Douglas and his troops were borne away like trees of the forest before some bursting torrent. But no sooner had the English spread themselves out upon the plain like exhausted waters, than the voice of the Scottish hero was heard above all the clang of the battle, cheering his men to the charge, and his superb figure, exalted on his black courser, was seen towering onwards against the slackening foe, gathering the firmest Scottish hearts around him as he went.The English now in their turn gave back; but Harry Piersie, recovered from his stunning fall, mounted on a fresh roan, and, surrounded by the brave knights by whom he was formerly attended, restored their courage both by his voice and example. Shouts of “Piersie, Piersie!” and “Douglas, Douglas!” arose from different parts of the field, and were re-echoed from the walls. At length the two leaders caught a glimpse of each other amid the volumes of smoke that, tinged by the setting sun, were rolling along the ground from the blazing straw, which the descending damps of evening now hardly permitted to rise into the air.“Ha, Douglas, have I found thee at last?” cried Piersie, turning towards him.“Trust me, ’twas no fault of mine that we met not sooner, Harry Piersie,” cried Douglas, spurring to encounter him with his mace, his lance having been shivered in the melee.There was time for no more words. Piersie ran his lance at the Douglas as he came on, who with wonderful dexterity turned it aside, and catching it in his hand, endeavoured to wrench it from his owner. Piersie’s embroidered pennon was waving from the spear head. Douglas snatched at it, but his adversary disappointed him, by forcing up the point, and each retaining his grasp, they were now drawn together into close contact. The little silken trifle, utterly worthless in itself, glittered like a child’s bauble over their heads; but if it had been a kingdom they were contending for, they could not have been more eagerly set on the contest. Each forgetful of the defence of his own life, put forth all his strength and skill, the one to obtain what he considered so glorious a prize, and the other to keep what he thought it would be so disgraceful to lose, and what, moreover, he so much valued, for the sake of her whose taper fingers had interwoven its golden threads. The struggle was strong, but it was short in duration, for the iron hands of Douglas snapt the slim ashen shaft in twain, and in an instant he held up[434]the broken lance, and waved the pennon triumphantly over his head.“The Piersie’s pennon! recover the Piersie’s pennon!” was the instant cry, and the English crowded to assist Hotspur, led on by Sir Rafe Piersie.At that moment a body of Scottish lances, headed by Sir Patrick Hepborne, came pouring down in tremendous charge, shouting “Douglas, Douglas!” and dividing the two combatants as they swept onwards, they bore away the Piersies and the English before them to the very barriers, where the press of the combat was so hot, that they were soon compelled to retreat within their palisadoes, and to close up their defences. The partial breathing of an instant ensued, during which Douglas looked eagerly for Hotspur, and at length having descried him over the pales—“By St. Andrew,” he cried, rising in his stirrups, and again waving the captured pennon high in the air, “I have good reason, Harry Piersie, to be thankful for the glorious issue of this bicker. Trust me, I value this pennon of thine above all the spoil of Newcastle, nay, or of an hundred such towns. I shall bear it with me into Scotland, fair Sir, in token of our encounter; and in remembrance of thy prowess, I do promise thee it shall grace the proudest pinnacle of my Castle of Dalkeith.”“Be assured, Douglas,” replied Piersie courteously, though with manifest signs of great vexation, “ye shall not bear it over the Border; nay, ye shall not pass the bounds of this county till ye be met withal in such wise that ye shall make none avaunte thereof.”“Well, brave Sir,” replied the Earl of Douglas, “it shall be set up before my pavilion this night; so come thither to seek for thy pennon, and take it thence if thou canst; till then, farewell.”The Lord Douglas turned away, proudly bearing his trophy; and the night was now approaching, and all hopes of succeeding in the assault being at an end, he ordered the retreat to be sounded, and collecting his forces, he retired behind his trenches.The Scottish troops were no sooner withdrawn than Hotspur, smarting under the stinging disgrace of the loss of his pennon, summoned a council of war, in which he bravely proposed to lead on the English troops to a night attack against the Scottish entrenchments. This proposition was warmly supported by Sir Rafe Piersie, who participated largely in his brother’s injured feelings; but an opinion prevailing among the English knights[435]that the Earl of Douglas’s party was but the Scottish vanguard, and that the large army, of which they had heard so much, was hovering at no great distance, ready to avail itself of any imprudent step they might take, very generally opposed his wishes.“Sir,” said the prudent Seneschal of York, who was present, and who seemed to speak as the organ of the rest, “there fortuneth in war oftentimes many chances. Another day thou mayest gain greater advantage of Earl Douglas than he hath this day won of thee. Let us not peril the cause of England for a paltry pennon, when the power of Scotland is abroad. Who knoweth but this empty skirmish of theirs may be a snare to lure us out to destruction? Better is it to lose a pennon than two or three hundred brave knights and squires, and to lay our country at the mercy of these invading foemen.”Though some of the young and impetuous, and even the old Sir Walter de Selby, showed symptoms of being disposed to support the plan proposed by the Hotspur, yet this prudent counsel was so generally applauded, that, though boiling inwardly with indignation at their apathy, he was compelled to yield with the best face he could, while his lip was visibly curled with a smile of ineffable contempt for what he considered their pusillanimity.“What a hollow flock of craven pullets, brother Rafe!” said he, giving way to a burst of passionate vexation after the council had broke up, and they were left alone. “What, a paltry pennon, saidst thou, Sir Seneschal? May thy tongue be blistered for the word! Depardieux, were it not unwise to stir up evil blood among us at such a time, I would make him eat it, old as he is, and difficult as he might find the digestion of it. Oh, is’t not bitter penance, brother Rafe, for falcons such as we are to be mewed up with such a set of grey geese? By Heaven, it is enough to brutify the noble spirit we do inherit from our sires. What will the Douglas, I pr’ythee, think of Harry Hotspur, now that after all his vaunts he cometh not out to-night to give him the camisado in his tent, and to pluck his pennon from the disgraceful soil in the which it doth now grow so vilely? But, by St. George, though I should be obliged to go with no more than our vassals, I will catch the Douglas ere he quits Northumberland, and I will have my pennon again or die in the taking of it.”The Douglas was well prepared to give Harry Piersie a welcome had circumstances enabled him to have paid his visit to the Scottish camp before they broke up from Newcastle. The[436]sentinels were so stationed that the whole army would have been alarmed and under arms in a few minutes. His sleep was therefore as sound as if he had been in his own Castle of Dalkeith, though he slept in his armour, that he might be ready to meet the foe on the first rouse.“Well, my trusty esquires,” said he to Robert Hart and Simon Glendinning, as they came to wait on him in the morning, “doth Harry Piersie’s pennon still flutter where these hands did place it yesternight?”“Yea, my good Lord,” replied Glendinning, “thy challenge hath gone unheeded.”“Nay, then, we bide no longer for him here,” said Douglas; “an he will have it now, he must come after us to take it. Are my Lords Moray and Dunbar astir?”“They are, my Lord,” replied Hart.“Go to them, then, Robert, and tell them, that with their leave we shall march anon. But, by St. Andrew, there shall be no appearance of unseemly haste. Let the sun, that saw the Piersie’s pennon planted yesternight ere he did go to bed, be suffered to look upon it for some time after he be well risen again, so that we may not be accused of being more dexterous in carrying off our prey than bold in defending it.”The little Scottish army broke up from their encampment with as much composure as if they had been in a friendly country, and marched leisurely off with loud cheers. Harry Piersie was on the wall, and his blood boiled at the very sound.“By the holy St. Cuthbert, they mock me,” cried he, his face flushing with anger; “ay, an well may they too,” continued he, striking his forehead. “Oh, I could leap over these walls from very despite. By the mass, their numbers are naught; see how small their columns appear; already the last of them are gone; oh, is it not enow to drive me to madness!”—and, dashing his mailed foot to the ground, he turned away to gnaw his nails with vexation.After taking two or three turns with his brother along the rampart, he suddenly called for an esquire, and ordered him to procure some intelligent scouts; to these he gave orders to follow the Scottish line of march, and to bring him frequent and accurate intelligence of their numbers, their route, and all their actions; and, having taken this precaution, he and Sir Rafe Piersie continued to pace the walls by themselves, giving vent, from time to time, to their indignation and disappointment, in abrupt sentences addressed to each other. During that day and the evening following it, large reinforcements of troops poured[437]into Newcastle, from different quarters of the circumjacent country; and the stronger Hotspur found himself, the more impatient he became to make use of his strength.“Ay, ay, see where they come; see where they come, brother Rafe,” said he in a pettish tone. “But what come they for, an we have them not in the field? Depardieux, from the careless guise and strutting gait of some of these butter-headed burghers, and clod-pated churls, meseems as if they came more to parade it in a fair than to fight.”“If we can but get them once into the field,” said Sir Rafe Piersie, “by all that is good, we shall teach the knaves another bearing and another step.”“Ay, marry, would that we but had them in the field, indeed,” replied Hotspur; “the very smell of battle hath a marvellous virtue in it, and doth oftentimes convert the veriest dolt into a hero. Of such fellows as these men, one might make rare engines for recovering a lost pennon, yea, as of finer clay. Would we but had them fit the proof. But a plague upon these cautious seniors of the council, methinks my patience was miraculous; nay, in truth, most miraculous, to hear that old driveller talk of my paltry pennon, and not to dash my gauntlet in his teeth for the word.”“Nay, I could hardly keep my hands down,” cried Sir Rafe Piersie. “Methinks our blood must be cooling, or else even his age should have been no protection.”“’Tis better as it is, Rafe,” replied Hotspur; “but why tarry these scouts of mine? I shall fret me to death ere they return. Why are we not blessed with the power of seeing what doth pass afar off? Had I this faculty, how would mine eyes soar over the Douglas and my pennon!”In such talk as this the brothers wasted great part of the night. The impatient Hotspur was kept in suspense until next morning, when, much to his relief, the arrival of the wearied scouts was announced to him. He ordered them instantly into his presence, and having closely interrogated them, he soon gathered from them all the intelligence he wanted.The Earl of Douglas had marched slowly and circumspectly, and although his little army had sufficiently marked his course, by plundering and burning whatever came in its way, the troops had not been suffered to spread far to the right or left. They halted at Pontland, and took and burnt the town and castle, making prisoner of Sir Aymer de Athele, who defended it. Thence they marched to Otterbourne, where they encamped, apparently with the intention of besieging the castle of that[438]name next day. The scouts also brought certain information that the Scots did not amount to more than three thousand men-at-arms, and three or four hundred lances, and that the main body of the army was nowhere in the neighbourhood, but still lying indolently on the Western Marches. Full of these particulars, Hotspur, with a bounding heart, again summoned the council of war, and bringing in his scouts, he made them tell their own story.“What say ye now, gentlemen?” cried he with a triumphant air; “was I right, or not? By the Rood, I was at least wrong to listen to the cold caution of some few frozen heads here; for, an I mistake not the general voice of the council yesterday was with me. We mought have spared these Scots many a weary mile of march, I ween. By St. George, they were a mere handful for us, a mere handful; not a man of them should have escaped us; ay, and such a price should they have paid for the ruin they have wrought on these fine counties, that Scotland should have quaked for a century at the very thought of setting foot across the Border.”“Frozen heads, didst thou say, Sir Harry Piersie?” demanded the Seneschal of York calmly; “methinks that thy meaning would be to accuse those frozen heads of being leagued with frozen hearts; but let me tell thee, Hotspur, where snow is shed on the poll we may look for a cool judgment; and if a cool, then probably a wise judgment.”“Pshaw!” said Hotspur, half aside to his brother; “this fusty utterer of worn-out saws and everyday wisdom goadeth me beyond all bearing; yet must I temper mine answer. Trust me, I meant not to impeach thine ordinary judgment, Sir Seneschal,” continued he aloud, “though I do think that it did for once err grievously in our yesterday’s council. But let us not talk of this. I am now here to tell ye, gentlemen, that, by the faith I owe to God, and to my Lord my father, go who list with me, I shall now go seek for my pennon, and give Lord Douglas the camisado this night at Otterbourne; yea, by St. George, though I should do it without other aid than that of my brother Rafe, and the faithful vassals of the Piersie. What, am I to put up, think ye, with the loss of my pennon, and the disgrace of our house and name? By heaven, though it were but a hair’s-breadth of the hem of my Lady’s mantle, the Douglas should not carry it into Scotland. But if disgrace doth attend the losing of Hotspur’s pennon, depardieux, let it be borne by those who, calling themselves his friends, will not yield him their help to retake it; for Hotspur is resolved to wipe off shame from himself[439]—he will follow his pennon to the Orcades, yea, pluck it from their most northern cape, or fall in the attempt. Disgrace shall never cleave to Hotspur.”“No, nor to Rafe Piersie neither,” cried his brother. “Let those who fear to follow stay at home. We shall on together, hand in hand, and seize the pennon, though grim death held its shaft; yea, paltry as it may be thought, it shall be the sun on whose beams our dying eyes shall close. Let us on then.”The loud murmurs of applause which arose from among the younger knights manifested how much they sympathized with the feelings of the Piersies. But the old Seneschal of York again put in his word of prudence.“Gentlemen,” said he, “I see that, in speaking as I must do, I shall have but few to agree with me, yet must I natheless freely speak my mind, more especially as I do perceive that those knights who, like myself, have seen more years of warfare than the rest, do seem disposed to think with me. I must confess, that, albeit some potent reasons do now cease to war with your opinion, mine is but little altered. Meseems it still is an especial risk to move so far from garrison after an uncertain enemy, for a mere shred of silk and gold.”“A shred of silk and gold!” exclaimed Sir Walter de Selby. “What, dost thou not think that all England is disgraced by this triumph of the Scottish Douglas over the Hotspur? And dost thou regard nought but the shred of silk and gold? Talk not of the old ones, I pray thee, Sir Seneschal of York. Trust me, old as is Sir Walter de Selby, he shall never rest idle whilst gallant deeds are adoing to wipe off a foul stain from the name of England. Be it death or victory, he shall have his share on’t.”“Thy hand, my brave old soldier,” cried both the Piersies at once.“Thou shalt go with us,” exclaimed Hotspur; “though thine years might have well excused thee leaving thine own Castle of Norham, yet hast thou come hither; yea, and thou shalt now forward with us to the field, were it but to show how the noble fire of a warlike soul may burn through the thickest snows of age.”“Nay, then,” said the Seneschal of York, “thou shalt see, Sir Harry Piersie, that albeit I do advise caution, yet shall I do my part as well as others, when my words do cease to avail aught; yet would I fain have thee tarry until thou art joined by the Bishop of Durham, who is looked for with his force this night.”[440]“What, while we can muster eight thousand good soldiers without him, and six hundred gallant lances? Shall we wait for the Bishop, and so permit the Scots to ’scape from our vengeance? Nay, nay, let’s to horse, my brave friends; my heart swells at the thought of reaping so glorious a field. Let’s to horse without delay, if your blood be English.”Hotspur’s call was hailed with loud approval, and the brave though cautious Seneschal, seeing that it was in vain to urge more, joined heartily with the rest in getting the army under arms, and in hastening the march.The Scots had begun to sound their bugles at an early hour that morning, and to assault the Castle of Otterbourne, and they wasted the whole of the day in unsuccessful attempts against it. A council of war being held in the evening, it was found that there were cautious heads among the Scotch as well as among the English knights. Some of those who spoke were of opinion that they should abandon all further attempts against the Castle, and march forward towards Scotland. But the Earl of Douglas opposed this.“What, my brave Lords and Knights of Scotland,” cried he with energy, “would ye give Harry Piersie cause to say that we have stolen this pennon of his? Let us not creep away with it like thieves in the dark; nay, rather let us show these Southerns that we do earnestly covet their promised visit to us. Let us, I pray ye, tarry here for some two or three days at least; we shall find occupation enough in beleaguering and taking of this Castle hard by, the which is assuredly pregnable to bold and persevering men, and will yield us the more honour that it be strong. Then shall Hotspur have leisure to bethink himself how he may best come to fetch his pennon; and if it should so list him to come, depardieux, he may take my banner too, if he can.”The old and the cautious hardly in secret approved this counsel; but so much was the heroic Douglas the idol of all, that his wishes were of themselves enough to determine the resolution of those who heard him. Measures were accordingly taken for securing the army against surprise, and for rendering their camp as strong as circumstances would allow; and seeing that they were to remain for so much longer a time than they at first imagined, the soldiers hastily threw up huts, composed of sods and branches of trees, to give them better shelter. The baggage-wains and baggage, with the wainmen, sutlers, and other followers of the army, were stationed so as to block up the approach to the camp; and their position was so defended by[441]morasses and woods, flanking it on either side, as to render it almost unassailable. At some distance from this, the troops were encamped on the slope of a hill, and the wooded rising grounds on either hand contributed to form defences which left it open to attack nowhere but in front, and even there only after the outwork formed by the baggage at a distance in the meadow below should be broken through.Earl Douglas said little to those around him, but made his various dispositions with the cool and skilful eye of an expert commander. He surveyed the ground with thoughtful attention, as the sun was setting bright on the hill. It glanced upon Piersie’s pennon, that fluttered as if idly impatient of its captivity beside the large banner of Scotland, the heavy drapery of which, drooping to the ground in ample folds, hung in silent and majestic dignity, unruffled by the gentle evening breeze. He thought on the Hotspur and his threats—on the violence and impotence of man’s passions—on the actual insignificance of the object which had so stirred up himself and Harry Piersie, compared with the number and value of the lives of those who might soon be called on to fight for it to the death. He mused on the peaceful quiet that now hung over the scene, and of the change that in a few short hours it might undergo; on the change, above all, that might affect many of those brave hearts which were now beating high with the pulses of life, eager to return to their native soil, and to fulfil schemes of future happiness, never, perhaps, to be realized.“There is something solemn and grand in the stillness of this lovely evening,” said the Douglas at last to the Earl of Moray, who was with him. “The parting radiance of day in yonder western sky might make us fancy that the earth was yblent with heaven. Why might we not pass to that long-wished-for country on those slanting rays of glory, without intervening death, or the penitential pains of purgatory?”“’Tis a whimsical conceit, brother,” replied Moray with a smile; “but why, I pray thee, are thy thoughts so employed at a time like this?”“I will tell thee,” said Douglas gravely. “I know not why it is, but my memory hath been at this time visited by the recollection of a strange dream I once had, and which, long forgotten, doth now arise to me afresh with all its circumstances. Methought I was sitting on a hill side, when, all at once, I beheld a furious battle on the plain of the valley below. One side was led by a figure the which I was conscious bore striking resemblance to mine own. He rushed to the fight, but was quickly[442]pierced with three lances at once, and fell dead on the field. Dismay began to fasten on his army, and defeat appeared certain, when the dead corpse of the knight arose, and, towering to a height ten-fold greater than it had when alive, moved with the solemn step of the grave towards the foe. The shout of victory arose from those who were about to yield, and their enemies were dispersed like chaff before the wind, when the giant figure and all vanished from my fancy’s eye.”“Strange!” cried Moray, his attention grappled by this singular communication from the Douglas.“Thou canst never believe me to be a driveller, Moray,” continued Douglas, without noticing his brother-in-law’s interruption, “far less one whom the approach of death may affright. Death must succeed life, as the night doth follow the day, and we who can know little how much of our day is gone, must be prepared to couch as decently when and where the night doth overtake us.”“Nay, Douglas,” said Moray, again interrupting him, “I well wot that those grave sayings of thine are anything but the offspring of a quailing heart; I know that they are begotten by thy dauntless and well-grounded courage that doth accustom itself to survey death at all times, in thought as well as in field, till thou has converted his grim image into the familiar figure of a friend. Yet why should such thoughts find harbour with thee now? Harry Piersie, if he do come at all for his pennon, will hardly be here to-night.”“I think not of the Piersie,” said Douglas, taking Moray’s hand, and warmly pressing it between his, while a tear glistened in his manly eye, “I think not of the Piersie or his pennon; but promise me now, when mine hour hath come, and I shall have gloriously fallen in battle, as I well trust may be my fate, that thou wilt yield thine especial protection, and thy love and cherisaunce, to my widowed Margaret. I need not tell thee what she hath been to me. Our brother-in-law Fife is cold, and calculating, and politic, yea, and heartless. He doth aim at the Regency, and he will doubtless gain his end. Margaret is his much-loved sister while she is the proud wife of Douglas; but trust me, little of her brother’s sunshine will fall upon her widow’s weeds. Be it thine, then, to be her prop and comfort. I well know that the warmth of thy Margery’s love will go hand in hand with thee. I am a man, Moray—we are both men—why should we be ashamed of a few tears shed at a moment like this?”“Nay, but Douglas, why shouldst thou talk thus?” said[443]Moray. “Fate may call for my life first, and then thou wilt have those duties to perform for Margery the which thou dost now claim from me for her sister.”“Nay,” replied Douglas, with ominous seriousness of aspect. “Yet be it so,” said he, after a pause; “do thou but listen to my sad humour. Mine attached Lundie doth well deserve thy care; see that he do meet with that advancement his piety to God and his devotion to me hath so well merited. And then as for my gallant Archibald, my brave esquires Hart and Glendinning, and my faithful shield-bearer Hop Pringle, they have already carved out a shining reputation for themselves; yet do thou never let it be forgotten that they have been faithful followers of the Douglas.”“Canst thou believe that the name of Douglas can ever lose its potent charm?” exclaimed the Earl of Moray with energy, yet deeply affected; “or canst thou doubt that to me thy will must ever be a sacred law? But why should we now talk of matters so sad?” continued he, endeavouring to rally his own spirits as well as those of Douglas; “the banquet doth abide us in thy pavilion yonder, and the lords and knights of Scotland do doubtless wait for thee there, in obedience to thine invitation.”“I had forgotten,” said Douglas, resuming his usual cheerful countenance. “Let us then attune our spirits to mirth and joyous manly converse, sith we have discussed these melancholy themes. Allons, let us to the banquet—such banquet as the rude cookery of the field may furnish.”It was at this time that Rory Spears, having collected a little knot of friends about him, thus addressed them—“Captain MacErchar, and you most worthy esquires, Masters Mortimer Sang and Roger Riddel, yea, and you, brave Robin Lindsay and Ralpho Proudfoot, and the rest, who are nobly ettling to rise by your deeds as others hae done afore ye—ahem—panting after that most honourable honour and dignified dignity of an esquire, I do hereby invite ye all to go down wi’ me to the baggage-camp and sutlerages, whaur we may find comfortable and cozy houf in a braw new bigget sodden hostel, yereckit for the accommodation o’ Dame Margaret MacCleareye’s yill-barrels and yill-customers, and there, at my proper expense, to eat the bit supper I bid her prepare as I came up the hill, and to drink till ye hae weel wet the honours, the which, descending on mine unworthy head from the gallant Hotspur (whose health we shall not fail to drink, albeit we may yet hope to hae the cleaving o’ his skull), have been approven of by our noble Lord of Douglas, and by mine especial dear Lord of[444]Moray, for both of whom we are not only bound to drink to the dead, but to fight to the dead.”“Oich, hoich, Maister Spears, surely, surely—he, he, he!” cried MacErchar.“Bravo, Master Spears, I shall willingly go with thy squireship,” cried Sang; “nay, and never trust me an I do not my best honour to thine entertainment.”“Squire Spears, I am thine,” cried Roger Riddel; and the rest all heartily joining in ready acquiescence in his invitation, they followed Rory joyously down the hill in a body.

[Contents]CHAPTER LVIII.Combat between Douglas and Hotspur—The Fight for the Pennon.As the Earl of Douglas was sitting in his pavilion, in conversation with his chaplain, Richard Lundie, on the second day of his being before Newcastle, a squire in waiting announced to him that one of Lord Moray’s men wished to have a private interview with him.“Give him entrance speedily,” said the Douglas, “his business may be of moment. He seeth me in private when he seeth me alone with him who knoweth mine inmost soul.”The squire bowed and retired, and immediately returned to introduce—Rory Spears.“Rory Spears!” exclaimed the Douglas; “what hath brought thee hither, and what hath my brother of Moray to tell my private ear through thy mouth? Thou art not the messenger he is used to send between us for such affairs. Were it a matter of wood or river craft, indeed, we might both recognize thee as a right trusty and merry ambassador; but at this time we have other game upon our hands. What hath Lord Moray to say?”“My Lord Yearl o’ Douglas, naebody kens whaur gowd lies till it be howkit out,” replied Rory, with an obeisance. “Albeit that thou and the Yearl o’ Moray, my noble master, have never[427]yet discovered my talents that way, it proveth not that I do lack them. He who is stranger to the soil may chance to divine that, the which he who owneth it hath never dreamt of; and he——”“What doth all this tend to, Rory Spears?” demanded the Earl of Douglas, interrupting him rather impatiently. “Trust me, though I may have trifled with thee at Tarnawa, this is no time for such idlesse.”“Bide a wee, my Lord Yearl, bide a wee,” said Rory, with great composure; “call it not trifling till thou art possessed of the value of what I have to effunde unto thee. I was going to tell thee that he who doth own a man like me, ay, or a horse beast, for instance, may ken less o’ his qualifications than he who doth see him but for a gliff.”“But what hath all this to do with thy message from Moray to me?” cried the Douglas.“Nought at all, my Lord Yearl,” replied Rory, “for I hae no message frae him. But,” added he, assuming an air of unusual importance, “it hath much to do, I rauckon, with the embassage the which I am at this moment charged with by the Hotspur.”“The Hotspur—thou charged with a message from the Hotspur!—How can that be? Quick—try not my patience longer; where hast thou encountered the Hotspur?” exclaimed the Douglas eagerly.Rory proceeded to give the Earl a sketch of the history of his capture, as well as of his being sent for by Sir Harry Piersie.“He telled me, my Lord Yearl o’ Douglas,” continued he, “that he heard I confessed mysel to be ane esquire o’ the Yearl o’ Moray’s. I didna daur to contradick Hotspur, the mair because I am in a manner the Yearl’s henchman. ‘I hae made yelection o’ thee,’ said he to me, ‘as the fittest man for my job amang a’ the Scottish prisoners in Newcastle. Thou art to bear a message of importance frae me to the gallant Douglas. Tell him Hotspur hath had the renommie o’ his prowess rung in his lugs till the din hath stirred up his inmost soul and made his very heart yearn to encounter sae mokell bravery. Yet hath my evil fortune so willed it,’ quoth he, ‘that though I have sought him unceasing for these two days, yet have I never had the chance to meet him hand to hand.’ ”“Nay, and God wot, I have not been wanting in my search after the noble Hotspur,” replied Douglas with energy. “But what said he more?”“ ‘Get thee to the Douglas, Sir Squire,’ said he to me.[428]‘Tell him that I do entreat him, for the love he bears to chivalry, that he may so order his next assault that I may not fail to meet him in person. Be the manner and terms of our encounter of his own fixing, and let him trust to the word of a Piersie for their fulfilment on this side, as I shall to the unbroken faith of a Douglas. Bear this to him, Sir Squire, and take thy liberty and this golden chain for thy guerdon.’ ”“Bravo, Harry Hotspur!” cried the Douglas, rising from his seat, whilst his eyes flashed fire from the joyous tumult of his heroic spirit; “bravo, brave heart! trust me thou shalt not lack thy desire. Quick—let me hasten to reply to the gallant Piersie’s challenge with that promptness the which it doth so well merit. My most faithful and attached Lundie,” continued he, addressing his chaplain,—“get thee to the provost, if thou lovest me, and use thy good judgment to choose me out from among our English prisoners one who may be best fitted for being the bearer of mine answer. Let him be an esquire, for we would rather surpass than fall short of Hotspur’s courtesy.”“Nay, an ye would surpass the courtesy of the gallant Hotspur,” said Rory, who stood by, “ye maun e’en send him a knight, for he did send thee ane esquire,—ay, and ane esquire with a golden chain round his craig.”“Right,” cried the Douglas in the fulness of his joy—“right, Squire Rory Spears; for esquire thou shalt hereafter be, sith it hath pleased Harry Piersie to make thee so. And if a knight is not to be had, by St. Andrew I’ll make one for the purpose of this embassage.”“Hear ye, Maister Ritchie Lundie,” cried Rory; “I take thee witness that my Lord the Yearl o’ Douglas hath allowed me the rank the which the noble Hotspur did confer on me when I did act as his ambassador. Let not this escape thy memory”.“Fear thee not, Rory Spears,” said the Douglas; “I shall myself see that thine honours shall be duly recognized.”Lundie soon returned with an English esquire, selected from among the prisoners. The Earl of Douglas made Rory repeat over in his presence the message of which he had been the bearer from Hotspur.“And now, Sir Squire,” said Douglas, “thou hast heard the wish of that gallant leader, the noble Hotspur. Be thou the bearer of mine answer. Tell Sir Harry Piersie that for a man to have oped his eyes at noon-day without beholding the light of heaven would have been as easy as to have had ears without their being filled with the renowned achievements of the flower of English chivalry. The Douglas burns to meet him; and that[429]time may in no wise be lost, but each forthwith have his desire, tell him that the Douglas will be on the field anon with fifty lances. Let Sir Harry Piersie come forth with a like number at his back, and let this be the understanding between the parties, that both escorts halt within view of each other, and that both knights singly run a career with grounden spears at the outrance, the knights to be left to themselves. Be thou, I say, the bearer of these terms and conditions; but ere thou goest vouchsafe me thy name.”“My name is Thomas Scrope, so please thee, my Lord,” replied the esquire.“Within there,” said the Douglas; “call in my knights and officers. And now, Sir Squire,” said he, after the pavilion was filled, and he had given some necessary orders, “kneel down on this cushion, that before this brilliant knot of Scottish chivalry I may do due honour to him who is to bear my message to the Hotspur.” The English esquire obeyed. The Douglas ordered a pair of golden spurs to be buckled on his heels by the hands of the two eldest Scottish knights present. They then belted him with a magnificent sword, a gift from the Earl, who immediately bestowed on him the accolade, saying—“I dub thee Knight, in the name of God and St. Michael; be faithful, bold, and fortunate. And now rise up, Sir Thomas Scrope.”Astounded and confused with this unlooked-for honour, the newly-created knight but awkwardly received the congratulations which poured in on him from those present. The Douglas himself conducted him to the door, where a noble horse, fully caparisoned, awaited him.“Get thee to saddle, then, Sir Thomas Scrope,” cried he, “and tarry not till thou hast possessed the Hotspur of our reply to his message. Say more—that if he liketh not the terms let him name conditions of his own, to the which I do hereby agree par avance; and let me have them forthwith, for in an hour hence I shall be in the field in front of these lines. God speed thee, Sir Thomas.”“Might it not have been better, my Lord,” said Richard Lundie, after they were again alone, “might it not have been better to have taken a new sun to gild so glorious a combat? The day is already far spent.”“Yea, it is so,” replied the Douglas; “but to-morrow we move hence from this idle warfare, and I would not willingly go without proving the metal of the gallant Hotspur, so ’tis as well that his impatience be gratified.”[430]The bruit of the coming encounter spread like wild-fire through the camp, and the whole chivalry within its circuit pressed forward to be admitted of the chosen band who were to witness the onset of the two bravest knights in Christendom. Lord Douglas’s difficulty was how to select so as to avoid giving offence, and he required all his judgment to manage this. Sir Patrick Hepborne had the good fortune to be one of those who were admitted into the honourable ranks.When the gay little cohort of mounted lances were drawn forth in array, and the Douglas’s banner was displayed, the stout Earl sprang on a powerful black war-horse, that had neighed and pranced whilst he was held by two esquires, but that became quiet and gentle as a lamb when backed by his heroic master. The whole Scottish line turned out to gaze, and shouts of applause arose that re-echoed from the walls of Newcastle. Immediately afterwards Sir Harry Piersie appeared before the barriers of the town, mounted on a milk-white steed, and as Douglas, even at that distance, could perceive that his escort was of similar strength and description to his own, he had the satisfaction of thinking that the terms he had proposed had been accepted. The fortifications were soon covered by the garrison, who crowded to behold the combat, and the Scottish cheers were loudly returned by the English. A trumpet call from the Piersie band was instantly returned by one from that of Lord Douglas, who immediately gave the word for his knights to advance, whilst he rode forward so as to gain a position about fifty yards in front of them, that he might be the better seen by the opposite party. Having brought up his escort to a point sufficiently near (as he judged) for the arrangement agreed on, he halted them, and ordered them to remain steady, whilst he continued to approach until he came within a due distance for running his course against Hotspur, who had also come forward a considerable way before his attendants.The trumpets from both bands sounded nearly at once, as if by mutual consent—both knights couched their lances—their armed heels made the blood spring from the sides of their coursers—and they flew like two thunderbolts towards the shock. Anxious suspense hung on both sides as they were stretching over the field, and the silence of the moment was such that the full crash of the collision entered every listening ear, however distant. Loud and exulting cheers from the Scottish lines, which, though they came so far, altogether drowned the uncouth sounds of dismay that ran along the walls of Newcastle, proclaimed the success of the Douglas, whose resistless arm, nerved[431]with a strength that few men could boast, bore the no less gallant Hotspur clean out of his saddle, though, owing to his adroitness in covering his person against his adversary’s point, he was hardly if at all wounded.The band of English knights who attended him, forgetting the nature of the combat, as well as the express orders they had received from Piersie, saw their adored leader on the green sward, and thinking only of the jeopardy he lay in, began shouting—“Hotspur, Hotspur, to the rescue!” and ere the bold Douglas could well check the furious career of his horse, he was in the midst of a phalanx of his advancing foes. Abandoning his ponderous lance, he grasped the enormous mace that hung at his saddle-bow, and bestirred himself with it so lustily that three or four of the English chevaliers were in as many seconds dashed from their seats to the earth, in plight so grievous that there was but little chance of their ever filling them again. But the throng about the hero was so great, and their blows rained so thickly and heavily upon him, that his destruction must have been inevitable long ere his own band could have reached him, had not the noble Hotspur, whom some of his people were by this time carrying hurriedly away, called out to the knights of his party in a voice of command that was rarely disobeyed—“Touch not the Douglas—harm not a hair of his head, as ye would hope for heaven. What, would ye assault at such odds the brave Douglas, who hath relied on the word of a Piersie? Shame, shame on ye, gentlemen. Your zeal for Hotspur’s safety came not well at this time for Hotspur’s honour. Trust me, his life stood in no peril with so chivalric a foe.”Awed and ashamed by these chiding words, the English knights fell back abashed, and made way for the valiant Douglas, who emerged from among them like a hunted lion from among the pack of puny hounds who have vainly baited him.“Halt! chevaliers,” cried he, rising in his saddle, and raising his right arm, as he in his turn addressed his own band, who were pouring furiously down on the English knights, shouting, “Douglas, Douglas, to the rescue!” “Halt,” cried he again, “halt, in the name of St. Andrew! Let the gallant Hotspur retreat in peace. I blame not him for this small mistake of his trusty followers, the which, after all, was but an excusable error of affection. And as for thee, Piersie, I thank thee for thy courtesy. Depardieux, thou hast proved thyself to be brave as honourable and honourable as brave. Can I say more? By the honour of knighthood, thou hast proved thyself to be Harry[432]Piersie, and in that name all that is excellent in chivalry is centred. The chance hath been mine now; it may be thine anon, if it do so please Heaven. Get thee to refresh thyself then, for we shall forthwith beat up thy quarters with a stiffer stoure than any thou hast yet endured.”“Douglas,” cried Piersie, who was by this time remounted, “Douglas, thou art all, and more than all that minstrels have called thee. Farewell, till we again meet, and may our meeting be speedy.”With these parting words, the two leaders wheeled off their respective bands.Immediately after the Earl of Douglas had returned to the camp, a council of war was held, and, after a short deliberation, preparations were made for instantly assaulting and scaling the fortifications. The army was drawn out from its entrenchments and was led to the attack arranged in three divisions. The Earl of Douglas, attended by the little chosen band of knights who had that day vowed him their special service, led on the central body directly against the barriers. The right and left wings, commanded by the Earls of Dunbar and Moray, marched on steadily, to attempt the storm of the walls at two several points on each side of the gates, in defiance of a heavy shower of arrows from the English bowmen, mingled with some weightier missiles from the balistæ, which sorely galled them, and which they could but ill return with their cross-bows. Each of these flanking divisions covered the approach of a number of wains, laden with hay and straw collected from the neighbouring country; and so soon as they had come near enough to the fortifications, a signal was given, the wains were brought suddenly forward, and hurled one over another into the ditch, so as in many places to fill it up, and admit of the ladders being raised against the wall with great success. The Scottish soldiers rent the air with their shouts, and wielding their destructive battle-axes, rushed like furies to the escalade. But the English were so well prepared, and defended themselves so manfully that they beat back the assailants at every point, and soon succeeded in setting fire to the combustible materials in the ditch, by throwing down lighted brands, so that all hope of forcing an entrance in that way was soon at an end.Meanwhile the Douglas forcibly assaulted the wooden barriers that defended the entrance to the town; and Piersie and his chivalry, who were immediately within them, no sooner heard the war-cry of “Douglas, Douglas! jamaisarrière!” than, collecting themselves into one great body, they rushed out on[433]the Scottish forces with so resistless an impetus, that nothing could withstand the fury of the stream. Douglas and his troops were borne away like trees of the forest before some bursting torrent. But no sooner had the English spread themselves out upon the plain like exhausted waters, than the voice of the Scottish hero was heard above all the clang of the battle, cheering his men to the charge, and his superb figure, exalted on his black courser, was seen towering onwards against the slackening foe, gathering the firmest Scottish hearts around him as he went.The English now in their turn gave back; but Harry Piersie, recovered from his stunning fall, mounted on a fresh roan, and, surrounded by the brave knights by whom he was formerly attended, restored their courage both by his voice and example. Shouts of “Piersie, Piersie!” and “Douglas, Douglas!” arose from different parts of the field, and were re-echoed from the walls. At length the two leaders caught a glimpse of each other amid the volumes of smoke that, tinged by the setting sun, were rolling along the ground from the blazing straw, which the descending damps of evening now hardly permitted to rise into the air.“Ha, Douglas, have I found thee at last?” cried Piersie, turning towards him.“Trust me, ’twas no fault of mine that we met not sooner, Harry Piersie,” cried Douglas, spurring to encounter him with his mace, his lance having been shivered in the melee.There was time for no more words. Piersie ran his lance at the Douglas as he came on, who with wonderful dexterity turned it aside, and catching it in his hand, endeavoured to wrench it from his owner. Piersie’s embroidered pennon was waving from the spear head. Douglas snatched at it, but his adversary disappointed him, by forcing up the point, and each retaining his grasp, they were now drawn together into close contact. The little silken trifle, utterly worthless in itself, glittered like a child’s bauble over their heads; but if it had been a kingdom they were contending for, they could not have been more eagerly set on the contest. Each forgetful of the defence of his own life, put forth all his strength and skill, the one to obtain what he considered so glorious a prize, and the other to keep what he thought it would be so disgraceful to lose, and what, moreover, he so much valued, for the sake of her whose taper fingers had interwoven its golden threads. The struggle was strong, but it was short in duration, for the iron hands of Douglas snapt the slim ashen shaft in twain, and in an instant he held up[434]the broken lance, and waved the pennon triumphantly over his head.“The Piersie’s pennon! recover the Piersie’s pennon!” was the instant cry, and the English crowded to assist Hotspur, led on by Sir Rafe Piersie.At that moment a body of Scottish lances, headed by Sir Patrick Hepborne, came pouring down in tremendous charge, shouting “Douglas, Douglas!” and dividing the two combatants as they swept onwards, they bore away the Piersies and the English before them to the very barriers, where the press of the combat was so hot, that they were soon compelled to retreat within their palisadoes, and to close up their defences. The partial breathing of an instant ensued, during which Douglas looked eagerly for Hotspur, and at length having descried him over the pales—“By St. Andrew,” he cried, rising in his stirrups, and again waving the captured pennon high in the air, “I have good reason, Harry Piersie, to be thankful for the glorious issue of this bicker. Trust me, I value this pennon of thine above all the spoil of Newcastle, nay, or of an hundred such towns. I shall bear it with me into Scotland, fair Sir, in token of our encounter; and in remembrance of thy prowess, I do promise thee it shall grace the proudest pinnacle of my Castle of Dalkeith.”“Be assured, Douglas,” replied Piersie courteously, though with manifest signs of great vexation, “ye shall not bear it over the Border; nay, ye shall not pass the bounds of this county till ye be met withal in such wise that ye shall make none avaunte thereof.”“Well, brave Sir,” replied the Earl of Douglas, “it shall be set up before my pavilion this night; so come thither to seek for thy pennon, and take it thence if thou canst; till then, farewell.”The Lord Douglas turned away, proudly bearing his trophy; and the night was now approaching, and all hopes of succeeding in the assault being at an end, he ordered the retreat to be sounded, and collecting his forces, he retired behind his trenches.The Scottish troops were no sooner withdrawn than Hotspur, smarting under the stinging disgrace of the loss of his pennon, summoned a council of war, in which he bravely proposed to lead on the English troops to a night attack against the Scottish entrenchments. This proposition was warmly supported by Sir Rafe Piersie, who participated largely in his brother’s injured feelings; but an opinion prevailing among the English knights[435]that the Earl of Douglas’s party was but the Scottish vanguard, and that the large army, of which they had heard so much, was hovering at no great distance, ready to avail itself of any imprudent step they might take, very generally opposed his wishes.“Sir,” said the prudent Seneschal of York, who was present, and who seemed to speak as the organ of the rest, “there fortuneth in war oftentimes many chances. Another day thou mayest gain greater advantage of Earl Douglas than he hath this day won of thee. Let us not peril the cause of England for a paltry pennon, when the power of Scotland is abroad. Who knoweth but this empty skirmish of theirs may be a snare to lure us out to destruction? Better is it to lose a pennon than two or three hundred brave knights and squires, and to lay our country at the mercy of these invading foemen.”Though some of the young and impetuous, and even the old Sir Walter de Selby, showed symptoms of being disposed to support the plan proposed by the Hotspur, yet this prudent counsel was so generally applauded, that, though boiling inwardly with indignation at their apathy, he was compelled to yield with the best face he could, while his lip was visibly curled with a smile of ineffable contempt for what he considered their pusillanimity.“What a hollow flock of craven pullets, brother Rafe!” said he, giving way to a burst of passionate vexation after the council had broke up, and they were left alone. “What, a paltry pennon, saidst thou, Sir Seneschal? May thy tongue be blistered for the word! Depardieux, were it not unwise to stir up evil blood among us at such a time, I would make him eat it, old as he is, and difficult as he might find the digestion of it. Oh, is’t not bitter penance, brother Rafe, for falcons such as we are to be mewed up with such a set of grey geese? By Heaven, it is enough to brutify the noble spirit we do inherit from our sires. What will the Douglas, I pr’ythee, think of Harry Hotspur, now that after all his vaunts he cometh not out to-night to give him the camisado in his tent, and to pluck his pennon from the disgraceful soil in the which it doth now grow so vilely? But, by St. George, though I should be obliged to go with no more than our vassals, I will catch the Douglas ere he quits Northumberland, and I will have my pennon again or die in the taking of it.”The Douglas was well prepared to give Harry Piersie a welcome had circumstances enabled him to have paid his visit to the Scottish camp before they broke up from Newcastle. The[436]sentinels were so stationed that the whole army would have been alarmed and under arms in a few minutes. His sleep was therefore as sound as if he had been in his own Castle of Dalkeith, though he slept in his armour, that he might be ready to meet the foe on the first rouse.“Well, my trusty esquires,” said he to Robert Hart and Simon Glendinning, as they came to wait on him in the morning, “doth Harry Piersie’s pennon still flutter where these hands did place it yesternight?”“Yea, my good Lord,” replied Glendinning, “thy challenge hath gone unheeded.”“Nay, then, we bide no longer for him here,” said Douglas; “an he will have it now, he must come after us to take it. Are my Lords Moray and Dunbar astir?”“They are, my Lord,” replied Hart.“Go to them, then, Robert, and tell them, that with their leave we shall march anon. But, by St. Andrew, there shall be no appearance of unseemly haste. Let the sun, that saw the Piersie’s pennon planted yesternight ere he did go to bed, be suffered to look upon it for some time after he be well risen again, so that we may not be accused of being more dexterous in carrying off our prey than bold in defending it.”The little Scottish army broke up from their encampment with as much composure as if they had been in a friendly country, and marched leisurely off with loud cheers. Harry Piersie was on the wall, and his blood boiled at the very sound.“By the holy St. Cuthbert, they mock me,” cried he, his face flushing with anger; “ay, an well may they too,” continued he, striking his forehead. “Oh, I could leap over these walls from very despite. By the mass, their numbers are naught; see how small their columns appear; already the last of them are gone; oh, is it not enow to drive me to madness!”—and, dashing his mailed foot to the ground, he turned away to gnaw his nails with vexation.After taking two or three turns with his brother along the rampart, he suddenly called for an esquire, and ordered him to procure some intelligent scouts; to these he gave orders to follow the Scottish line of march, and to bring him frequent and accurate intelligence of their numbers, their route, and all their actions; and, having taken this precaution, he and Sir Rafe Piersie continued to pace the walls by themselves, giving vent, from time to time, to their indignation and disappointment, in abrupt sentences addressed to each other. During that day and the evening following it, large reinforcements of troops poured[437]into Newcastle, from different quarters of the circumjacent country; and the stronger Hotspur found himself, the more impatient he became to make use of his strength.“Ay, ay, see where they come; see where they come, brother Rafe,” said he in a pettish tone. “But what come they for, an we have them not in the field? Depardieux, from the careless guise and strutting gait of some of these butter-headed burghers, and clod-pated churls, meseems as if they came more to parade it in a fair than to fight.”“If we can but get them once into the field,” said Sir Rafe Piersie, “by all that is good, we shall teach the knaves another bearing and another step.”“Ay, marry, would that we but had them in the field, indeed,” replied Hotspur; “the very smell of battle hath a marvellous virtue in it, and doth oftentimes convert the veriest dolt into a hero. Of such fellows as these men, one might make rare engines for recovering a lost pennon, yea, as of finer clay. Would we but had them fit the proof. But a plague upon these cautious seniors of the council, methinks my patience was miraculous; nay, in truth, most miraculous, to hear that old driveller talk of my paltry pennon, and not to dash my gauntlet in his teeth for the word.”“Nay, I could hardly keep my hands down,” cried Sir Rafe Piersie. “Methinks our blood must be cooling, or else even his age should have been no protection.”“’Tis better as it is, Rafe,” replied Hotspur; “but why tarry these scouts of mine? I shall fret me to death ere they return. Why are we not blessed with the power of seeing what doth pass afar off? Had I this faculty, how would mine eyes soar over the Douglas and my pennon!”In such talk as this the brothers wasted great part of the night. The impatient Hotspur was kept in suspense until next morning, when, much to his relief, the arrival of the wearied scouts was announced to him. He ordered them instantly into his presence, and having closely interrogated them, he soon gathered from them all the intelligence he wanted.The Earl of Douglas had marched slowly and circumspectly, and although his little army had sufficiently marked his course, by plundering and burning whatever came in its way, the troops had not been suffered to spread far to the right or left. They halted at Pontland, and took and burnt the town and castle, making prisoner of Sir Aymer de Athele, who defended it. Thence they marched to Otterbourne, where they encamped, apparently with the intention of besieging the castle of that[438]name next day. The scouts also brought certain information that the Scots did not amount to more than three thousand men-at-arms, and three or four hundred lances, and that the main body of the army was nowhere in the neighbourhood, but still lying indolently on the Western Marches. Full of these particulars, Hotspur, with a bounding heart, again summoned the council of war, and bringing in his scouts, he made them tell their own story.“What say ye now, gentlemen?” cried he with a triumphant air; “was I right, or not? By the Rood, I was at least wrong to listen to the cold caution of some few frozen heads here; for, an I mistake not the general voice of the council yesterday was with me. We mought have spared these Scots many a weary mile of march, I ween. By St. George, they were a mere handful for us, a mere handful; not a man of them should have escaped us; ay, and such a price should they have paid for the ruin they have wrought on these fine counties, that Scotland should have quaked for a century at the very thought of setting foot across the Border.”“Frozen heads, didst thou say, Sir Harry Piersie?” demanded the Seneschal of York calmly; “methinks that thy meaning would be to accuse those frozen heads of being leagued with frozen hearts; but let me tell thee, Hotspur, where snow is shed on the poll we may look for a cool judgment; and if a cool, then probably a wise judgment.”“Pshaw!” said Hotspur, half aside to his brother; “this fusty utterer of worn-out saws and everyday wisdom goadeth me beyond all bearing; yet must I temper mine answer. Trust me, I meant not to impeach thine ordinary judgment, Sir Seneschal,” continued he aloud, “though I do think that it did for once err grievously in our yesterday’s council. But let us not talk of this. I am now here to tell ye, gentlemen, that, by the faith I owe to God, and to my Lord my father, go who list with me, I shall now go seek for my pennon, and give Lord Douglas the camisado this night at Otterbourne; yea, by St. George, though I should do it without other aid than that of my brother Rafe, and the faithful vassals of the Piersie. What, am I to put up, think ye, with the loss of my pennon, and the disgrace of our house and name? By heaven, though it were but a hair’s-breadth of the hem of my Lady’s mantle, the Douglas should not carry it into Scotland. But if disgrace doth attend the losing of Hotspur’s pennon, depardieux, let it be borne by those who, calling themselves his friends, will not yield him their help to retake it; for Hotspur is resolved to wipe off shame from himself[439]—he will follow his pennon to the Orcades, yea, pluck it from their most northern cape, or fall in the attempt. Disgrace shall never cleave to Hotspur.”“No, nor to Rafe Piersie neither,” cried his brother. “Let those who fear to follow stay at home. We shall on together, hand in hand, and seize the pennon, though grim death held its shaft; yea, paltry as it may be thought, it shall be the sun on whose beams our dying eyes shall close. Let us on then.”The loud murmurs of applause which arose from among the younger knights manifested how much they sympathized with the feelings of the Piersies. But the old Seneschal of York again put in his word of prudence.“Gentlemen,” said he, “I see that, in speaking as I must do, I shall have but few to agree with me, yet must I natheless freely speak my mind, more especially as I do perceive that those knights who, like myself, have seen more years of warfare than the rest, do seem disposed to think with me. I must confess, that, albeit some potent reasons do now cease to war with your opinion, mine is but little altered. Meseems it still is an especial risk to move so far from garrison after an uncertain enemy, for a mere shred of silk and gold.”“A shred of silk and gold!” exclaimed Sir Walter de Selby. “What, dost thou not think that all England is disgraced by this triumph of the Scottish Douglas over the Hotspur? And dost thou regard nought but the shred of silk and gold? Talk not of the old ones, I pray thee, Sir Seneschal of York. Trust me, old as is Sir Walter de Selby, he shall never rest idle whilst gallant deeds are adoing to wipe off a foul stain from the name of England. Be it death or victory, he shall have his share on’t.”“Thy hand, my brave old soldier,” cried both the Piersies at once.“Thou shalt go with us,” exclaimed Hotspur; “though thine years might have well excused thee leaving thine own Castle of Norham, yet hast thou come hither; yea, and thou shalt now forward with us to the field, were it but to show how the noble fire of a warlike soul may burn through the thickest snows of age.”“Nay, then,” said the Seneschal of York, “thou shalt see, Sir Harry Piersie, that albeit I do advise caution, yet shall I do my part as well as others, when my words do cease to avail aught; yet would I fain have thee tarry until thou art joined by the Bishop of Durham, who is looked for with his force this night.”[440]“What, while we can muster eight thousand good soldiers without him, and six hundred gallant lances? Shall we wait for the Bishop, and so permit the Scots to ’scape from our vengeance? Nay, nay, let’s to horse, my brave friends; my heart swells at the thought of reaping so glorious a field. Let’s to horse without delay, if your blood be English.”Hotspur’s call was hailed with loud approval, and the brave though cautious Seneschal, seeing that it was in vain to urge more, joined heartily with the rest in getting the army under arms, and in hastening the march.The Scots had begun to sound their bugles at an early hour that morning, and to assault the Castle of Otterbourne, and they wasted the whole of the day in unsuccessful attempts against it. A council of war being held in the evening, it was found that there were cautious heads among the Scotch as well as among the English knights. Some of those who spoke were of opinion that they should abandon all further attempts against the Castle, and march forward towards Scotland. But the Earl of Douglas opposed this.“What, my brave Lords and Knights of Scotland,” cried he with energy, “would ye give Harry Piersie cause to say that we have stolen this pennon of his? Let us not creep away with it like thieves in the dark; nay, rather let us show these Southerns that we do earnestly covet their promised visit to us. Let us, I pray ye, tarry here for some two or three days at least; we shall find occupation enough in beleaguering and taking of this Castle hard by, the which is assuredly pregnable to bold and persevering men, and will yield us the more honour that it be strong. Then shall Hotspur have leisure to bethink himself how he may best come to fetch his pennon; and if it should so list him to come, depardieux, he may take my banner too, if he can.”The old and the cautious hardly in secret approved this counsel; but so much was the heroic Douglas the idol of all, that his wishes were of themselves enough to determine the resolution of those who heard him. Measures were accordingly taken for securing the army against surprise, and for rendering their camp as strong as circumstances would allow; and seeing that they were to remain for so much longer a time than they at first imagined, the soldiers hastily threw up huts, composed of sods and branches of trees, to give them better shelter. The baggage-wains and baggage, with the wainmen, sutlers, and other followers of the army, were stationed so as to block up the approach to the camp; and their position was so defended by[441]morasses and woods, flanking it on either side, as to render it almost unassailable. At some distance from this, the troops were encamped on the slope of a hill, and the wooded rising grounds on either hand contributed to form defences which left it open to attack nowhere but in front, and even there only after the outwork formed by the baggage at a distance in the meadow below should be broken through.Earl Douglas said little to those around him, but made his various dispositions with the cool and skilful eye of an expert commander. He surveyed the ground with thoughtful attention, as the sun was setting bright on the hill. It glanced upon Piersie’s pennon, that fluttered as if idly impatient of its captivity beside the large banner of Scotland, the heavy drapery of which, drooping to the ground in ample folds, hung in silent and majestic dignity, unruffled by the gentle evening breeze. He thought on the Hotspur and his threats—on the violence and impotence of man’s passions—on the actual insignificance of the object which had so stirred up himself and Harry Piersie, compared with the number and value of the lives of those who might soon be called on to fight for it to the death. He mused on the peaceful quiet that now hung over the scene, and of the change that in a few short hours it might undergo; on the change, above all, that might affect many of those brave hearts which were now beating high with the pulses of life, eager to return to their native soil, and to fulfil schemes of future happiness, never, perhaps, to be realized.“There is something solemn and grand in the stillness of this lovely evening,” said the Douglas at last to the Earl of Moray, who was with him. “The parting radiance of day in yonder western sky might make us fancy that the earth was yblent with heaven. Why might we not pass to that long-wished-for country on those slanting rays of glory, without intervening death, or the penitential pains of purgatory?”“’Tis a whimsical conceit, brother,” replied Moray with a smile; “but why, I pray thee, are thy thoughts so employed at a time like this?”“I will tell thee,” said Douglas gravely. “I know not why it is, but my memory hath been at this time visited by the recollection of a strange dream I once had, and which, long forgotten, doth now arise to me afresh with all its circumstances. Methought I was sitting on a hill side, when, all at once, I beheld a furious battle on the plain of the valley below. One side was led by a figure the which I was conscious bore striking resemblance to mine own. He rushed to the fight, but was quickly[442]pierced with three lances at once, and fell dead on the field. Dismay began to fasten on his army, and defeat appeared certain, when the dead corpse of the knight arose, and, towering to a height ten-fold greater than it had when alive, moved with the solemn step of the grave towards the foe. The shout of victory arose from those who were about to yield, and their enemies were dispersed like chaff before the wind, when the giant figure and all vanished from my fancy’s eye.”“Strange!” cried Moray, his attention grappled by this singular communication from the Douglas.“Thou canst never believe me to be a driveller, Moray,” continued Douglas, without noticing his brother-in-law’s interruption, “far less one whom the approach of death may affright. Death must succeed life, as the night doth follow the day, and we who can know little how much of our day is gone, must be prepared to couch as decently when and where the night doth overtake us.”“Nay, Douglas,” said Moray, again interrupting him, “I well wot that those grave sayings of thine are anything but the offspring of a quailing heart; I know that they are begotten by thy dauntless and well-grounded courage that doth accustom itself to survey death at all times, in thought as well as in field, till thou has converted his grim image into the familiar figure of a friend. Yet why should such thoughts find harbour with thee now? Harry Piersie, if he do come at all for his pennon, will hardly be here to-night.”“I think not of the Piersie,” said Douglas, taking Moray’s hand, and warmly pressing it between his, while a tear glistened in his manly eye, “I think not of the Piersie or his pennon; but promise me now, when mine hour hath come, and I shall have gloriously fallen in battle, as I well trust may be my fate, that thou wilt yield thine especial protection, and thy love and cherisaunce, to my widowed Margaret. I need not tell thee what she hath been to me. Our brother-in-law Fife is cold, and calculating, and politic, yea, and heartless. He doth aim at the Regency, and he will doubtless gain his end. Margaret is his much-loved sister while she is the proud wife of Douglas; but trust me, little of her brother’s sunshine will fall upon her widow’s weeds. Be it thine, then, to be her prop and comfort. I well know that the warmth of thy Margery’s love will go hand in hand with thee. I am a man, Moray—we are both men—why should we be ashamed of a few tears shed at a moment like this?”“Nay, but Douglas, why shouldst thou talk thus?” said[443]Moray. “Fate may call for my life first, and then thou wilt have those duties to perform for Margery the which thou dost now claim from me for her sister.”“Nay,” replied Douglas, with ominous seriousness of aspect. “Yet be it so,” said he, after a pause; “do thou but listen to my sad humour. Mine attached Lundie doth well deserve thy care; see that he do meet with that advancement his piety to God and his devotion to me hath so well merited. And then as for my gallant Archibald, my brave esquires Hart and Glendinning, and my faithful shield-bearer Hop Pringle, they have already carved out a shining reputation for themselves; yet do thou never let it be forgotten that they have been faithful followers of the Douglas.”“Canst thou believe that the name of Douglas can ever lose its potent charm?” exclaimed the Earl of Moray with energy, yet deeply affected; “or canst thou doubt that to me thy will must ever be a sacred law? But why should we now talk of matters so sad?” continued he, endeavouring to rally his own spirits as well as those of Douglas; “the banquet doth abide us in thy pavilion yonder, and the lords and knights of Scotland do doubtless wait for thee there, in obedience to thine invitation.”“I had forgotten,” said Douglas, resuming his usual cheerful countenance. “Let us then attune our spirits to mirth and joyous manly converse, sith we have discussed these melancholy themes. Allons, let us to the banquet—such banquet as the rude cookery of the field may furnish.”It was at this time that Rory Spears, having collected a little knot of friends about him, thus addressed them—“Captain MacErchar, and you most worthy esquires, Masters Mortimer Sang and Roger Riddel, yea, and you, brave Robin Lindsay and Ralpho Proudfoot, and the rest, who are nobly ettling to rise by your deeds as others hae done afore ye—ahem—panting after that most honourable honour and dignified dignity of an esquire, I do hereby invite ye all to go down wi’ me to the baggage-camp and sutlerages, whaur we may find comfortable and cozy houf in a braw new bigget sodden hostel, yereckit for the accommodation o’ Dame Margaret MacCleareye’s yill-barrels and yill-customers, and there, at my proper expense, to eat the bit supper I bid her prepare as I came up the hill, and to drink till ye hae weel wet the honours, the which, descending on mine unworthy head from the gallant Hotspur (whose health we shall not fail to drink, albeit we may yet hope to hae the cleaving o’ his skull), have been approven of by our noble Lord of Douglas, and by mine especial dear Lord of[444]Moray, for both of whom we are not only bound to drink to the dead, but to fight to the dead.”“Oich, hoich, Maister Spears, surely, surely—he, he, he!” cried MacErchar.“Bravo, Master Spears, I shall willingly go with thy squireship,” cried Sang; “nay, and never trust me an I do not my best honour to thine entertainment.”“Squire Spears, I am thine,” cried Roger Riddel; and the rest all heartily joining in ready acquiescence in his invitation, they followed Rory joyously down the hill in a body.

CHAPTER LVIII.Combat between Douglas and Hotspur—The Fight for the Pennon.

Combat between Douglas and Hotspur—The Fight for the Pennon.

Combat between Douglas and Hotspur—The Fight for the Pennon.

As the Earl of Douglas was sitting in his pavilion, in conversation with his chaplain, Richard Lundie, on the second day of his being before Newcastle, a squire in waiting announced to him that one of Lord Moray’s men wished to have a private interview with him.“Give him entrance speedily,” said the Douglas, “his business may be of moment. He seeth me in private when he seeth me alone with him who knoweth mine inmost soul.”The squire bowed and retired, and immediately returned to introduce—Rory Spears.“Rory Spears!” exclaimed the Douglas; “what hath brought thee hither, and what hath my brother of Moray to tell my private ear through thy mouth? Thou art not the messenger he is used to send between us for such affairs. Were it a matter of wood or river craft, indeed, we might both recognize thee as a right trusty and merry ambassador; but at this time we have other game upon our hands. What hath Lord Moray to say?”“My Lord Yearl o’ Douglas, naebody kens whaur gowd lies till it be howkit out,” replied Rory, with an obeisance. “Albeit that thou and the Yearl o’ Moray, my noble master, have never[427]yet discovered my talents that way, it proveth not that I do lack them. He who is stranger to the soil may chance to divine that, the which he who owneth it hath never dreamt of; and he——”“What doth all this tend to, Rory Spears?” demanded the Earl of Douglas, interrupting him rather impatiently. “Trust me, though I may have trifled with thee at Tarnawa, this is no time for such idlesse.”“Bide a wee, my Lord Yearl, bide a wee,” said Rory, with great composure; “call it not trifling till thou art possessed of the value of what I have to effunde unto thee. I was going to tell thee that he who doth own a man like me, ay, or a horse beast, for instance, may ken less o’ his qualifications than he who doth see him but for a gliff.”“But what hath all this to do with thy message from Moray to me?” cried the Douglas.“Nought at all, my Lord Yearl,” replied Rory, “for I hae no message frae him. But,” added he, assuming an air of unusual importance, “it hath much to do, I rauckon, with the embassage the which I am at this moment charged with by the Hotspur.”“The Hotspur—thou charged with a message from the Hotspur!—How can that be? Quick—try not my patience longer; where hast thou encountered the Hotspur?” exclaimed the Douglas eagerly.Rory proceeded to give the Earl a sketch of the history of his capture, as well as of his being sent for by Sir Harry Piersie.“He telled me, my Lord Yearl o’ Douglas,” continued he, “that he heard I confessed mysel to be ane esquire o’ the Yearl o’ Moray’s. I didna daur to contradick Hotspur, the mair because I am in a manner the Yearl’s henchman. ‘I hae made yelection o’ thee,’ said he to me, ‘as the fittest man for my job amang a’ the Scottish prisoners in Newcastle. Thou art to bear a message of importance frae me to the gallant Douglas. Tell him Hotspur hath had the renommie o’ his prowess rung in his lugs till the din hath stirred up his inmost soul and made his very heart yearn to encounter sae mokell bravery. Yet hath my evil fortune so willed it,’ quoth he, ‘that though I have sought him unceasing for these two days, yet have I never had the chance to meet him hand to hand.’ ”“Nay, and God wot, I have not been wanting in my search after the noble Hotspur,” replied Douglas with energy. “But what said he more?”“ ‘Get thee to the Douglas, Sir Squire,’ said he to me.[428]‘Tell him that I do entreat him, for the love he bears to chivalry, that he may so order his next assault that I may not fail to meet him in person. Be the manner and terms of our encounter of his own fixing, and let him trust to the word of a Piersie for their fulfilment on this side, as I shall to the unbroken faith of a Douglas. Bear this to him, Sir Squire, and take thy liberty and this golden chain for thy guerdon.’ ”“Bravo, Harry Hotspur!” cried the Douglas, rising from his seat, whilst his eyes flashed fire from the joyous tumult of his heroic spirit; “bravo, brave heart! trust me thou shalt not lack thy desire. Quick—let me hasten to reply to the gallant Piersie’s challenge with that promptness the which it doth so well merit. My most faithful and attached Lundie,” continued he, addressing his chaplain,—“get thee to the provost, if thou lovest me, and use thy good judgment to choose me out from among our English prisoners one who may be best fitted for being the bearer of mine answer. Let him be an esquire, for we would rather surpass than fall short of Hotspur’s courtesy.”“Nay, an ye would surpass the courtesy of the gallant Hotspur,” said Rory, who stood by, “ye maun e’en send him a knight, for he did send thee ane esquire,—ay, and ane esquire with a golden chain round his craig.”“Right,” cried the Douglas in the fulness of his joy—“right, Squire Rory Spears; for esquire thou shalt hereafter be, sith it hath pleased Harry Piersie to make thee so. And if a knight is not to be had, by St. Andrew I’ll make one for the purpose of this embassage.”“Hear ye, Maister Ritchie Lundie,” cried Rory; “I take thee witness that my Lord the Yearl o’ Douglas hath allowed me the rank the which the noble Hotspur did confer on me when I did act as his ambassador. Let not this escape thy memory”.“Fear thee not, Rory Spears,” said the Douglas; “I shall myself see that thine honours shall be duly recognized.”Lundie soon returned with an English esquire, selected from among the prisoners. The Earl of Douglas made Rory repeat over in his presence the message of which he had been the bearer from Hotspur.“And now, Sir Squire,” said Douglas, “thou hast heard the wish of that gallant leader, the noble Hotspur. Be thou the bearer of mine answer. Tell Sir Harry Piersie that for a man to have oped his eyes at noon-day without beholding the light of heaven would have been as easy as to have had ears without their being filled with the renowned achievements of the flower of English chivalry. The Douglas burns to meet him; and that[429]time may in no wise be lost, but each forthwith have his desire, tell him that the Douglas will be on the field anon with fifty lances. Let Sir Harry Piersie come forth with a like number at his back, and let this be the understanding between the parties, that both escorts halt within view of each other, and that both knights singly run a career with grounden spears at the outrance, the knights to be left to themselves. Be thou, I say, the bearer of these terms and conditions; but ere thou goest vouchsafe me thy name.”“My name is Thomas Scrope, so please thee, my Lord,” replied the esquire.“Within there,” said the Douglas; “call in my knights and officers. And now, Sir Squire,” said he, after the pavilion was filled, and he had given some necessary orders, “kneel down on this cushion, that before this brilliant knot of Scottish chivalry I may do due honour to him who is to bear my message to the Hotspur.” The English esquire obeyed. The Douglas ordered a pair of golden spurs to be buckled on his heels by the hands of the two eldest Scottish knights present. They then belted him with a magnificent sword, a gift from the Earl, who immediately bestowed on him the accolade, saying—“I dub thee Knight, in the name of God and St. Michael; be faithful, bold, and fortunate. And now rise up, Sir Thomas Scrope.”Astounded and confused with this unlooked-for honour, the newly-created knight but awkwardly received the congratulations which poured in on him from those present. The Douglas himself conducted him to the door, where a noble horse, fully caparisoned, awaited him.“Get thee to saddle, then, Sir Thomas Scrope,” cried he, “and tarry not till thou hast possessed the Hotspur of our reply to his message. Say more—that if he liketh not the terms let him name conditions of his own, to the which I do hereby agree par avance; and let me have them forthwith, for in an hour hence I shall be in the field in front of these lines. God speed thee, Sir Thomas.”“Might it not have been better, my Lord,” said Richard Lundie, after they were again alone, “might it not have been better to have taken a new sun to gild so glorious a combat? The day is already far spent.”“Yea, it is so,” replied the Douglas; “but to-morrow we move hence from this idle warfare, and I would not willingly go without proving the metal of the gallant Hotspur, so ’tis as well that his impatience be gratified.”[430]The bruit of the coming encounter spread like wild-fire through the camp, and the whole chivalry within its circuit pressed forward to be admitted of the chosen band who were to witness the onset of the two bravest knights in Christendom. Lord Douglas’s difficulty was how to select so as to avoid giving offence, and he required all his judgment to manage this. Sir Patrick Hepborne had the good fortune to be one of those who were admitted into the honourable ranks.When the gay little cohort of mounted lances were drawn forth in array, and the Douglas’s banner was displayed, the stout Earl sprang on a powerful black war-horse, that had neighed and pranced whilst he was held by two esquires, but that became quiet and gentle as a lamb when backed by his heroic master. The whole Scottish line turned out to gaze, and shouts of applause arose that re-echoed from the walls of Newcastle. Immediately afterwards Sir Harry Piersie appeared before the barriers of the town, mounted on a milk-white steed, and as Douglas, even at that distance, could perceive that his escort was of similar strength and description to his own, he had the satisfaction of thinking that the terms he had proposed had been accepted. The fortifications were soon covered by the garrison, who crowded to behold the combat, and the Scottish cheers were loudly returned by the English. A trumpet call from the Piersie band was instantly returned by one from that of Lord Douglas, who immediately gave the word for his knights to advance, whilst he rode forward so as to gain a position about fifty yards in front of them, that he might be the better seen by the opposite party. Having brought up his escort to a point sufficiently near (as he judged) for the arrangement agreed on, he halted them, and ordered them to remain steady, whilst he continued to approach until he came within a due distance for running his course against Hotspur, who had also come forward a considerable way before his attendants.The trumpets from both bands sounded nearly at once, as if by mutual consent—both knights couched their lances—their armed heels made the blood spring from the sides of their coursers—and they flew like two thunderbolts towards the shock. Anxious suspense hung on both sides as they were stretching over the field, and the silence of the moment was such that the full crash of the collision entered every listening ear, however distant. Loud and exulting cheers from the Scottish lines, which, though they came so far, altogether drowned the uncouth sounds of dismay that ran along the walls of Newcastle, proclaimed the success of the Douglas, whose resistless arm, nerved[431]with a strength that few men could boast, bore the no less gallant Hotspur clean out of his saddle, though, owing to his adroitness in covering his person against his adversary’s point, he was hardly if at all wounded.The band of English knights who attended him, forgetting the nature of the combat, as well as the express orders they had received from Piersie, saw their adored leader on the green sward, and thinking only of the jeopardy he lay in, began shouting—“Hotspur, Hotspur, to the rescue!” and ere the bold Douglas could well check the furious career of his horse, he was in the midst of a phalanx of his advancing foes. Abandoning his ponderous lance, he grasped the enormous mace that hung at his saddle-bow, and bestirred himself with it so lustily that three or four of the English chevaliers were in as many seconds dashed from their seats to the earth, in plight so grievous that there was but little chance of their ever filling them again. But the throng about the hero was so great, and their blows rained so thickly and heavily upon him, that his destruction must have been inevitable long ere his own band could have reached him, had not the noble Hotspur, whom some of his people were by this time carrying hurriedly away, called out to the knights of his party in a voice of command that was rarely disobeyed—“Touch not the Douglas—harm not a hair of his head, as ye would hope for heaven. What, would ye assault at such odds the brave Douglas, who hath relied on the word of a Piersie? Shame, shame on ye, gentlemen. Your zeal for Hotspur’s safety came not well at this time for Hotspur’s honour. Trust me, his life stood in no peril with so chivalric a foe.”Awed and ashamed by these chiding words, the English knights fell back abashed, and made way for the valiant Douglas, who emerged from among them like a hunted lion from among the pack of puny hounds who have vainly baited him.“Halt! chevaliers,” cried he, rising in his saddle, and raising his right arm, as he in his turn addressed his own band, who were pouring furiously down on the English knights, shouting, “Douglas, Douglas, to the rescue!” “Halt,” cried he again, “halt, in the name of St. Andrew! Let the gallant Hotspur retreat in peace. I blame not him for this small mistake of his trusty followers, the which, after all, was but an excusable error of affection. And as for thee, Piersie, I thank thee for thy courtesy. Depardieux, thou hast proved thyself to be brave as honourable and honourable as brave. Can I say more? By the honour of knighthood, thou hast proved thyself to be Harry[432]Piersie, and in that name all that is excellent in chivalry is centred. The chance hath been mine now; it may be thine anon, if it do so please Heaven. Get thee to refresh thyself then, for we shall forthwith beat up thy quarters with a stiffer stoure than any thou hast yet endured.”“Douglas,” cried Piersie, who was by this time remounted, “Douglas, thou art all, and more than all that minstrels have called thee. Farewell, till we again meet, and may our meeting be speedy.”With these parting words, the two leaders wheeled off their respective bands.Immediately after the Earl of Douglas had returned to the camp, a council of war was held, and, after a short deliberation, preparations were made for instantly assaulting and scaling the fortifications. The army was drawn out from its entrenchments and was led to the attack arranged in three divisions. The Earl of Douglas, attended by the little chosen band of knights who had that day vowed him their special service, led on the central body directly against the barriers. The right and left wings, commanded by the Earls of Dunbar and Moray, marched on steadily, to attempt the storm of the walls at two several points on each side of the gates, in defiance of a heavy shower of arrows from the English bowmen, mingled with some weightier missiles from the balistæ, which sorely galled them, and which they could but ill return with their cross-bows. Each of these flanking divisions covered the approach of a number of wains, laden with hay and straw collected from the neighbouring country; and so soon as they had come near enough to the fortifications, a signal was given, the wains were brought suddenly forward, and hurled one over another into the ditch, so as in many places to fill it up, and admit of the ladders being raised against the wall with great success. The Scottish soldiers rent the air with their shouts, and wielding their destructive battle-axes, rushed like furies to the escalade. But the English were so well prepared, and defended themselves so manfully that they beat back the assailants at every point, and soon succeeded in setting fire to the combustible materials in the ditch, by throwing down lighted brands, so that all hope of forcing an entrance in that way was soon at an end.Meanwhile the Douglas forcibly assaulted the wooden barriers that defended the entrance to the town; and Piersie and his chivalry, who were immediately within them, no sooner heard the war-cry of “Douglas, Douglas! jamaisarrière!” than, collecting themselves into one great body, they rushed out on[433]the Scottish forces with so resistless an impetus, that nothing could withstand the fury of the stream. Douglas and his troops were borne away like trees of the forest before some bursting torrent. But no sooner had the English spread themselves out upon the plain like exhausted waters, than the voice of the Scottish hero was heard above all the clang of the battle, cheering his men to the charge, and his superb figure, exalted on his black courser, was seen towering onwards against the slackening foe, gathering the firmest Scottish hearts around him as he went.The English now in their turn gave back; but Harry Piersie, recovered from his stunning fall, mounted on a fresh roan, and, surrounded by the brave knights by whom he was formerly attended, restored their courage both by his voice and example. Shouts of “Piersie, Piersie!” and “Douglas, Douglas!” arose from different parts of the field, and were re-echoed from the walls. At length the two leaders caught a glimpse of each other amid the volumes of smoke that, tinged by the setting sun, were rolling along the ground from the blazing straw, which the descending damps of evening now hardly permitted to rise into the air.“Ha, Douglas, have I found thee at last?” cried Piersie, turning towards him.“Trust me, ’twas no fault of mine that we met not sooner, Harry Piersie,” cried Douglas, spurring to encounter him with his mace, his lance having been shivered in the melee.There was time for no more words. Piersie ran his lance at the Douglas as he came on, who with wonderful dexterity turned it aside, and catching it in his hand, endeavoured to wrench it from his owner. Piersie’s embroidered pennon was waving from the spear head. Douglas snatched at it, but his adversary disappointed him, by forcing up the point, and each retaining his grasp, they were now drawn together into close contact. The little silken trifle, utterly worthless in itself, glittered like a child’s bauble over their heads; but if it had been a kingdom they were contending for, they could not have been more eagerly set on the contest. Each forgetful of the defence of his own life, put forth all his strength and skill, the one to obtain what he considered so glorious a prize, and the other to keep what he thought it would be so disgraceful to lose, and what, moreover, he so much valued, for the sake of her whose taper fingers had interwoven its golden threads. The struggle was strong, but it was short in duration, for the iron hands of Douglas snapt the slim ashen shaft in twain, and in an instant he held up[434]the broken lance, and waved the pennon triumphantly over his head.“The Piersie’s pennon! recover the Piersie’s pennon!” was the instant cry, and the English crowded to assist Hotspur, led on by Sir Rafe Piersie.At that moment a body of Scottish lances, headed by Sir Patrick Hepborne, came pouring down in tremendous charge, shouting “Douglas, Douglas!” and dividing the two combatants as they swept onwards, they bore away the Piersies and the English before them to the very barriers, where the press of the combat was so hot, that they were soon compelled to retreat within their palisadoes, and to close up their defences. The partial breathing of an instant ensued, during which Douglas looked eagerly for Hotspur, and at length having descried him over the pales—“By St. Andrew,” he cried, rising in his stirrups, and again waving the captured pennon high in the air, “I have good reason, Harry Piersie, to be thankful for the glorious issue of this bicker. Trust me, I value this pennon of thine above all the spoil of Newcastle, nay, or of an hundred such towns. I shall bear it with me into Scotland, fair Sir, in token of our encounter; and in remembrance of thy prowess, I do promise thee it shall grace the proudest pinnacle of my Castle of Dalkeith.”“Be assured, Douglas,” replied Piersie courteously, though with manifest signs of great vexation, “ye shall not bear it over the Border; nay, ye shall not pass the bounds of this county till ye be met withal in such wise that ye shall make none avaunte thereof.”“Well, brave Sir,” replied the Earl of Douglas, “it shall be set up before my pavilion this night; so come thither to seek for thy pennon, and take it thence if thou canst; till then, farewell.”The Lord Douglas turned away, proudly bearing his trophy; and the night was now approaching, and all hopes of succeeding in the assault being at an end, he ordered the retreat to be sounded, and collecting his forces, he retired behind his trenches.The Scottish troops were no sooner withdrawn than Hotspur, smarting under the stinging disgrace of the loss of his pennon, summoned a council of war, in which he bravely proposed to lead on the English troops to a night attack against the Scottish entrenchments. This proposition was warmly supported by Sir Rafe Piersie, who participated largely in his brother’s injured feelings; but an opinion prevailing among the English knights[435]that the Earl of Douglas’s party was but the Scottish vanguard, and that the large army, of which they had heard so much, was hovering at no great distance, ready to avail itself of any imprudent step they might take, very generally opposed his wishes.“Sir,” said the prudent Seneschal of York, who was present, and who seemed to speak as the organ of the rest, “there fortuneth in war oftentimes many chances. Another day thou mayest gain greater advantage of Earl Douglas than he hath this day won of thee. Let us not peril the cause of England for a paltry pennon, when the power of Scotland is abroad. Who knoweth but this empty skirmish of theirs may be a snare to lure us out to destruction? Better is it to lose a pennon than two or three hundred brave knights and squires, and to lay our country at the mercy of these invading foemen.”Though some of the young and impetuous, and even the old Sir Walter de Selby, showed symptoms of being disposed to support the plan proposed by the Hotspur, yet this prudent counsel was so generally applauded, that, though boiling inwardly with indignation at their apathy, he was compelled to yield with the best face he could, while his lip was visibly curled with a smile of ineffable contempt for what he considered their pusillanimity.“What a hollow flock of craven pullets, brother Rafe!” said he, giving way to a burst of passionate vexation after the council had broke up, and they were left alone. “What, a paltry pennon, saidst thou, Sir Seneschal? May thy tongue be blistered for the word! Depardieux, were it not unwise to stir up evil blood among us at such a time, I would make him eat it, old as he is, and difficult as he might find the digestion of it. Oh, is’t not bitter penance, brother Rafe, for falcons such as we are to be mewed up with such a set of grey geese? By Heaven, it is enough to brutify the noble spirit we do inherit from our sires. What will the Douglas, I pr’ythee, think of Harry Hotspur, now that after all his vaunts he cometh not out to-night to give him the camisado in his tent, and to pluck his pennon from the disgraceful soil in the which it doth now grow so vilely? But, by St. George, though I should be obliged to go with no more than our vassals, I will catch the Douglas ere he quits Northumberland, and I will have my pennon again or die in the taking of it.”The Douglas was well prepared to give Harry Piersie a welcome had circumstances enabled him to have paid his visit to the Scottish camp before they broke up from Newcastle. The[436]sentinels were so stationed that the whole army would have been alarmed and under arms in a few minutes. His sleep was therefore as sound as if he had been in his own Castle of Dalkeith, though he slept in his armour, that he might be ready to meet the foe on the first rouse.“Well, my trusty esquires,” said he to Robert Hart and Simon Glendinning, as they came to wait on him in the morning, “doth Harry Piersie’s pennon still flutter where these hands did place it yesternight?”“Yea, my good Lord,” replied Glendinning, “thy challenge hath gone unheeded.”“Nay, then, we bide no longer for him here,” said Douglas; “an he will have it now, he must come after us to take it. Are my Lords Moray and Dunbar astir?”“They are, my Lord,” replied Hart.“Go to them, then, Robert, and tell them, that with their leave we shall march anon. But, by St. Andrew, there shall be no appearance of unseemly haste. Let the sun, that saw the Piersie’s pennon planted yesternight ere he did go to bed, be suffered to look upon it for some time after he be well risen again, so that we may not be accused of being more dexterous in carrying off our prey than bold in defending it.”The little Scottish army broke up from their encampment with as much composure as if they had been in a friendly country, and marched leisurely off with loud cheers. Harry Piersie was on the wall, and his blood boiled at the very sound.“By the holy St. Cuthbert, they mock me,” cried he, his face flushing with anger; “ay, an well may they too,” continued he, striking his forehead. “Oh, I could leap over these walls from very despite. By the mass, their numbers are naught; see how small their columns appear; already the last of them are gone; oh, is it not enow to drive me to madness!”—and, dashing his mailed foot to the ground, he turned away to gnaw his nails with vexation.After taking two or three turns with his brother along the rampart, he suddenly called for an esquire, and ordered him to procure some intelligent scouts; to these he gave orders to follow the Scottish line of march, and to bring him frequent and accurate intelligence of their numbers, their route, and all their actions; and, having taken this precaution, he and Sir Rafe Piersie continued to pace the walls by themselves, giving vent, from time to time, to their indignation and disappointment, in abrupt sentences addressed to each other. During that day and the evening following it, large reinforcements of troops poured[437]into Newcastle, from different quarters of the circumjacent country; and the stronger Hotspur found himself, the more impatient he became to make use of his strength.“Ay, ay, see where they come; see where they come, brother Rafe,” said he in a pettish tone. “But what come they for, an we have them not in the field? Depardieux, from the careless guise and strutting gait of some of these butter-headed burghers, and clod-pated churls, meseems as if they came more to parade it in a fair than to fight.”“If we can but get them once into the field,” said Sir Rafe Piersie, “by all that is good, we shall teach the knaves another bearing and another step.”“Ay, marry, would that we but had them in the field, indeed,” replied Hotspur; “the very smell of battle hath a marvellous virtue in it, and doth oftentimes convert the veriest dolt into a hero. Of such fellows as these men, one might make rare engines for recovering a lost pennon, yea, as of finer clay. Would we but had them fit the proof. But a plague upon these cautious seniors of the council, methinks my patience was miraculous; nay, in truth, most miraculous, to hear that old driveller talk of my paltry pennon, and not to dash my gauntlet in his teeth for the word.”“Nay, I could hardly keep my hands down,” cried Sir Rafe Piersie. “Methinks our blood must be cooling, or else even his age should have been no protection.”“’Tis better as it is, Rafe,” replied Hotspur; “but why tarry these scouts of mine? I shall fret me to death ere they return. Why are we not blessed with the power of seeing what doth pass afar off? Had I this faculty, how would mine eyes soar over the Douglas and my pennon!”In such talk as this the brothers wasted great part of the night. The impatient Hotspur was kept in suspense until next morning, when, much to his relief, the arrival of the wearied scouts was announced to him. He ordered them instantly into his presence, and having closely interrogated them, he soon gathered from them all the intelligence he wanted.The Earl of Douglas had marched slowly and circumspectly, and although his little army had sufficiently marked his course, by plundering and burning whatever came in its way, the troops had not been suffered to spread far to the right or left. They halted at Pontland, and took and burnt the town and castle, making prisoner of Sir Aymer de Athele, who defended it. Thence they marched to Otterbourne, where they encamped, apparently with the intention of besieging the castle of that[438]name next day. The scouts also brought certain information that the Scots did not amount to more than three thousand men-at-arms, and three or four hundred lances, and that the main body of the army was nowhere in the neighbourhood, but still lying indolently on the Western Marches. Full of these particulars, Hotspur, with a bounding heart, again summoned the council of war, and bringing in his scouts, he made them tell their own story.“What say ye now, gentlemen?” cried he with a triumphant air; “was I right, or not? By the Rood, I was at least wrong to listen to the cold caution of some few frozen heads here; for, an I mistake not the general voice of the council yesterday was with me. We mought have spared these Scots many a weary mile of march, I ween. By St. George, they were a mere handful for us, a mere handful; not a man of them should have escaped us; ay, and such a price should they have paid for the ruin they have wrought on these fine counties, that Scotland should have quaked for a century at the very thought of setting foot across the Border.”“Frozen heads, didst thou say, Sir Harry Piersie?” demanded the Seneschal of York calmly; “methinks that thy meaning would be to accuse those frozen heads of being leagued with frozen hearts; but let me tell thee, Hotspur, where snow is shed on the poll we may look for a cool judgment; and if a cool, then probably a wise judgment.”“Pshaw!” said Hotspur, half aside to his brother; “this fusty utterer of worn-out saws and everyday wisdom goadeth me beyond all bearing; yet must I temper mine answer. Trust me, I meant not to impeach thine ordinary judgment, Sir Seneschal,” continued he aloud, “though I do think that it did for once err grievously in our yesterday’s council. But let us not talk of this. I am now here to tell ye, gentlemen, that, by the faith I owe to God, and to my Lord my father, go who list with me, I shall now go seek for my pennon, and give Lord Douglas the camisado this night at Otterbourne; yea, by St. George, though I should do it without other aid than that of my brother Rafe, and the faithful vassals of the Piersie. What, am I to put up, think ye, with the loss of my pennon, and the disgrace of our house and name? By heaven, though it were but a hair’s-breadth of the hem of my Lady’s mantle, the Douglas should not carry it into Scotland. But if disgrace doth attend the losing of Hotspur’s pennon, depardieux, let it be borne by those who, calling themselves his friends, will not yield him their help to retake it; for Hotspur is resolved to wipe off shame from himself[439]—he will follow his pennon to the Orcades, yea, pluck it from their most northern cape, or fall in the attempt. Disgrace shall never cleave to Hotspur.”“No, nor to Rafe Piersie neither,” cried his brother. “Let those who fear to follow stay at home. We shall on together, hand in hand, and seize the pennon, though grim death held its shaft; yea, paltry as it may be thought, it shall be the sun on whose beams our dying eyes shall close. Let us on then.”The loud murmurs of applause which arose from among the younger knights manifested how much they sympathized with the feelings of the Piersies. But the old Seneschal of York again put in his word of prudence.“Gentlemen,” said he, “I see that, in speaking as I must do, I shall have but few to agree with me, yet must I natheless freely speak my mind, more especially as I do perceive that those knights who, like myself, have seen more years of warfare than the rest, do seem disposed to think with me. I must confess, that, albeit some potent reasons do now cease to war with your opinion, mine is but little altered. Meseems it still is an especial risk to move so far from garrison after an uncertain enemy, for a mere shred of silk and gold.”“A shred of silk and gold!” exclaimed Sir Walter de Selby. “What, dost thou not think that all England is disgraced by this triumph of the Scottish Douglas over the Hotspur? And dost thou regard nought but the shred of silk and gold? Talk not of the old ones, I pray thee, Sir Seneschal of York. Trust me, old as is Sir Walter de Selby, he shall never rest idle whilst gallant deeds are adoing to wipe off a foul stain from the name of England. Be it death or victory, he shall have his share on’t.”“Thy hand, my brave old soldier,” cried both the Piersies at once.“Thou shalt go with us,” exclaimed Hotspur; “though thine years might have well excused thee leaving thine own Castle of Norham, yet hast thou come hither; yea, and thou shalt now forward with us to the field, were it but to show how the noble fire of a warlike soul may burn through the thickest snows of age.”“Nay, then,” said the Seneschal of York, “thou shalt see, Sir Harry Piersie, that albeit I do advise caution, yet shall I do my part as well as others, when my words do cease to avail aught; yet would I fain have thee tarry until thou art joined by the Bishop of Durham, who is looked for with his force this night.”[440]“What, while we can muster eight thousand good soldiers without him, and six hundred gallant lances? Shall we wait for the Bishop, and so permit the Scots to ’scape from our vengeance? Nay, nay, let’s to horse, my brave friends; my heart swells at the thought of reaping so glorious a field. Let’s to horse without delay, if your blood be English.”Hotspur’s call was hailed with loud approval, and the brave though cautious Seneschal, seeing that it was in vain to urge more, joined heartily with the rest in getting the army under arms, and in hastening the march.The Scots had begun to sound their bugles at an early hour that morning, and to assault the Castle of Otterbourne, and they wasted the whole of the day in unsuccessful attempts against it. A council of war being held in the evening, it was found that there were cautious heads among the Scotch as well as among the English knights. Some of those who spoke were of opinion that they should abandon all further attempts against the Castle, and march forward towards Scotland. But the Earl of Douglas opposed this.“What, my brave Lords and Knights of Scotland,” cried he with energy, “would ye give Harry Piersie cause to say that we have stolen this pennon of his? Let us not creep away with it like thieves in the dark; nay, rather let us show these Southerns that we do earnestly covet their promised visit to us. Let us, I pray ye, tarry here for some two or three days at least; we shall find occupation enough in beleaguering and taking of this Castle hard by, the which is assuredly pregnable to bold and persevering men, and will yield us the more honour that it be strong. Then shall Hotspur have leisure to bethink himself how he may best come to fetch his pennon; and if it should so list him to come, depardieux, he may take my banner too, if he can.”The old and the cautious hardly in secret approved this counsel; but so much was the heroic Douglas the idol of all, that his wishes were of themselves enough to determine the resolution of those who heard him. Measures were accordingly taken for securing the army against surprise, and for rendering their camp as strong as circumstances would allow; and seeing that they were to remain for so much longer a time than they at first imagined, the soldiers hastily threw up huts, composed of sods and branches of trees, to give them better shelter. The baggage-wains and baggage, with the wainmen, sutlers, and other followers of the army, were stationed so as to block up the approach to the camp; and their position was so defended by[441]morasses and woods, flanking it on either side, as to render it almost unassailable. At some distance from this, the troops were encamped on the slope of a hill, and the wooded rising grounds on either hand contributed to form defences which left it open to attack nowhere but in front, and even there only after the outwork formed by the baggage at a distance in the meadow below should be broken through.Earl Douglas said little to those around him, but made his various dispositions with the cool and skilful eye of an expert commander. He surveyed the ground with thoughtful attention, as the sun was setting bright on the hill. It glanced upon Piersie’s pennon, that fluttered as if idly impatient of its captivity beside the large banner of Scotland, the heavy drapery of which, drooping to the ground in ample folds, hung in silent and majestic dignity, unruffled by the gentle evening breeze. He thought on the Hotspur and his threats—on the violence and impotence of man’s passions—on the actual insignificance of the object which had so stirred up himself and Harry Piersie, compared with the number and value of the lives of those who might soon be called on to fight for it to the death. He mused on the peaceful quiet that now hung over the scene, and of the change that in a few short hours it might undergo; on the change, above all, that might affect many of those brave hearts which were now beating high with the pulses of life, eager to return to their native soil, and to fulfil schemes of future happiness, never, perhaps, to be realized.“There is something solemn and grand in the stillness of this lovely evening,” said the Douglas at last to the Earl of Moray, who was with him. “The parting radiance of day in yonder western sky might make us fancy that the earth was yblent with heaven. Why might we not pass to that long-wished-for country on those slanting rays of glory, without intervening death, or the penitential pains of purgatory?”“’Tis a whimsical conceit, brother,” replied Moray with a smile; “but why, I pray thee, are thy thoughts so employed at a time like this?”“I will tell thee,” said Douglas gravely. “I know not why it is, but my memory hath been at this time visited by the recollection of a strange dream I once had, and which, long forgotten, doth now arise to me afresh with all its circumstances. Methought I was sitting on a hill side, when, all at once, I beheld a furious battle on the plain of the valley below. One side was led by a figure the which I was conscious bore striking resemblance to mine own. He rushed to the fight, but was quickly[442]pierced with three lances at once, and fell dead on the field. Dismay began to fasten on his army, and defeat appeared certain, when the dead corpse of the knight arose, and, towering to a height ten-fold greater than it had when alive, moved with the solemn step of the grave towards the foe. The shout of victory arose from those who were about to yield, and their enemies were dispersed like chaff before the wind, when the giant figure and all vanished from my fancy’s eye.”“Strange!” cried Moray, his attention grappled by this singular communication from the Douglas.“Thou canst never believe me to be a driveller, Moray,” continued Douglas, without noticing his brother-in-law’s interruption, “far less one whom the approach of death may affright. Death must succeed life, as the night doth follow the day, and we who can know little how much of our day is gone, must be prepared to couch as decently when and where the night doth overtake us.”“Nay, Douglas,” said Moray, again interrupting him, “I well wot that those grave sayings of thine are anything but the offspring of a quailing heart; I know that they are begotten by thy dauntless and well-grounded courage that doth accustom itself to survey death at all times, in thought as well as in field, till thou has converted his grim image into the familiar figure of a friend. Yet why should such thoughts find harbour with thee now? Harry Piersie, if he do come at all for his pennon, will hardly be here to-night.”“I think not of the Piersie,” said Douglas, taking Moray’s hand, and warmly pressing it between his, while a tear glistened in his manly eye, “I think not of the Piersie or his pennon; but promise me now, when mine hour hath come, and I shall have gloriously fallen in battle, as I well trust may be my fate, that thou wilt yield thine especial protection, and thy love and cherisaunce, to my widowed Margaret. I need not tell thee what she hath been to me. Our brother-in-law Fife is cold, and calculating, and politic, yea, and heartless. He doth aim at the Regency, and he will doubtless gain his end. Margaret is his much-loved sister while she is the proud wife of Douglas; but trust me, little of her brother’s sunshine will fall upon her widow’s weeds. Be it thine, then, to be her prop and comfort. I well know that the warmth of thy Margery’s love will go hand in hand with thee. I am a man, Moray—we are both men—why should we be ashamed of a few tears shed at a moment like this?”“Nay, but Douglas, why shouldst thou talk thus?” said[443]Moray. “Fate may call for my life first, and then thou wilt have those duties to perform for Margery the which thou dost now claim from me for her sister.”“Nay,” replied Douglas, with ominous seriousness of aspect. “Yet be it so,” said he, after a pause; “do thou but listen to my sad humour. Mine attached Lundie doth well deserve thy care; see that he do meet with that advancement his piety to God and his devotion to me hath so well merited. And then as for my gallant Archibald, my brave esquires Hart and Glendinning, and my faithful shield-bearer Hop Pringle, they have already carved out a shining reputation for themselves; yet do thou never let it be forgotten that they have been faithful followers of the Douglas.”“Canst thou believe that the name of Douglas can ever lose its potent charm?” exclaimed the Earl of Moray with energy, yet deeply affected; “or canst thou doubt that to me thy will must ever be a sacred law? But why should we now talk of matters so sad?” continued he, endeavouring to rally his own spirits as well as those of Douglas; “the banquet doth abide us in thy pavilion yonder, and the lords and knights of Scotland do doubtless wait for thee there, in obedience to thine invitation.”“I had forgotten,” said Douglas, resuming his usual cheerful countenance. “Let us then attune our spirits to mirth and joyous manly converse, sith we have discussed these melancholy themes. Allons, let us to the banquet—such banquet as the rude cookery of the field may furnish.”It was at this time that Rory Spears, having collected a little knot of friends about him, thus addressed them—“Captain MacErchar, and you most worthy esquires, Masters Mortimer Sang and Roger Riddel, yea, and you, brave Robin Lindsay and Ralpho Proudfoot, and the rest, who are nobly ettling to rise by your deeds as others hae done afore ye—ahem—panting after that most honourable honour and dignified dignity of an esquire, I do hereby invite ye all to go down wi’ me to the baggage-camp and sutlerages, whaur we may find comfortable and cozy houf in a braw new bigget sodden hostel, yereckit for the accommodation o’ Dame Margaret MacCleareye’s yill-barrels and yill-customers, and there, at my proper expense, to eat the bit supper I bid her prepare as I came up the hill, and to drink till ye hae weel wet the honours, the which, descending on mine unworthy head from the gallant Hotspur (whose health we shall not fail to drink, albeit we may yet hope to hae the cleaving o’ his skull), have been approven of by our noble Lord of Douglas, and by mine especial dear Lord of[444]Moray, for both of whom we are not only bound to drink to the dead, but to fight to the dead.”“Oich, hoich, Maister Spears, surely, surely—he, he, he!” cried MacErchar.“Bravo, Master Spears, I shall willingly go with thy squireship,” cried Sang; “nay, and never trust me an I do not my best honour to thine entertainment.”“Squire Spears, I am thine,” cried Roger Riddel; and the rest all heartily joining in ready acquiescence in his invitation, they followed Rory joyously down the hill in a body.

As the Earl of Douglas was sitting in his pavilion, in conversation with his chaplain, Richard Lundie, on the second day of his being before Newcastle, a squire in waiting announced to him that one of Lord Moray’s men wished to have a private interview with him.

“Give him entrance speedily,” said the Douglas, “his business may be of moment. He seeth me in private when he seeth me alone with him who knoweth mine inmost soul.”

The squire bowed and retired, and immediately returned to introduce—Rory Spears.

“Rory Spears!” exclaimed the Douglas; “what hath brought thee hither, and what hath my brother of Moray to tell my private ear through thy mouth? Thou art not the messenger he is used to send between us for such affairs. Were it a matter of wood or river craft, indeed, we might both recognize thee as a right trusty and merry ambassador; but at this time we have other game upon our hands. What hath Lord Moray to say?”

“My Lord Yearl o’ Douglas, naebody kens whaur gowd lies till it be howkit out,” replied Rory, with an obeisance. “Albeit that thou and the Yearl o’ Moray, my noble master, have never[427]yet discovered my talents that way, it proveth not that I do lack them. He who is stranger to the soil may chance to divine that, the which he who owneth it hath never dreamt of; and he——”

“What doth all this tend to, Rory Spears?” demanded the Earl of Douglas, interrupting him rather impatiently. “Trust me, though I may have trifled with thee at Tarnawa, this is no time for such idlesse.”

“Bide a wee, my Lord Yearl, bide a wee,” said Rory, with great composure; “call it not trifling till thou art possessed of the value of what I have to effunde unto thee. I was going to tell thee that he who doth own a man like me, ay, or a horse beast, for instance, may ken less o’ his qualifications than he who doth see him but for a gliff.”

“But what hath all this to do with thy message from Moray to me?” cried the Douglas.

“Nought at all, my Lord Yearl,” replied Rory, “for I hae no message frae him. But,” added he, assuming an air of unusual importance, “it hath much to do, I rauckon, with the embassage the which I am at this moment charged with by the Hotspur.”

“The Hotspur—thou charged with a message from the Hotspur!—How can that be? Quick—try not my patience longer; where hast thou encountered the Hotspur?” exclaimed the Douglas eagerly.

Rory proceeded to give the Earl a sketch of the history of his capture, as well as of his being sent for by Sir Harry Piersie.

“He telled me, my Lord Yearl o’ Douglas,” continued he, “that he heard I confessed mysel to be ane esquire o’ the Yearl o’ Moray’s. I didna daur to contradick Hotspur, the mair because I am in a manner the Yearl’s henchman. ‘I hae made yelection o’ thee,’ said he to me, ‘as the fittest man for my job amang a’ the Scottish prisoners in Newcastle. Thou art to bear a message of importance frae me to the gallant Douglas. Tell him Hotspur hath had the renommie o’ his prowess rung in his lugs till the din hath stirred up his inmost soul and made his very heart yearn to encounter sae mokell bravery. Yet hath my evil fortune so willed it,’ quoth he, ‘that though I have sought him unceasing for these two days, yet have I never had the chance to meet him hand to hand.’ ”

“Nay, and God wot, I have not been wanting in my search after the noble Hotspur,” replied Douglas with energy. “But what said he more?”

“ ‘Get thee to the Douglas, Sir Squire,’ said he to me.[428]‘Tell him that I do entreat him, for the love he bears to chivalry, that he may so order his next assault that I may not fail to meet him in person. Be the manner and terms of our encounter of his own fixing, and let him trust to the word of a Piersie for their fulfilment on this side, as I shall to the unbroken faith of a Douglas. Bear this to him, Sir Squire, and take thy liberty and this golden chain for thy guerdon.’ ”

“Bravo, Harry Hotspur!” cried the Douglas, rising from his seat, whilst his eyes flashed fire from the joyous tumult of his heroic spirit; “bravo, brave heart! trust me thou shalt not lack thy desire. Quick—let me hasten to reply to the gallant Piersie’s challenge with that promptness the which it doth so well merit. My most faithful and attached Lundie,” continued he, addressing his chaplain,—“get thee to the provost, if thou lovest me, and use thy good judgment to choose me out from among our English prisoners one who may be best fitted for being the bearer of mine answer. Let him be an esquire, for we would rather surpass than fall short of Hotspur’s courtesy.”

“Nay, an ye would surpass the courtesy of the gallant Hotspur,” said Rory, who stood by, “ye maun e’en send him a knight, for he did send thee ane esquire,—ay, and ane esquire with a golden chain round his craig.”

“Right,” cried the Douglas in the fulness of his joy—“right, Squire Rory Spears; for esquire thou shalt hereafter be, sith it hath pleased Harry Piersie to make thee so. And if a knight is not to be had, by St. Andrew I’ll make one for the purpose of this embassage.”

“Hear ye, Maister Ritchie Lundie,” cried Rory; “I take thee witness that my Lord the Yearl o’ Douglas hath allowed me the rank the which the noble Hotspur did confer on me when I did act as his ambassador. Let not this escape thy memory”.

“Fear thee not, Rory Spears,” said the Douglas; “I shall myself see that thine honours shall be duly recognized.”

Lundie soon returned with an English esquire, selected from among the prisoners. The Earl of Douglas made Rory repeat over in his presence the message of which he had been the bearer from Hotspur.

“And now, Sir Squire,” said Douglas, “thou hast heard the wish of that gallant leader, the noble Hotspur. Be thou the bearer of mine answer. Tell Sir Harry Piersie that for a man to have oped his eyes at noon-day without beholding the light of heaven would have been as easy as to have had ears without their being filled with the renowned achievements of the flower of English chivalry. The Douglas burns to meet him; and that[429]time may in no wise be lost, but each forthwith have his desire, tell him that the Douglas will be on the field anon with fifty lances. Let Sir Harry Piersie come forth with a like number at his back, and let this be the understanding between the parties, that both escorts halt within view of each other, and that both knights singly run a career with grounden spears at the outrance, the knights to be left to themselves. Be thou, I say, the bearer of these terms and conditions; but ere thou goest vouchsafe me thy name.”

“My name is Thomas Scrope, so please thee, my Lord,” replied the esquire.

“Within there,” said the Douglas; “call in my knights and officers. And now, Sir Squire,” said he, after the pavilion was filled, and he had given some necessary orders, “kneel down on this cushion, that before this brilliant knot of Scottish chivalry I may do due honour to him who is to bear my message to the Hotspur.” The English esquire obeyed. The Douglas ordered a pair of golden spurs to be buckled on his heels by the hands of the two eldest Scottish knights present. They then belted him with a magnificent sword, a gift from the Earl, who immediately bestowed on him the accolade, saying—

“I dub thee Knight, in the name of God and St. Michael; be faithful, bold, and fortunate. And now rise up, Sir Thomas Scrope.”

Astounded and confused with this unlooked-for honour, the newly-created knight but awkwardly received the congratulations which poured in on him from those present. The Douglas himself conducted him to the door, where a noble horse, fully caparisoned, awaited him.

“Get thee to saddle, then, Sir Thomas Scrope,” cried he, “and tarry not till thou hast possessed the Hotspur of our reply to his message. Say more—that if he liketh not the terms let him name conditions of his own, to the which I do hereby agree par avance; and let me have them forthwith, for in an hour hence I shall be in the field in front of these lines. God speed thee, Sir Thomas.”

“Might it not have been better, my Lord,” said Richard Lundie, after they were again alone, “might it not have been better to have taken a new sun to gild so glorious a combat? The day is already far spent.”

“Yea, it is so,” replied the Douglas; “but to-morrow we move hence from this idle warfare, and I would not willingly go without proving the metal of the gallant Hotspur, so ’tis as well that his impatience be gratified.”[430]

The bruit of the coming encounter spread like wild-fire through the camp, and the whole chivalry within its circuit pressed forward to be admitted of the chosen band who were to witness the onset of the two bravest knights in Christendom. Lord Douglas’s difficulty was how to select so as to avoid giving offence, and he required all his judgment to manage this. Sir Patrick Hepborne had the good fortune to be one of those who were admitted into the honourable ranks.

When the gay little cohort of mounted lances were drawn forth in array, and the Douglas’s banner was displayed, the stout Earl sprang on a powerful black war-horse, that had neighed and pranced whilst he was held by two esquires, but that became quiet and gentle as a lamb when backed by his heroic master. The whole Scottish line turned out to gaze, and shouts of applause arose that re-echoed from the walls of Newcastle. Immediately afterwards Sir Harry Piersie appeared before the barriers of the town, mounted on a milk-white steed, and as Douglas, even at that distance, could perceive that his escort was of similar strength and description to his own, he had the satisfaction of thinking that the terms he had proposed had been accepted. The fortifications were soon covered by the garrison, who crowded to behold the combat, and the Scottish cheers were loudly returned by the English. A trumpet call from the Piersie band was instantly returned by one from that of Lord Douglas, who immediately gave the word for his knights to advance, whilst he rode forward so as to gain a position about fifty yards in front of them, that he might be the better seen by the opposite party. Having brought up his escort to a point sufficiently near (as he judged) for the arrangement agreed on, he halted them, and ordered them to remain steady, whilst he continued to approach until he came within a due distance for running his course against Hotspur, who had also come forward a considerable way before his attendants.

The trumpets from both bands sounded nearly at once, as if by mutual consent—both knights couched their lances—their armed heels made the blood spring from the sides of their coursers—and they flew like two thunderbolts towards the shock. Anxious suspense hung on both sides as they were stretching over the field, and the silence of the moment was such that the full crash of the collision entered every listening ear, however distant. Loud and exulting cheers from the Scottish lines, which, though they came so far, altogether drowned the uncouth sounds of dismay that ran along the walls of Newcastle, proclaimed the success of the Douglas, whose resistless arm, nerved[431]with a strength that few men could boast, bore the no less gallant Hotspur clean out of his saddle, though, owing to his adroitness in covering his person against his adversary’s point, he was hardly if at all wounded.

The band of English knights who attended him, forgetting the nature of the combat, as well as the express orders they had received from Piersie, saw their adored leader on the green sward, and thinking only of the jeopardy he lay in, began shouting—“Hotspur, Hotspur, to the rescue!” and ere the bold Douglas could well check the furious career of his horse, he was in the midst of a phalanx of his advancing foes. Abandoning his ponderous lance, he grasped the enormous mace that hung at his saddle-bow, and bestirred himself with it so lustily that three or four of the English chevaliers were in as many seconds dashed from their seats to the earth, in plight so grievous that there was but little chance of their ever filling them again. But the throng about the hero was so great, and their blows rained so thickly and heavily upon him, that his destruction must have been inevitable long ere his own band could have reached him, had not the noble Hotspur, whom some of his people were by this time carrying hurriedly away, called out to the knights of his party in a voice of command that was rarely disobeyed—

“Touch not the Douglas—harm not a hair of his head, as ye would hope for heaven. What, would ye assault at such odds the brave Douglas, who hath relied on the word of a Piersie? Shame, shame on ye, gentlemen. Your zeal for Hotspur’s safety came not well at this time for Hotspur’s honour. Trust me, his life stood in no peril with so chivalric a foe.”

Awed and ashamed by these chiding words, the English knights fell back abashed, and made way for the valiant Douglas, who emerged from among them like a hunted lion from among the pack of puny hounds who have vainly baited him.

“Halt! chevaliers,” cried he, rising in his saddle, and raising his right arm, as he in his turn addressed his own band, who were pouring furiously down on the English knights, shouting, “Douglas, Douglas, to the rescue!” “Halt,” cried he again, “halt, in the name of St. Andrew! Let the gallant Hotspur retreat in peace. I blame not him for this small mistake of his trusty followers, the which, after all, was but an excusable error of affection. And as for thee, Piersie, I thank thee for thy courtesy. Depardieux, thou hast proved thyself to be brave as honourable and honourable as brave. Can I say more? By the honour of knighthood, thou hast proved thyself to be Harry[432]Piersie, and in that name all that is excellent in chivalry is centred. The chance hath been mine now; it may be thine anon, if it do so please Heaven. Get thee to refresh thyself then, for we shall forthwith beat up thy quarters with a stiffer stoure than any thou hast yet endured.”

“Douglas,” cried Piersie, who was by this time remounted, “Douglas, thou art all, and more than all that minstrels have called thee. Farewell, till we again meet, and may our meeting be speedy.”

With these parting words, the two leaders wheeled off their respective bands.

Immediately after the Earl of Douglas had returned to the camp, a council of war was held, and, after a short deliberation, preparations were made for instantly assaulting and scaling the fortifications. The army was drawn out from its entrenchments and was led to the attack arranged in three divisions. The Earl of Douglas, attended by the little chosen band of knights who had that day vowed him their special service, led on the central body directly against the barriers. The right and left wings, commanded by the Earls of Dunbar and Moray, marched on steadily, to attempt the storm of the walls at two several points on each side of the gates, in defiance of a heavy shower of arrows from the English bowmen, mingled with some weightier missiles from the balistæ, which sorely galled them, and which they could but ill return with their cross-bows. Each of these flanking divisions covered the approach of a number of wains, laden with hay and straw collected from the neighbouring country; and so soon as they had come near enough to the fortifications, a signal was given, the wains were brought suddenly forward, and hurled one over another into the ditch, so as in many places to fill it up, and admit of the ladders being raised against the wall with great success. The Scottish soldiers rent the air with their shouts, and wielding their destructive battle-axes, rushed like furies to the escalade. But the English were so well prepared, and defended themselves so manfully that they beat back the assailants at every point, and soon succeeded in setting fire to the combustible materials in the ditch, by throwing down lighted brands, so that all hope of forcing an entrance in that way was soon at an end.

Meanwhile the Douglas forcibly assaulted the wooden barriers that defended the entrance to the town; and Piersie and his chivalry, who were immediately within them, no sooner heard the war-cry of “Douglas, Douglas! jamaisarrière!” than, collecting themselves into one great body, they rushed out on[433]the Scottish forces with so resistless an impetus, that nothing could withstand the fury of the stream. Douglas and his troops were borne away like trees of the forest before some bursting torrent. But no sooner had the English spread themselves out upon the plain like exhausted waters, than the voice of the Scottish hero was heard above all the clang of the battle, cheering his men to the charge, and his superb figure, exalted on his black courser, was seen towering onwards against the slackening foe, gathering the firmest Scottish hearts around him as he went.

The English now in their turn gave back; but Harry Piersie, recovered from his stunning fall, mounted on a fresh roan, and, surrounded by the brave knights by whom he was formerly attended, restored their courage both by his voice and example. Shouts of “Piersie, Piersie!” and “Douglas, Douglas!” arose from different parts of the field, and were re-echoed from the walls. At length the two leaders caught a glimpse of each other amid the volumes of smoke that, tinged by the setting sun, were rolling along the ground from the blazing straw, which the descending damps of evening now hardly permitted to rise into the air.

“Ha, Douglas, have I found thee at last?” cried Piersie, turning towards him.

“Trust me, ’twas no fault of mine that we met not sooner, Harry Piersie,” cried Douglas, spurring to encounter him with his mace, his lance having been shivered in the melee.

There was time for no more words. Piersie ran his lance at the Douglas as he came on, who with wonderful dexterity turned it aside, and catching it in his hand, endeavoured to wrench it from his owner. Piersie’s embroidered pennon was waving from the spear head. Douglas snatched at it, but his adversary disappointed him, by forcing up the point, and each retaining his grasp, they were now drawn together into close contact. The little silken trifle, utterly worthless in itself, glittered like a child’s bauble over their heads; but if it had been a kingdom they were contending for, they could not have been more eagerly set on the contest. Each forgetful of the defence of his own life, put forth all his strength and skill, the one to obtain what he considered so glorious a prize, and the other to keep what he thought it would be so disgraceful to lose, and what, moreover, he so much valued, for the sake of her whose taper fingers had interwoven its golden threads. The struggle was strong, but it was short in duration, for the iron hands of Douglas snapt the slim ashen shaft in twain, and in an instant he held up[434]the broken lance, and waved the pennon triumphantly over his head.

“The Piersie’s pennon! recover the Piersie’s pennon!” was the instant cry, and the English crowded to assist Hotspur, led on by Sir Rafe Piersie.

At that moment a body of Scottish lances, headed by Sir Patrick Hepborne, came pouring down in tremendous charge, shouting “Douglas, Douglas!” and dividing the two combatants as they swept onwards, they bore away the Piersies and the English before them to the very barriers, where the press of the combat was so hot, that they were soon compelled to retreat within their palisadoes, and to close up their defences. The partial breathing of an instant ensued, during which Douglas looked eagerly for Hotspur, and at length having descried him over the pales—

“By St. Andrew,” he cried, rising in his stirrups, and again waving the captured pennon high in the air, “I have good reason, Harry Piersie, to be thankful for the glorious issue of this bicker. Trust me, I value this pennon of thine above all the spoil of Newcastle, nay, or of an hundred such towns. I shall bear it with me into Scotland, fair Sir, in token of our encounter; and in remembrance of thy prowess, I do promise thee it shall grace the proudest pinnacle of my Castle of Dalkeith.”

“Be assured, Douglas,” replied Piersie courteously, though with manifest signs of great vexation, “ye shall not bear it over the Border; nay, ye shall not pass the bounds of this county till ye be met withal in such wise that ye shall make none avaunte thereof.”

“Well, brave Sir,” replied the Earl of Douglas, “it shall be set up before my pavilion this night; so come thither to seek for thy pennon, and take it thence if thou canst; till then, farewell.”

The Lord Douglas turned away, proudly bearing his trophy; and the night was now approaching, and all hopes of succeeding in the assault being at an end, he ordered the retreat to be sounded, and collecting his forces, he retired behind his trenches.

The Scottish troops were no sooner withdrawn than Hotspur, smarting under the stinging disgrace of the loss of his pennon, summoned a council of war, in which he bravely proposed to lead on the English troops to a night attack against the Scottish entrenchments. This proposition was warmly supported by Sir Rafe Piersie, who participated largely in his brother’s injured feelings; but an opinion prevailing among the English knights[435]that the Earl of Douglas’s party was but the Scottish vanguard, and that the large army, of which they had heard so much, was hovering at no great distance, ready to avail itself of any imprudent step they might take, very generally opposed his wishes.

“Sir,” said the prudent Seneschal of York, who was present, and who seemed to speak as the organ of the rest, “there fortuneth in war oftentimes many chances. Another day thou mayest gain greater advantage of Earl Douglas than he hath this day won of thee. Let us not peril the cause of England for a paltry pennon, when the power of Scotland is abroad. Who knoweth but this empty skirmish of theirs may be a snare to lure us out to destruction? Better is it to lose a pennon than two or three hundred brave knights and squires, and to lay our country at the mercy of these invading foemen.”

Though some of the young and impetuous, and even the old Sir Walter de Selby, showed symptoms of being disposed to support the plan proposed by the Hotspur, yet this prudent counsel was so generally applauded, that, though boiling inwardly with indignation at their apathy, he was compelled to yield with the best face he could, while his lip was visibly curled with a smile of ineffable contempt for what he considered their pusillanimity.

“What a hollow flock of craven pullets, brother Rafe!” said he, giving way to a burst of passionate vexation after the council had broke up, and they were left alone. “What, a paltry pennon, saidst thou, Sir Seneschal? May thy tongue be blistered for the word! Depardieux, were it not unwise to stir up evil blood among us at such a time, I would make him eat it, old as he is, and difficult as he might find the digestion of it. Oh, is’t not bitter penance, brother Rafe, for falcons such as we are to be mewed up with such a set of grey geese? By Heaven, it is enough to brutify the noble spirit we do inherit from our sires. What will the Douglas, I pr’ythee, think of Harry Hotspur, now that after all his vaunts he cometh not out to-night to give him the camisado in his tent, and to pluck his pennon from the disgraceful soil in the which it doth now grow so vilely? But, by St. George, though I should be obliged to go with no more than our vassals, I will catch the Douglas ere he quits Northumberland, and I will have my pennon again or die in the taking of it.”

The Douglas was well prepared to give Harry Piersie a welcome had circumstances enabled him to have paid his visit to the Scottish camp before they broke up from Newcastle. The[436]sentinels were so stationed that the whole army would have been alarmed and under arms in a few minutes. His sleep was therefore as sound as if he had been in his own Castle of Dalkeith, though he slept in his armour, that he might be ready to meet the foe on the first rouse.

“Well, my trusty esquires,” said he to Robert Hart and Simon Glendinning, as they came to wait on him in the morning, “doth Harry Piersie’s pennon still flutter where these hands did place it yesternight?”

“Yea, my good Lord,” replied Glendinning, “thy challenge hath gone unheeded.”

“Nay, then, we bide no longer for him here,” said Douglas; “an he will have it now, he must come after us to take it. Are my Lords Moray and Dunbar astir?”

“They are, my Lord,” replied Hart.

“Go to them, then, Robert, and tell them, that with their leave we shall march anon. But, by St. Andrew, there shall be no appearance of unseemly haste. Let the sun, that saw the Piersie’s pennon planted yesternight ere he did go to bed, be suffered to look upon it for some time after he be well risen again, so that we may not be accused of being more dexterous in carrying off our prey than bold in defending it.”

The little Scottish army broke up from their encampment with as much composure as if they had been in a friendly country, and marched leisurely off with loud cheers. Harry Piersie was on the wall, and his blood boiled at the very sound.

“By the holy St. Cuthbert, they mock me,” cried he, his face flushing with anger; “ay, an well may they too,” continued he, striking his forehead. “Oh, I could leap over these walls from very despite. By the mass, their numbers are naught; see how small their columns appear; already the last of them are gone; oh, is it not enow to drive me to madness!”—and, dashing his mailed foot to the ground, he turned away to gnaw his nails with vexation.

After taking two or three turns with his brother along the rampart, he suddenly called for an esquire, and ordered him to procure some intelligent scouts; to these he gave orders to follow the Scottish line of march, and to bring him frequent and accurate intelligence of their numbers, their route, and all their actions; and, having taken this precaution, he and Sir Rafe Piersie continued to pace the walls by themselves, giving vent, from time to time, to their indignation and disappointment, in abrupt sentences addressed to each other. During that day and the evening following it, large reinforcements of troops poured[437]into Newcastle, from different quarters of the circumjacent country; and the stronger Hotspur found himself, the more impatient he became to make use of his strength.

“Ay, ay, see where they come; see where they come, brother Rafe,” said he in a pettish tone. “But what come they for, an we have them not in the field? Depardieux, from the careless guise and strutting gait of some of these butter-headed burghers, and clod-pated churls, meseems as if they came more to parade it in a fair than to fight.”

“If we can but get them once into the field,” said Sir Rafe Piersie, “by all that is good, we shall teach the knaves another bearing and another step.”

“Ay, marry, would that we but had them in the field, indeed,” replied Hotspur; “the very smell of battle hath a marvellous virtue in it, and doth oftentimes convert the veriest dolt into a hero. Of such fellows as these men, one might make rare engines for recovering a lost pennon, yea, as of finer clay. Would we but had them fit the proof. But a plague upon these cautious seniors of the council, methinks my patience was miraculous; nay, in truth, most miraculous, to hear that old driveller talk of my paltry pennon, and not to dash my gauntlet in his teeth for the word.”

“Nay, I could hardly keep my hands down,” cried Sir Rafe Piersie. “Methinks our blood must be cooling, or else even his age should have been no protection.”

“’Tis better as it is, Rafe,” replied Hotspur; “but why tarry these scouts of mine? I shall fret me to death ere they return. Why are we not blessed with the power of seeing what doth pass afar off? Had I this faculty, how would mine eyes soar over the Douglas and my pennon!”

In such talk as this the brothers wasted great part of the night. The impatient Hotspur was kept in suspense until next morning, when, much to his relief, the arrival of the wearied scouts was announced to him. He ordered them instantly into his presence, and having closely interrogated them, he soon gathered from them all the intelligence he wanted.

The Earl of Douglas had marched slowly and circumspectly, and although his little army had sufficiently marked his course, by plundering and burning whatever came in its way, the troops had not been suffered to spread far to the right or left. They halted at Pontland, and took and burnt the town and castle, making prisoner of Sir Aymer de Athele, who defended it. Thence they marched to Otterbourne, where they encamped, apparently with the intention of besieging the castle of that[438]name next day. The scouts also brought certain information that the Scots did not amount to more than three thousand men-at-arms, and three or four hundred lances, and that the main body of the army was nowhere in the neighbourhood, but still lying indolently on the Western Marches. Full of these particulars, Hotspur, with a bounding heart, again summoned the council of war, and bringing in his scouts, he made them tell their own story.

“What say ye now, gentlemen?” cried he with a triumphant air; “was I right, or not? By the Rood, I was at least wrong to listen to the cold caution of some few frozen heads here; for, an I mistake not the general voice of the council yesterday was with me. We mought have spared these Scots many a weary mile of march, I ween. By St. George, they were a mere handful for us, a mere handful; not a man of them should have escaped us; ay, and such a price should they have paid for the ruin they have wrought on these fine counties, that Scotland should have quaked for a century at the very thought of setting foot across the Border.”

“Frozen heads, didst thou say, Sir Harry Piersie?” demanded the Seneschal of York calmly; “methinks that thy meaning would be to accuse those frozen heads of being leagued with frozen hearts; but let me tell thee, Hotspur, where snow is shed on the poll we may look for a cool judgment; and if a cool, then probably a wise judgment.”

“Pshaw!” said Hotspur, half aside to his brother; “this fusty utterer of worn-out saws and everyday wisdom goadeth me beyond all bearing; yet must I temper mine answer. Trust me, I meant not to impeach thine ordinary judgment, Sir Seneschal,” continued he aloud, “though I do think that it did for once err grievously in our yesterday’s council. But let us not talk of this. I am now here to tell ye, gentlemen, that, by the faith I owe to God, and to my Lord my father, go who list with me, I shall now go seek for my pennon, and give Lord Douglas the camisado this night at Otterbourne; yea, by St. George, though I should do it without other aid than that of my brother Rafe, and the faithful vassals of the Piersie. What, am I to put up, think ye, with the loss of my pennon, and the disgrace of our house and name? By heaven, though it were but a hair’s-breadth of the hem of my Lady’s mantle, the Douglas should not carry it into Scotland. But if disgrace doth attend the losing of Hotspur’s pennon, depardieux, let it be borne by those who, calling themselves his friends, will not yield him their help to retake it; for Hotspur is resolved to wipe off shame from himself[439]—he will follow his pennon to the Orcades, yea, pluck it from their most northern cape, or fall in the attempt. Disgrace shall never cleave to Hotspur.”

“No, nor to Rafe Piersie neither,” cried his brother. “Let those who fear to follow stay at home. We shall on together, hand in hand, and seize the pennon, though grim death held its shaft; yea, paltry as it may be thought, it shall be the sun on whose beams our dying eyes shall close. Let us on then.”

The loud murmurs of applause which arose from among the younger knights manifested how much they sympathized with the feelings of the Piersies. But the old Seneschal of York again put in his word of prudence.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “I see that, in speaking as I must do, I shall have but few to agree with me, yet must I natheless freely speak my mind, more especially as I do perceive that those knights who, like myself, have seen more years of warfare than the rest, do seem disposed to think with me. I must confess, that, albeit some potent reasons do now cease to war with your opinion, mine is but little altered. Meseems it still is an especial risk to move so far from garrison after an uncertain enemy, for a mere shred of silk and gold.”

“A shred of silk and gold!” exclaimed Sir Walter de Selby. “What, dost thou not think that all England is disgraced by this triumph of the Scottish Douglas over the Hotspur? And dost thou regard nought but the shred of silk and gold? Talk not of the old ones, I pray thee, Sir Seneschal of York. Trust me, old as is Sir Walter de Selby, he shall never rest idle whilst gallant deeds are adoing to wipe off a foul stain from the name of England. Be it death or victory, he shall have his share on’t.”

“Thy hand, my brave old soldier,” cried both the Piersies at once.

“Thou shalt go with us,” exclaimed Hotspur; “though thine years might have well excused thee leaving thine own Castle of Norham, yet hast thou come hither; yea, and thou shalt now forward with us to the field, were it but to show how the noble fire of a warlike soul may burn through the thickest snows of age.”

“Nay, then,” said the Seneschal of York, “thou shalt see, Sir Harry Piersie, that albeit I do advise caution, yet shall I do my part as well as others, when my words do cease to avail aught; yet would I fain have thee tarry until thou art joined by the Bishop of Durham, who is looked for with his force this night.”[440]

“What, while we can muster eight thousand good soldiers without him, and six hundred gallant lances? Shall we wait for the Bishop, and so permit the Scots to ’scape from our vengeance? Nay, nay, let’s to horse, my brave friends; my heart swells at the thought of reaping so glorious a field. Let’s to horse without delay, if your blood be English.”

Hotspur’s call was hailed with loud approval, and the brave though cautious Seneschal, seeing that it was in vain to urge more, joined heartily with the rest in getting the army under arms, and in hastening the march.

The Scots had begun to sound their bugles at an early hour that morning, and to assault the Castle of Otterbourne, and they wasted the whole of the day in unsuccessful attempts against it. A council of war being held in the evening, it was found that there were cautious heads among the Scotch as well as among the English knights. Some of those who spoke were of opinion that they should abandon all further attempts against the Castle, and march forward towards Scotland. But the Earl of Douglas opposed this.

“What, my brave Lords and Knights of Scotland,” cried he with energy, “would ye give Harry Piersie cause to say that we have stolen this pennon of his? Let us not creep away with it like thieves in the dark; nay, rather let us show these Southerns that we do earnestly covet their promised visit to us. Let us, I pray ye, tarry here for some two or three days at least; we shall find occupation enough in beleaguering and taking of this Castle hard by, the which is assuredly pregnable to bold and persevering men, and will yield us the more honour that it be strong. Then shall Hotspur have leisure to bethink himself how he may best come to fetch his pennon; and if it should so list him to come, depardieux, he may take my banner too, if he can.”

The old and the cautious hardly in secret approved this counsel; but so much was the heroic Douglas the idol of all, that his wishes were of themselves enough to determine the resolution of those who heard him. Measures were accordingly taken for securing the army against surprise, and for rendering their camp as strong as circumstances would allow; and seeing that they were to remain for so much longer a time than they at first imagined, the soldiers hastily threw up huts, composed of sods and branches of trees, to give them better shelter. The baggage-wains and baggage, with the wainmen, sutlers, and other followers of the army, were stationed so as to block up the approach to the camp; and their position was so defended by[441]morasses and woods, flanking it on either side, as to render it almost unassailable. At some distance from this, the troops were encamped on the slope of a hill, and the wooded rising grounds on either hand contributed to form defences which left it open to attack nowhere but in front, and even there only after the outwork formed by the baggage at a distance in the meadow below should be broken through.

Earl Douglas said little to those around him, but made his various dispositions with the cool and skilful eye of an expert commander. He surveyed the ground with thoughtful attention, as the sun was setting bright on the hill. It glanced upon Piersie’s pennon, that fluttered as if idly impatient of its captivity beside the large banner of Scotland, the heavy drapery of which, drooping to the ground in ample folds, hung in silent and majestic dignity, unruffled by the gentle evening breeze. He thought on the Hotspur and his threats—on the violence and impotence of man’s passions—on the actual insignificance of the object which had so stirred up himself and Harry Piersie, compared with the number and value of the lives of those who might soon be called on to fight for it to the death. He mused on the peaceful quiet that now hung over the scene, and of the change that in a few short hours it might undergo; on the change, above all, that might affect many of those brave hearts which were now beating high with the pulses of life, eager to return to their native soil, and to fulfil schemes of future happiness, never, perhaps, to be realized.

“There is something solemn and grand in the stillness of this lovely evening,” said the Douglas at last to the Earl of Moray, who was with him. “The parting radiance of day in yonder western sky might make us fancy that the earth was yblent with heaven. Why might we not pass to that long-wished-for country on those slanting rays of glory, without intervening death, or the penitential pains of purgatory?”

“’Tis a whimsical conceit, brother,” replied Moray with a smile; “but why, I pray thee, are thy thoughts so employed at a time like this?”

“I will tell thee,” said Douglas gravely. “I know not why it is, but my memory hath been at this time visited by the recollection of a strange dream I once had, and which, long forgotten, doth now arise to me afresh with all its circumstances. Methought I was sitting on a hill side, when, all at once, I beheld a furious battle on the plain of the valley below. One side was led by a figure the which I was conscious bore striking resemblance to mine own. He rushed to the fight, but was quickly[442]pierced with three lances at once, and fell dead on the field. Dismay began to fasten on his army, and defeat appeared certain, when the dead corpse of the knight arose, and, towering to a height ten-fold greater than it had when alive, moved with the solemn step of the grave towards the foe. The shout of victory arose from those who were about to yield, and their enemies were dispersed like chaff before the wind, when the giant figure and all vanished from my fancy’s eye.”

“Strange!” cried Moray, his attention grappled by this singular communication from the Douglas.

“Thou canst never believe me to be a driveller, Moray,” continued Douglas, without noticing his brother-in-law’s interruption, “far less one whom the approach of death may affright. Death must succeed life, as the night doth follow the day, and we who can know little how much of our day is gone, must be prepared to couch as decently when and where the night doth overtake us.”

“Nay, Douglas,” said Moray, again interrupting him, “I well wot that those grave sayings of thine are anything but the offspring of a quailing heart; I know that they are begotten by thy dauntless and well-grounded courage that doth accustom itself to survey death at all times, in thought as well as in field, till thou has converted his grim image into the familiar figure of a friend. Yet why should such thoughts find harbour with thee now? Harry Piersie, if he do come at all for his pennon, will hardly be here to-night.”

“I think not of the Piersie,” said Douglas, taking Moray’s hand, and warmly pressing it between his, while a tear glistened in his manly eye, “I think not of the Piersie or his pennon; but promise me now, when mine hour hath come, and I shall have gloriously fallen in battle, as I well trust may be my fate, that thou wilt yield thine especial protection, and thy love and cherisaunce, to my widowed Margaret. I need not tell thee what she hath been to me. Our brother-in-law Fife is cold, and calculating, and politic, yea, and heartless. He doth aim at the Regency, and he will doubtless gain his end. Margaret is his much-loved sister while she is the proud wife of Douglas; but trust me, little of her brother’s sunshine will fall upon her widow’s weeds. Be it thine, then, to be her prop and comfort. I well know that the warmth of thy Margery’s love will go hand in hand with thee. I am a man, Moray—we are both men—why should we be ashamed of a few tears shed at a moment like this?”

“Nay, but Douglas, why shouldst thou talk thus?” said[443]Moray. “Fate may call for my life first, and then thou wilt have those duties to perform for Margery the which thou dost now claim from me for her sister.”

“Nay,” replied Douglas, with ominous seriousness of aspect. “Yet be it so,” said he, after a pause; “do thou but listen to my sad humour. Mine attached Lundie doth well deserve thy care; see that he do meet with that advancement his piety to God and his devotion to me hath so well merited. And then as for my gallant Archibald, my brave esquires Hart and Glendinning, and my faithful shield-bearer Hop Pringle, they have already carved out a shining reputation for themselves; yet do thou never let it be forgotten that they have been faithful followers of the Douglas.”

“Canst thou believe that the name of Douglas can ever lose its potent charm?” exclaimed the Earl of Moray with energy, yet deeply affected; “or canst thou doubt that to me thy will must ever be a sacred law? But why should we now talk of matters so sad?” continued he, endeavouring to rally his own spirits as well as those of Douglas; “the banquet doth abide us in thy pavilion yonder, and the lords and knights of Scotland do doubtless wait for thee there, in obedience to thine invitation.”

“I had forgotten,” said Douglas, resuming his usual cheerful countenance. “Let us then attune our spirits to mirth and joyous manly converse, sith we have discussed these melancholy themes. Allons, let us to the banquet—such banquet as the rude cookery of the field may furnish.”

It was at this time that Rory Spears, having collected a little knot of friends about him, thus addressed them—

“Captain MacErchar, and you most worthy esquires, Masters Mortimer Sang and Roger Riddel, yea, and you, brave Robin Lindsay and Ralpho Proudfoot, and the rest, who are nobly ettling to rise by your deeds as others hae done afore ye—ahem—panting after that most honourable honour and dignified dignity of an esquire, I do hereby invite ye all to go down wi’ me to the baggage-camp and sutlerages, whaur we may find comfortable and cozy houf in a braw new bigget sodden hostel, yereckit for the accommodation o’ Dame Margaret MacCleareye’s yill-barrels and yill-customers, and there, at my proper expense, to eat the bit supper I bid her prepare as I came up the hill, and to drink till ye hae weel wet the honours, the which, descending on mine unworthy head from the gallant Hotspur (whose health we shall not fail to drink, albeit we may yet hope to hae the cleaving o’ his skull), have been approven of by our noble Lord of Douglas, and by mine especial dear Lord of[444]Moray, for both of whom we are not only bound to drink to the dead, but to fight to the dead.”

“Oich, hoich, Maister Spears, surely, surely—he, he, he!” cried MacErchar.

“Bravo, Master Spears, I shall willingly go with thy squireship,” cried Sang; “nay, and never trust me an I do not my best honour to thine entertainment.”

“Squire Spears, I am thine,” cried Roger Riddel; and the rest all heartily joining in ready acquiescence in his invitation, they followed Rory joyously down the hill in a body.

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