CHAPTER XLV.

[Contents]CHAPTER XLV.The Tournament.The Earl of Moray’s sylvan banquet of refreshment was by this time over, the balconies and galleries were already filled with the knights and ladies, and the lists were surrounded by the populace, all eagerly beholding the numerous tilting matches going on between young knights who wished to exercise themselves, and prove each other’s strength of arm, adroitness, and firmness of seat, or between squires or pages, who wished to earn their first harvest of fame. The sport had been as yet but indifferent. Most of those who had ridden against each other were novices, who afforded but a poor specimen of what the Scottish chivalry could do. The English knights, and, above all, the Lord Welles, were sneering to each other at the wretchedness of the exhibition, and every now and then throwing out sarcastic remarks against those who were engaged, whenever the occurrence of any slight piece of awkwardness gave them an opening for doing so. The Scottish knights who were within ear-shot of what dropped from them, were nettled at what they heard; and had not the sacred character of an ambassador compelled them to keep down their emotions, the Lord Welles, or some of his suite, might have been called on to show, in their own persons, what Englishmen could do; but, circumstanced as they were, none of the members of this diplomatic corps had considered[312]it as necessary to put up his blazon in the chapel of St. John.“Thinkest thou, Courtenay, that there is any chance of men appearing here to-day?” said the Lord Welles, in a voice that showed he little cared who heard him, or what soreness he might occasion. “In my mind those have been but women and boys who have been tilting for our amusement.”“Depardieux. thou sayest well, my lord,” replied Sir Piers Courtenay, “for such woman’s play and child’s tilting did I never before behold. Our Cheapside shop-boys would make better work on’t with their yard-measures. Then there is no fancy in their armour—a crude and barbarous taste, my Lord—yea, and a clownish and plebeian air about their very persons, too. Trust me, my Lord, I do not rashly venture on the grave and serious accusation I am now about to hazard, when I do declare, solemnly and fervently, that I have not seen one spur of the accurately proper fashion on any knightly heel in these Caledonian wildernesses.”“Ha, ha, ha. The nicety of thy judgment in such matters, Courtenay, is unquestionable,” said the Lord Welles laughing.A trumpet now sounded from one of the barriers, and was immediately answered from that at the other end of the lists. The voice of a pursuivant was next heard.“Oyez! oyez! oyez! The good esquire Mortimer Sang doth call on the gallant Knight of Cheviot to appear to answer his challenge.”There was some delay for a little time, during which all eyes were thrown towards the barrier, where Mortimer was steadily bestriding a superb chestnut charger, with an ease and grace that might have led the spectators to suppose that the horse and man were but one animal. One of Sir Patrick Hepborne’s pages, well mounted, attended him, to do him the necessary offices of the lists; and although his helmet displayed no crest, and that his arms were plain, and his shield without achievement, yet his whole appearance had something commanding about it, and all were prepossessed in his favour.“That looks something like a man,” quoth the English knights to each other.“What a noble-looking presence! If he be only an esquire, of a truth he deserves to be a knight,” went round among the spectators.“How handsome he is, and how gallant-looking and warlike!” whispered the soft voice of Catherine Spears, who stood behind the Countess of Moray.[313]The pursuivant from Sang’s barrier now repeated his challenge; a confused murmur soon afterwards arose from that at the opposite end of the lists, and by and by, the huge bulk of the Knight of Cheviot, mounted on his enormous charger, was seen moving like the mountains he took his name from, through an amazed group of wondering heads. The horse and man seemed to have been made for each other, and they looked like the creatures of a creation altogether different from that of this earth, and as if such inhabitants would have required a larger world than ours to have contained them.“By’r Lady, but yonder comes no child, then,” exclaimed Sir Miles Templeton, one of the English knights, who sat behind the Lord Welles.“By St. George, ’tis an animated colossal monument,” said the Lord Welles.“If it be cast down, we cannot choose but have an earth-quake,” cried Sir Piers Courtenay.“Who or what can he be?” said Sir John Constable.“We shall doubtless hear anon,” replied the Lord Welles.“Hath not the brave esquire been rash in selecting so huge a monster for hiscoup d’essaiin the lists?” said the Countess of Moray. “To what knight may he be attached?”“To me, my noble lady,” said Sir Patrick Hepborne from a place behind, where he had sat unnoticed by the Countess. “Trust me, he will acquit himself well—his heart is as stout as it is true.”“Sayest thou so, Sir Knight?” said the Countess, turning round and looking at him with some severity. “Then do I give thee joy that thou hast at least one leal heart in thy company.”“Oh, my lady,” cried the alarmed Katherine Spears, “Squire Mortimer can never stand against yonder terrible giant. What will become of him? Holy St. Andrew protect us, I dare not look!”“Nay, fear thee not, gentle damsel,” said Sir Patrick, with assumed composure; “though yonder living tower look so big and so threatening, trust me I have no dread for friend Sang. He hath much good thew and muscle packed into reasonable compass, and they are nerved by a heart withal that nothing can danton. Fear ye not for Sang. By St. Baldrid, I begin to feel a stirring interest in this coming shock.”“May the blessed Virgin guard and aid him!” cried Katherine Spears, half covering her eyes.The pursuivant at the end of the lists where the Knight of[314]Cheviot appeared, now responded to him who had given forth the challenge.“Oyez! oyez! oyez! The gallant Knight of Cheviot is here, and ready to answer the darreigne of the good squire, Mortimer Sang.”“Laissez les aller” cried the herald from the platform under the Royal balcony; the trumpet sounded, and the barriers at both ends of the lists were immediately dropped.The lists, as was very commonly the case in those times, were double; that is to say, they were divided towards the middle, for about two-fourths of their length, by a longitudinal barrier of wood of about four feet high. This was for the purpose of separating the horses of the combatants from each other, to save them from injury; for each knight, taking a different side of the wooden wall, ran his career close to it, and tilted at his adversary over it, without risk of the steeds meeting in shock, as in the undivided lists.No sooner were the barriers withdrawn, than Mortimer Sang spurred his courser, sprang forward, and swept along like a whirlwind. The huge animal ridden by the gigantic and ponderous Knight of Cheviot was slow in getting into motion, and came on blowing and snorting, with a heavy lumbering gallop, that shook the very ground. The esquire had already ridden along one-half of the wall of division ere his antagonist had reached a third of the distance. His lance was firmly and truly pointed against the immense body that approached, and every eye was intently watching for the issue of a joust that promised to be unexampled in the annals of chivalry. Both steeds were steadily maintaining the line in which each had started. The enormous tilting-lance of the knight, as it came on, resembled the bolt-sprit of some vessel driven before the wind, and, blunt though it was, the annihilation of the esquire appeared certain to the spectators. The collision was within a few yards of taking place, when, to the astonishment of all, the Knight of Cheviot suddenly dropped his lance, and, seizing the bridle of his charger with both hands, exerted all his strength to pull him aside, and succeeded in making him bolt away from the thrust of his opponent. That it was an intentional effort and no accident was evident to every one. A general hiss, mingled with loud hootings broke, from the balconies and galleries. Mortimer Sang, exasperated at the shameful and cowardly conduct of him on whom he had so sanguinely hoped to prove his prowess, checked the straight course of his horse’s career, and, sweeping around in a narrow circle, ran him at the wooden barrier, and, leaping[315]him desperately over it, rode furiously, lance in rest, against the dastard Knight of Cheviot, who had hardly yet reined up his steed.Shouts of applause followed this spirited manoeuvre of Sang’s. The base knight heard them, looked around, beheld the esquire coming, and began immediately to fly towards the gates of the lists. “Halt,” cried Mortimer aloud, “halt, thou craven. What! fearest thou a blunt lance? Halt, thou mountain of Cheviot, halt, I say, that I may climb to thine uppermost peak to tweak thee by the nose, that I may pluck thy prickly crest from thy foggy head, and stick it beneath the tail of the draff-horse that beareth thee; halt, coward, that I may forthwith blot out thy rising sun, that thou mayst no more dare to shine.”But the Knight of Cheviot stayed not to look behind him. His legs played upon the sides of his horse like some piece of powerful machinery, and he spurred off as if the devil had been after him, the animal exhibiting a pace which no one could have believed was in him. The marshalmen would have stopped him in his way to the gate, but to have essayed to arrest the progress of a huge rock, just parted from the summit of some lofty Alp, and spinning along the plain with all the impetus derived from its descent, could not have been a more irrational or more hopeless attempt, or one more pregnant with certain destruction to those who made it. The way was cleared before him; but the gate was shut. Neither horse nor man seemed to regard the obstruction, however; it appeared as if both were influenced by the same blind fear. They ran against it with so great an impetus, that its strong bars and rails yielded before the shock, and were strewed upon the plain. Away flew the fugitive across the Meads, and on Sang urged furiously after him. The shouts from the lists were redoubled. Down rushed crowds of the populace from the scaffolds, and away they poured with a hue and cry after the chase.The flying giant had much the start of Sang, but the superior speed of the squire’s well-bred courser was fast lessening this advantage. It was in vain that he attempted to double and wheel, for Sang, cutting sharply round, only gained the more on him. He stretched his course straight for the forest, but all saw that he must be speedily overtaken. Sang neared him, and couching his lance, planted himself firmly in his saddle. A single bound of his horse brought him within reach of the knight, and giving him an alert and vigorous push in the rear with his blunt weapon, he threw his unwieldy body forward on his horse’s neck, so that, encumbered by the weight, the animal stumbled[316]a step or two, and then losing his fore legs, rolled himself and hurled his rider forward upon the sod.Ancient Æsop hath told us of a certain tortoise, that, being carried into the clouds by an eagle, was dropped thence on a rock. It is easy to conceive how the various compartments of the creature’s natural armour must have been rent from each other by the fall. So it was with the Knight of Cheviot. The descent of such a mountain was no light matter. Large as his armour was, its various pieces were far from meeting each other over the immense limbs and joints they should have enclosed; and the leathern latchets which laced them together being somewhat aged, they, and even the rivets, gave way with the shock; and the fastenings of the helmet and of the different plates bursting asunder, and there being no shirt of mail beneath them, the Knight of Cheviot lay sprawling among the ruins of his defences, in a black jerkin and hauselines. The active Sang would have been upon him in a trice, but, filled with astonishment, he reined up his steed and halted to wonder. Nor was superstitious fear altogether without its influence in arresting him in his first intention of seizing the dastard impostor, who had thus disgraced the name of knight, as well as the lists in which he had dared to show himself, and of having him dragged to that summary punishment inflicted on such occasions by the laws of chivalry. His eyes stared with an amazement that was almost incredulous of the reality of what they beheld. He whom he saw struggling on the ground was the wizard, Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick, whom he had once accidentally seen at Norham, and of whose supernatural powers he had then heard enough to fill him now with temporary awe, at this his unexpected appearance. Sang raised his own vizor and rubbed his eyes, and when he saw that it was really the face and figure of the Ancient which he beheld, he for a moment suspected that it was some demoniacal trick of enchantment that had been played him to rob him of the fame he had hoped to earn. Rage got the better of every feeling of superstition.“Ha!” exclaimed he, “be’st thou wizard or devil, I’ll wrestle with thee;” and flinging himself from his horse, he strode towards the struggling Knight of Cheviot.But he was a moment too late. Ere he could reach the wizard, the latter had recovered himself sufficiently to scramble to his legs; and just as the squire was about to lay his fangs upon him, he escaped with a sort of shuffling run, that grew as he proceeded into an awkward striding gait that might have done honour to a camelopard; the plates of his armour hanging[317]to his body by frail tags, clattering and jingling as he flew, and spinning off at a tangent from his person, as the thongs successively gave way. The esquire pursued him as fast as he could, but his armour hampered him so much that he had no chance in a race with one who was loosely attired, and who was every moment lessening his weight by getting rid of some part of his steel encumbrances.“Halt, coward!” cried Sang, puffing and blowing after him. “Ha, by St. Baldrid, ’tis in vain to follow him. An he were the Spirit of the Cheviots himself, who may step thee from one hill-top to another, he could not exert more alacrity of escape. He devoureth whole roods of ground at a stride as he fleeth. By the mass, see him! he courses up yonder bank with his backpiece hanging down behind him, rattling like a canister at the tail of some mongrel hound. Body o’ me, how it got atween his legs; would that it had thrown him down. Ha! now it hath lost its hold of him—and now the red fiend may catch him for me, for there he goes into the forest.”The squire returned slowly and sullenly to meet his page, who was by this time coming up. The huge dray horse of the Knight of Cheviot having regained his legs, was standing heaving his enormous sides like a stranded whale.“’Tis a cruel bite, Archibald Lees,” said Mortimer Sang to the page; “’tis a cruel bite, I say, when a man thinketh he hath roused a lion, to find his game turn out but a stinking pole-cat after all. Get thee after the lurdon, and pick up the pieces of his armour, the which did drop from his scoundrel carcase as he fled.”“Methought, as I chanced to see him casing, that he would turn out to be some such vermin,” replied the page, as he proceeded to obey the squire’s commands.Sang sat himself down for a little time to recover his wind, comforting himself with the idea that he had at least won a trophy of armour that would be valuable from its very rarity.“I shall have them hung up in mine own tower,” said he to himself. “As for the horse, he may fetch as much as may repay Sir Patrick for the advance he hath made for the arms I had of Andria Martellino. By mine honour, he hath a body and limbs that might pull a castle after them. He will sell right speedily to a wainman, ay, and that for a noble price too.”A crowd of the populace now began to approach the place where he was sitting, clamouring as they came along. At their head came Rory Spears, with his fish-clip brandished over his shoulder, and followed by a party of the marshal’s men, bringing[318]along the Italian armourer in custody, whose face exhibited an expression of extreme dismay and trepidation.“Ay, ay, we shall soon ken whether the rogue speaketh truth or no,” cried Spears indignantly. “He saith, if I mistake him not, that Squire Sang knoweth somewhat of the matter. We shall see what he may hae to say for himsel when he cometh before him. Bring him along here.”“What turmoil is here, I beseech ye, my masters?” demanded Sang.“Ah! Signor Mortimero,” cried the Italian, with a deplorable face of terror; “a—a—ah! It is moss joy for me to see dee; I ask dem to bring me to dee—dey no ondairstond me; ah, San Lorenzo!—dey do vant to hang me by de naik—dey do accuse me of de steal.”“Well,” said Sang, with a gruff laugh, as if the attempt at a joke suited but ill with his present vexation and disappointment at the issue of his combat, “by the mass, methinks thou mayest be well enow content to be accused of steel in Scotland, for there lacketh not in Paris those who did boldly affirm that thou didst employ a much softer metal in thy warlike wares.”“Pah! no, no, no, signor,” exclaimed Martellino, in extreme distress, “not acciajo, vat dou do call steel van metal—ma, de steal, de rob; dey do accuse me of steal a posse of gold, and as dou art mine verri good friend, I did crave them to bring me to dee.”“Nay,” said Sang, “that is in truth a more serious matter. An that be made out to be truly the case, thy neck will assuredly be stretched, friend Andria, in spite of all that I may do to help thee. But sith thou hast come to me, I swear that I shall see that thou hast fair play.”“Oh, Signor Sang, sarai il mio protettore,” exclaimed the Italian, with a gleam of hope in his anxious eyes. “All dat I do vant is de play fair. If dou veelt listen to me, I vill make dee ondairstond dat I no steal.”“Nay,” said Rory Spears, coming forward, “I have no objection that he should be questioned by Squire Mortimer. St. Lowry forbid that he sudna get justice. Gif he be innocent o’ the coulpe, and can but make his innocence clear, we sall be saved the trouble o’ hooking him up afore the Yearl and his court. It wad be but an evil turn to do a poor foreign deevil, to gar him dree two or three days’ jail, whan he hath done naething that may call for sike a warison. Question him, Maister Sang, question him.”“If I am thus appointed preliminary judge,” replied Sang,[319]mounting the dray-horse, “I shall get me on my sack here, that I may sit at mine ease, and have mine eye on all that passeth in court. Make way there; clear the way for the prisoner,” continued he, motioning? to the crowd to form a circle round him. “Who hath lost the purse the which he is accused of having taken?” demanded he.“My wife’s mother, auld Elspeth i’ the burrows town,” replied Rory, and he hastily recapitulated the meagre particulars he had lately given the Earl of Moray.“Ha!” said Sang, “and who accuseth Andria Martellino of being the thief?”“Ich do dat, mynheer joodch,” replied a squat, thick-set, broad-faced, heavy-looking German.“And who mayest thou be, friend?” asked Sang; “and what mayest thou have to effunde that may throw light upon this affair?”“Mine name ist Hans Eisenfelsenbroken, de grat Yarman, dat mach de armou better nor nobody dat can mach dem so well. Ich dit see de borse in de hond of dis him here mit mine own eyes.”“A suspicious evidence,” said Sang shaking his head gravely, “a most suspicious evidence; trust me, I shall tell no store by it without strong corroboration. Hath the prisoner yet been searched?”“Nay, there hath as yet been no time,” replied the marshalmen.“Let him be forthwith riped, then,” said the esquire.The marshalmen proceeded to execute his orders, and, to the joy of Rory Spears, they very speedily drew forth from beneath his gaberdine a leathern bag, containing a considerable weight of coin.“By St. Lowry, but that is my auld mother’s money-bag,” cried Rory Spears, eyeing it from a distance.“Let me have it,” said Sang; “knowest thou thy mother’s money-bag by any mark?”“Yea,” replied Spears, readily; “it hath E. S. on the twa lugs of it, and a cross on the braid side.”“Of a truth, this is the very bag,” said the squire; “the marks are all here.”“Eh! mine Got, did not Ich tell dee de troot, Mynheer Spears! I do know him to be a tafe. Ha, ha! Er wird be hanged, and Ich werde have all de trade Ich selbst!” cried the rival German armourer, with a joy which he could not contain.“Silence, fellow, and respect the court,” cried Sang, in a[320]tone of authority. “Canst thou explain how thou hadst this leathern purse, Master Martellino?” continued he. “By St. Andrew, if thou canst not, it will go hard with thee.”“Ah, si, signor,” replied Martellino, with a face of joy, “de page of dy vorship, de good Signor Lees, he happain to be vid me in my shop at de time after I did sell de great armour to de big gigante, and he did see him give to me de posse of gold dat is dere—van fifty broad piece of gold.”“That is thy mother’s sum to a tittle,” said Sang, addressing Rory. “But how camest thou to receive so much money from the dastard knave for a suit of armour?” continued he, putting the question to the Italian.“He did bribe me to give him van of mine vaine horses, dat do carry mine goods,” replied the Italian; “and he did give me de posse and de money and all.”Archibald Lees vouched for the truth of all this; and some one in the crowd, who had been in Forres during the fire, had remarked the uncouth and gigantic figure as it glided into the old bedrid woman’s house; and having been struck with the strangeness of its appearance, had particularly remembered its passing speedily out again in great haste. Another remembered that the false knight and his two accomplices had lodged in a house of entertainment next door to Elspeth Spears’ house; and it was even supposed by many that they had aided the conflagration, after it was begun by the Wolfe of Badenoch and his party.All was now clear, and the upright judge proceeded to pronounce his decision.“Let the money be forthwith told over, and let it, and the bag that holds it, be restored to Master Roderick Spears, as custos thereof for his aged mother. Let the armour, the which hath been gathered piecemeal from the plain, be restored to the rightful owner, Signor Andria Martellino; and let him have our judgment-seat also, sith it doth of right belong to him. I do hereby absolve him from all coulpe. Albeit he is sharp enow in a bargain, verily I believe he would hardly steal. As for thee, Mynheer Eisenfelsenbroken, I shall only say that thy zeal to further justice was rather of the eagerest, and mought have been more creditable to thee had not the culprit, against whom thou wert so ready to witness, been thy rival in trade. Thy conduct will doubtless have its weight with all good men. And now I dissolve the court,” added he, jumping from the dray-horse, and proceeding to mount his own charger, which the page held for him.[321]The German went grumbling away, disappointed wickedness giving a blacker hue to his swarthy face.“Ah, Signor Sang,” exclaimed the Italian, coming up to him with tears of gratitude in his eyes; “dou hast been mine good friend; dou hast vin dine armour. Here is de money—here is de price thou deedst pay me. Take it back.”“What, fellow!” cried Sang, jocularly, putting him by; “what, wouldst thou bribe the hand of justice? Wouldst thou soil that which should be pure? Avoid, I tell thee, avoid;” and, putting spurs to his horse, he rode off towards the lists, followed by the cheers of those who had witnessed the scene.

CHAPTER XLV.The Tournament.

The Tournament.

The Earl of Moray’s sylvan banquet of refreshment was by this time over, the balconies and galleries were already filled with the knights and ladies, and the lists were surrounded by the populace, all eagerly beholding the numerous tilting matches going on between young knights who wished to exercise themselves, and prove each other’s strength of arm, adroitness, and firmness of seat, or between squires or pages, who wished to earn their first harvest of fame. The sport had been as yet but indifferent. Most of those who had ridden against each other were novices, who afforded but a poor specimen of what the Scottish chivalry could do. The English knights, and, above all, the Lord Welles, were sneering to each other at the wretchedness of the exhibition, and every now and then throwing out sarcastic remarks against those who were engaged, whenever the occurrence of any slight piece of awkwardness gave them an opening for doing so. The Scottish knights who were within ear-shot of what dropped from them, were nettled at what they heard; and had not the sacred character of an ambassador compelled them to keep down their emotions, the Lord Welles, or some of his suite, might have been called on to show, in their own persons, what Englishmen could do; but, circumstanced as they were, none of the members of this diplomatic corps had considered[312]it as necessary to put up his blazon in the chapel of St. John.“Thinkest thou, Courtenay, that there is any chance of men appearing here to-day?” said the Lord Welles, in a voice that showed he little cared who heard him, or what soreness he might occasion. “In my mind those have been but women and boys who have been tilting for our amusement.”“Depardieux. thou sayest well, my lord,” replied Sir Piers Courtenay, “for such woman’s play and child’s tilting did I never before behold. Our Cheapside shop-boys would make better work on’t with their yard-measures. Then there is no fancy in their armour—a crude and barbarous taste, my Lord—yea, and a clownish and plebeian air about their very persons, too. Trust me, my Lord, I do not rashly venture on the grave and serious accusation I am now about to hazard, when I do declare, solemnly and fervently, that I have not seen one spur of the accurately proper fashion on any knightly heel in these Caledonian wildernesses.”“Ha, ha, ha. The nicety of thy judgment in such matters, Courtenay, is unquestionable,” said the Lord Welles laughing.A trumpet now sounded from one of the barriers, and was immediately answered from that at the other end of the lists. The voice of a pursuivant was next heard.“Oyez! oyez! oyez! The good esquire Mortimer Sang doth call on the gallant Knight of Cheviot to appear to answer his challenge.”There was some delay for a little time, during which all eyes were thrown towards the barrier, where Mortimer was steadily bestriding a superb chestnut charger, with an ease and grace that might have led the spectators to suppose that the horse and man were but one animal. One of Sir Patrick Hepborne’s pages, well mounted, attended him, to do him the necessary offices of the lists; and although his helmet displayed no crest, and that his arms were plain, and his shield without achievement, yet his whole appearance had something commanding about it, and all were prepossessed in his favour.“That looks something like a man,” quoth the English knights to each other.“What a noble-looking presence! If he be only an esquire, of a truth he deserves to be a knight,” went round among the spectators.“How handsome he is, and how gallant-looking and warlike!” whispered the soft voice of Catherine Spears, who stood behind the Countess of Moray.[313]The pursuivant from Sang’s barrier now repeated his challenge; a confused murmur soon afterwards arose from that at the opposite end of the lists, and by and by, the huge bulk of the Knight of Cheviot, mounted on his enormous charger, was seen moving like the mountains he took his name from, through an amazed group of wondering heads. The horse and man seemed to have been made for each other, and they looked like the creatures of a creation altogether different from that of this earth, and as if such inhabitants would have required a larger world than ours to have contained them.“By’r Lady, but yonder comes no child, then,” exclaimed Sir Miles Templeton, one of the English knights, who sat behind the Lord Welles.“By St. George, ’tis an animated colossal monument,” said the Lord Welles.“If it be cast down, we cannot choose but have an earth-quake,” cried Sir Piers Courtenay.“Who or what can he be?” said Sir John Constable.“We shall doubtless hear anon,” replied the Lord Welles.“Hath not the brave esquire been rash in selecting so huge a monster for hiscoup d’essaiin the lists?” said the Countess of Moray. “To what knight may he be attached?”“To me, my noble lady,” said Sir Patrick Hepborne from a place behind, where he had sat unnoticed by the Countess. “Trust me, he will acquit himself well—his heart is as stout as it is true.”“Sayest thou so, Sir Knight?” said the Countess, turning round and looking at him with some severity. “Then do I give thee joy that thou hast at least one leal heart in thy company.”“Oh, my lady,” cried the alarmed Katherine Spears, “Squire Mortimer can never stand against yonder terrible giant. What will become of him? Holy St. Andrew protect us, I dare not look!”“Nay, fear thee not, gentle damsel,” said Sir Patrick, with assumed composure; “though yonder living tower look so big and so threatening, trust me I have no dread for friend Sang. He hath much good thew and muscle packed into reasonable compass, and they are nerved by a heart withal that nothing can danton. Fear ye not for Sang. By St. Baldrid, I begin to feel a stirring interest in this coming shock.”“May the blessed Virgin guard and aid him!” cried Katherine Spears, half covering her eyes.The pursuivant at the end of the lists where the Knight of[314]Cheviot appeared, now responded to him who had given forth the challenge.“Oyez! oyez! oyez! The gallant Knight of Cheviot is here, and ready to answer the darreigne of the good squire, Mortimer Sang.”“Laissez les aller” cried the herald from the platform under the Royal balcony; the trumpet sounded, and the barriers at both ends of the lists were immediately dropped.The lists, as was very commonly the case in those times, were double; that is to say, they were divided towards the middle, for about two-fourths of their length, by a longitudinal barrier of wood of about four feet high. This was for the purpose of separating the horses of the combatants from each other, to save them from injury; for each knight, taking a different side of the wooden wall, ran his career close to it, and tilted at his adversary over it, without risk of the steeds meeting in shock, as in the undivided lists.No sooner were the barriers withdrawn, than Mortimer Sang spurred his courser, sprang forward, and swept along like a whirlwind. The huge animal ridden by the gigantic and ponderous Knight of Cheviot was slow in getting into motion, and came on blowing and snorting, with a heavy lumbering gallop, that shook the very ground. The esquire had already ridden along one-half of the wall of division ere his antagonist had reached a third of the distance. His lance was firmly and truly pointed against the immense body that approached, and every eye was intently watching for the issue of a joust that promised to be unexampled in the annals of chivalry. Both steeds were steadily maintaining the line in which each had started. The enormous tilting-lance of the knight, as it came on, resembled the bolt-sprit of some vessel driven before the wind, and, blunt though it was, the annihilation of the esquire appeared certain to the spectators. The collision was within a few yards of taking place, when, to the astonishment of all, the Knight of Cheviot suddenly dropped his lance, and, seizing the bridle of his charger with both hands, exerted all his strength to pull him aside, and succeeded in making him bolt away from the thrust of his opponent. That it was an intentional effort and no accident was evident to every one. A general hiss, mingled with loud hootings broke, from the balconies and galleries. Mortimer Sang, exasperated at the shameful and cowardly conduct of him on whom he had so sanguinely hoped to prove his prowess, checked the straight course of his horse’s career, and, sweeping around in a narrow circle, ran him at the wooden barrier, and, leaping[315]him desperately over it, rode furiously, lance in rest, against the dastard Knight of Cheviot, who had hardly yet reined up his steed.Shouts of applause followed this spirited manoeuvre of Sang’s. The base knight heard them, looked around, beheld the esquire coming, and began immediately to fly towards the gates of the lists. “Halt,” cried Mortimer aloud, “halt, thou craven. What! fearest thou a blunt lance? Halt, thou mountain of Cheviot, halt, I say, that I may climb to thine uppermost peak to tweak thee by the nose, that I may pluck thy prickly crest from thy foggy head, and stick it beneath the tail of the draff-horse that beareth thee; halt, coward, that I may forthwith blot out thy rising sun, that thou mayst no more dare to shine.”But the Knight of Cheviot stayed not to look behind him. His legs played upon the sides of his horse like some piece of powerful machinery, and he spurred off as if the devil had been after him, the animal exhibiting a pace which no one could have believed was in him. The marshalmen would have stopped him in his way to the gate, but to have essayed to arrest the progress of a huge rock, just parted from the summit of some lofty Alp, and spinning along the plain with all the impetus derived from its descent, could not have been a more irrational or more hopeless attempt, or one more pregnant with certain destruction to those who made it. The way was cleared before him; but the gate was shut. Neither horse nor man seemed to regard the obstruction, however; it appeared as if both were influenced by the same blind fear. They ran against it with so great an impetus, that its strong bars and rails yielded before the shock, and were strewed upon the plain. Away flew the fugitive across the Meads, and on Sang urged furiously after him. The shouts from the lists were redoubled. Down rushed crowds of the populace from the scaffolds, and away they poured with a hue and cry after the chase.The flying giant had much the start of Sang, but the superior speed of the squire’s well-bred courser was fast lessening this advantage. It was in vain that he attempted to double and wheel, for Sang, cutting sharply round, only gained the more on him. He stretched his course straight for the forest, but all saw that he must be speedily overtaken. Sang neared him, and couching his lance, planted himself firmly in his saddle. A single bound of his horse brought him within reach of the knight, and giving him an alert and vigorous push in the rear with his blunt weapon, he threw his unwieldy body forward on his horse’s neck, so that, encumbered by the weight, the animal stumbled[316]a step or two, and then losing his fore legs, rolled himself and hurled his rider forward upon the sod.Ancient Æsop hath told us of a certain tortoise, that, being carried into the clouds by an eagle, was dropped thence on a rock. It is easy to conceive how the various compartments of the creature’s natural armour must have been rent from each other by the fall. So it was with the Knight of Cheviot. The descent of such a mountain was no light matter. Large as his armour was, its various pieces were far from meeting each other over the immense limbs and joints they should have enclosed; and the leathern latchets which laced them together being somewhat aged, they, and even the rivets, gave way with the shock; and the fastenings of the helmet and of the different plates bursting asunder, and there being no shirt of mail beneath them, the Knight of Cheviot lay sprawling among the ruins of his defences, in a black jerkin and hauselines. The active Sang would have been upon him in a trice, but, filled with astonishment, he reined up his steed and halted to wonder. Nor was superstitious fear altogether without its influence in arresting him in his first intention of seizing the dastard impostor, who had thus disgraced the name of knight, as well as the lists in which he had dared to show himself, and of having him dragged to that summary punishment inflicted on such occasions by the laws of chivalry. His eyes stared with an amazement that was almost incredulous of the reality of what they beheld. He whom he saw struggling on the ground was the wizard, Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick, whom he had once accidentally seen at Norham, and of whose supernatural powers he had then heard enough to fill him now with temporary awe, at this his unexpected appearance. Sang raised his own vizor and rubbed his eyes, and when he saw that it was really the face and figure of the Ancient which he beheld, he for a moment suspected that it was some demoniacal trick of enchantment that had been played him to rob him of the fame he had hoped to earn. Rage got the better of every feeling of superstition.“Ha!” exclaimed he, “be’st thou wizard or devil, I’ll wrestle with thee;” and flinging himself from his horse, he strode towards the struggling Knight of Cheviot.But he was a moment too late. Ere he could reach the wizard, the latter had recovered himself sufficiently to scramble to his legs; and just as the squire was about to lay his fangs upon him, he escaped with a sort of shuffling run, that grew as he proceeded into an awkward striding gait that might have done honour to a camelopard; the plates of his armour hanging[317]to his body by frail tags, clattering and jingling as he flew, and spinning off at a tangent from his person, as the thongs successively gave way. The esquire pursued him as fast as he could, but his armour hampered him so much that he had no chance in a race with one who was loosely attired, and who was every moment lessening his weight by getting rid of some part of his steel encumbrances.“Halt, coward!” cried Sang, puffing and blowing after him. “Ha, by St. Baldrid, ’tis in vain to follow him. An he were the Spirit of the Cheviots himself, who may step thee from one hill-top to another, he could not exert more alacrity of escape. He devoureth whole roods of ground at a stride as he fleeth. By the mass, see him! he courses up yonder bank with his backpiece hanging down behind him, rattling like a canister at the tail of some mongrel hound. Body o’ me, how it got atween his legs; would that it had thrown him down. Ha! now it hath lost its hold of him—and now the red fiend may catch him for me, for there he goes into the forest.”The squire returned slowly and sullenly to meet his page, who was by this time coming up. The huge dray horse of the Knight of Cheviot having regained his legs, was standing heaving his enormous sides like a stranded whale.“’Tis a cruel bite, Archibald Lees,” said Mortimer Sang to the page; “’tis a cruel bite, I say, when a man thinketh he hath roused a lion, to find his game turn out but a stinking pole-cat after all. Get thee after the lurdon, and pick up the pieces of his armour, the which did drop from his scoundrel carcase as he fled.”“Methought, as I chanced to see him casing, that he would turn out to be some such vermin,” replied the page, as he proceeded to obey the squire’s commands.Sang sat himself down for a little time to recover his wind, comforting himself with the idea that he had at least won a trophy of armour that would be valuable from its very rarity.“I shall have them hung up in mine own tower,” said he to himself. “As for the horse, he may fetch as much as may repay Sir Patrick for the advance he hath made for the arms I had of Andria Martellino. By mine honour, he hath a body and limbs that might pull a castle after them. He will sell right speedily to a wainman, ay, and that for a noble price too.”A crowd of the populace now began to approach the place where he was sitting, clamouring as they came along. At their head came Rory Spears, with his fish-clip brandished over his shoulder, and followed by a party of the marshal’s men, bringing[318]along the Italian armourer in custody, whose face exhibited an expression of extreme dismay and trepidation.“Ay, ay, we shall soon ken whether the rogue speaketh truth or no,” cried Spears indignantly. “He saith, if I mistake him not, that Squire Sang knoweth somewhat of the matter. We shall see what he may hae to say for himsel when he cometh before him. Bring him along here.”“What turmoil is here, I beseech ye, my masters?” demanded Sang.“Ah! Signor Mortimero,” cried the Italian, with a deplorable face of terror; “a—a—ah! It is moss joy for me to see dee; I ask dem to bring me to dee—dey no ondairstond me; ah, San Lorenzo!—dey do vant to hang me by de naik—dey do accuse me of de steal.”“Well,” said Sang, with a gruff laugh, as if the attempt at a joke suited but ill with his present vexation and disappointment at the issue of his combat, “by the mass, methinks thou mayest be well enow content to be accused of steel in Scotland, for there lacketh not in Paris those who did boldly affirm that thou didst employ a much softer metal in thy warlike wares.”“Pah! no, no, no, signor,” exclaimed Martellino, in extreme distress, “not acciajo, vat dou do call steel van metal—ma, de steal, de rob; dey do accuse me of steal a posse of gold, and as dou art mine verri good friend, I did crave them to bring me to dee.”“Nay,” said Sang, “that is in truth a more serious matter. An that be made out to be truly the case, thy neck will assuredly be stretched, friend Andria, in spite of all that I may do to help thee. But sith thou hast come to me, I swear that I shall see that thou hast fair play.”“Oh, Signor Sang, sarai il mio protettore,” exclaimed the Italian, with a gleam of hope in his anxious eyes. “All dat I do vant is de play fair. If dou veelt listen to me, I vill make dee ondairstond dat I no steal.”“Nay,” said Rory Spears, coming forward, “I have no objection that he should be questioned by Squire Mortimer. St. Lowry forbid that he sudna get justice. Gif he be innocent o’ the coulpe, and can but make his innocence clear, we sall be saved the trouble o’ hooking him up afore the Yearl and his court. It wad be but an evil turn to do a poor foreign deevil, to gar him dree two or three days’ jail, whan he hath done naething that may call for sike a warison. Question him, Maister Sang, question him.”“If I am thus appointed preliminary judge,” replied Sang,[319]mounting the dray-horse, “I shall get me on my sack here, that I may sit at mine ease, and have mine eye on all that passeth in court. Make way there; clear the way for the prisoner,” continued he, motioning? to the crowd to form a circle round him. “Who hath lost the purse the which he is accused of having taken?” demanded he.“My wife’s mother, auld Elspeth i’ the burrows town,” replied Rory, and he hastily recapitulated the meagre particulars he had lately given the Earl of Moray.“Ha!” said Sang, “and who accuseth Andria Martellino of being the thief?”“Ich do dat, mynheer joodch,” replied a squat, thick-set, broad-faced, heavy-looking German.“And who mayest thou be, friend?” asked Sang; “and what mayest thou have to effunde that may throw light upon this affair?”“Mine name ist Hans Eisenfelsenbroken, de grat Yarman, dat mach de armou better nor nobody dat can mach dem so well. Ich dit see de borse in de hond of dis him here mit mine own eyes.”“A suspicious evidence,” said Sang shaking his head gravely, “a most suspicious evidence; trust me, I shall tell no store by it without strong corroboration. Hath the prisoner yet been searched?”“Nay, there hath as yet been no time,” replied the marshalmen.“Let him be forthwith riped, then,” said the esquire.The marshalmen proceeded to execute his orders, and, to the joy of Rory Spears, they very speedily drew forth from beneath his gaberdine a leathern bag, containing a considerable weight of coin.“By St. Lowry, but that is my auld mother’s money-bag,” cried Rory Spears, eyeing it from a distance.“Let me have it,” said Sang; “knowest thou thy mother’s money-bag by any mark?”“Yea,” replied Spears, readily; “it hath E. S. on the twa lugs of it, and a cross on the braid side.”“Of a truth, this is the very bag,” said the squire; “the marks are all here.”“Eh! mine Got, did not Ich tell dee de troot, Mynheer Spears! I do know him to be a tafe. Ha, ha! Er wird be hanged, and Ich werde have all de trade Ich selbst!” cried the rival German armourer, with a joy which he could not contain.“Silence, fellow, and respect the court,” cried Sang, in a[320]tone of authority. “Canst thou explain how thou hadst this leathern purse, Master Martellino?” continued he. “By St. Andrew, if thou canst not, it will go hard with thee.”“Ah, si, signor,” replied Martellino, with a face of joy, “de page of dy vorship, de good Signor Lees, he happain to be vid me in my shop at de time after I did sell de great armour to de big gigante, and he did see him give to me de posse of gold dat is dere—van fifty broad piece of gold.”“That is thy mother’s sum to a tittle,” said Sang, addressing Rory. “But how camest thou to receive so much money from the dastard knave for a suit of armour?” continued he, putting the question to the Italian.“He did bribe me to give him van of mine vaine horses, dat do carry mine goods,” replied the Italian; “and he did give me de posse and de money and all.”Archibald Lees vouched for the truth of all this; and some one in the crowd, who had been in Forres during the fire, had remarked the uncouth and gigantic figure as it glided into the old bedrid woman’s house; and having been struck with the strangeness of its appearance, had particularly remembered its passing speedily out again in great haste. Another remembered that the false knight and his two accomplices had lodged in a house of entertainment next door to Elspeth Spears’ house; and it was even supposed by many that they had aided the conflagration, after it was begun by the Wolfe of Badenoch and his party.All was now clear, and the upright judge proceeded to pronounce his decision.“Let the money be forthwith told over, and let it, and the bag that holds it, be restored to Master Roderick Spears, as custos thereof for his aged mother. Let the armour, the which hath been gathered piecemeal from the plain, be restored to the rightful owner, Signor Andria Martellino; and let him have our judgment-seat also, sith it doth of right belong to him. I do hereby absolve him from all coulpe. Albeit he is sharp enow in a bargain, verily I believe he would hardly steal. As for thee, Mynheer Eisenfelsenbroken, I shall only say that thy zeal to further justice was rather of the eagerest, and mought have been more creditable to thee had not the culprit, against whom thou wert so ready to witness, been thy rival in trade. Thy conduct will doubtless have its weight with all good men. And now I dissolve the court,” added he, jumping from the dray-horse, and proceeding to mount his own charger, which the page held for him.[321]The German went grumbling away, disappointed wickedness giving a blacker hue to his swarthy face.“Ah, Signor Sang,” exclaimed the Italian, coming up to him with tears of gratitude in his eyes; “dou hast been mine good friend; dou hast vin dine armour. Here is de money—here is de price thou deedst pay me. Take it back.”“What, fellow!” cried Sang, jocularly, putting him by; “what, wouldst thou bribe the hand of justice? Wouldst thou soil that which should be pure? Avoid, I tell thee, avoid;” and, putting spurs to his horse, he rode off towards the lists, followed by the cheers of those who had witnessed the scene.

“Thinkest thou, Courtenay, that there is any chance of men appearing here to-day?” said the Lord Welles, in a voice that showed he little cared who heard him, or what soreness he might occasion. “In my mind those have been but women and boys who have been tilting for our amusement.”

“Depardieux. thou sayest well, my lord,” replied Sir Piers Courtenay, “for such woman’s play and child’s tilting did I never before behold. Our Cheapside shop-boys would make better work on’t with their yard-measures. Then there is no fancy in their armour—a crude and barbarous taste, my Lord—yea, and a clownish and plebeian air about their very persons, too. Trust me, my Lord, I do not rashly venture on the grave and serious accusation I am now about to hazard, when I do declare, solemnly and fervently, that I have not seen one spur of the accurately proper fashion on any knightly heel in these Caledonian wildernesses.”

“Ha, ha, ha. The nicety of thy judgment in such matters, Courtenay, is unquestionable,” said the Lord Welles laughing.

A trumpet now sounded from one of the barriers, and was immediately answered from that at the other end of the lists. The voice of a pursuivant was next heard.

“Oyez! oyez! oyez! The good esquire Mortimer Sang doth call on the gallant Knight of Cheviot to appear to answer his challenge.”

There was some delay for a little time, during which all eyes were thrown towards the barrier, where Mortimer was steadily bestriding a superb chestnut charger, with an ease and grace that might have led the spectators to suppose that the horse and man were but one animal. One of Sir Patrick Hepborne’s pages, well mounted, attended him, to do him the necessary offices of the lists; and although his helmet displayed no crest, and that his arms were plain, and his shield without achievement, yet his whole appearance had something commanding about it, and all were prepossessed in his favour.

“That looks something like a man,” quoth the English knights to each other.

“What a noble-looking presence! If he be only an esquire, of a truth he deserves to be a knight,” went round among the spectators.

“How handsome he is, and how gallant-looking and warlike!” whispered the soft voice of Catherine Spears, who stood behind the Countess of Moray.[313]

The pursuivant from Sang’s barrier now repeated his challenge; a confused murmur soon afterwards arose from that at the opposite end of the lists, and by and by, the huge bulk of the Knight of Cheviot, mounted on his enormous charger, was seen moving like the mountains he took his name from, through an amazed group of wondering heads. The horse and man seemed to have been made for each other, and they looked like the creatures of a creation altogether different from that of this earth, and as if such inhabitants would have required a larger world than ours to have contained them.

“By’r Lady, but yonder comes no child, then,” exclaimed Sir Miles Templeton, one of the English knights, who sat behind the Lord Welles.

“By St. George, ’tis an animated colossal monument,” said the Lord Welles.

“If it be cast down, we cannot choose but have an earth-quake,” cried Sir Piers Courtenay.

“Who or what can he be?” said Sir John Constable.

“We shall doubtless hear anon,” replied the Lord Welles.

“Hath not the brave esquire been rash in selecting so huge a monster for hiscoup d’essaiin the lists?” said the Countess of Moray. “To what knight may he be attached?”

“To me, my noble lady,” said Sir Patrick Hepborne from a place behind, where he had sat unnoticed by the Countess. “Trust me, he will acquit himself well—his heart is as stout as it is true.”

“Sayest thou so, Sir Knight?” said the Countess, turning round and looking at him with some severity. “Then do I give thee joy that thou hast at least one leal heart in thy company.”

“Oh, my lady,” cried the alarmed Katherine Spears, “Squire Mortimer can never stand against yonder terrible giant. What will become of him? Holy St. Andrew protect us, I dare not look!”

“Nay, fear thee not, gentle damsel,” said Sir Patrick, with assumed composure; “though yonder living tower look so big and so threatening, trust me I have no dread for friend Sang. He hath much good thew and muscle packed into reasonable compass, and they are nerved by a heart withal that nothing can danton. Fear ye not for Sang. By St. Baldrid, I begin to feel a stirring interest in this coming shock.”

“May the blessed Virgin guard and aid him!” cried Katherine Spears, half covering her eyes.

The pursuivant at the end of the lists where the Knight of[314]Cheviot appeared, now responded to him who had given forth the challenge.

“Oyez! oyez! oyez! The gallant Knight of Cheviot is here, and ready to answer the darreigne of the good squire, Mortimer Sang.”

“Laissez les aller” cried the herald from the platform under the Royal balcony; the trumpet sounded, and the barriers at both ends of the lists were immediately dropped.

The lists, as was very commonly the case in those times, were double; that is to say, they were divided towards the middle, for about two-fourths of their length, by a longitudinal barrier of wood of about four feet high. This was for the purpose of separating the horses of the combatants from each other, to save them from injury; for each knight, taking a different side of the wooden wall, ran his career close to it, and tilted at his adversary over it, without risk of the steeds meeting in shock, as in the undivided lists.

No sooner were the barriers withdrawn, than Mortimer Sang spurred his courser, sprang forward, and swept along like a whirlwind. The huge animal ridden by the gigantic and ponderous Knight of Cheviot was slow in getting into motion, and came on blowing and snorting, with a heavy lumbering gallop, that shook the very ground. The esquire had already ridden along one-half of the wall of division ere his antagonist had reached a third of the distance. His lance was firmly and truly pointed against the immense body that approached, and every eye was intently watching for the issue of a joust that promised to be unexampled in the annals of chivalry. Both steeds were steadily maintaining the line in which each had started. The enormous tilting-lance of the knight, as it came on, resembled the bolt-sprit of some vessel driven before the wind, and, blunt though it was, the annihilation of the esquire appeared certain to the spectators. The collision was within a few yards of taking place, when, to the astonishment of all, the Knight of Cheviot suddenly dropped his lance, and, seizing the bridle of his charger with both hands, exerted all his strength to pull him aside, and succeeded in making him bolt away from the thrust of his opponent. That it was an intentional effort and no accident was evident to every one. A general hiss, mingled with loud hootings broke, from the balconies and galleries. Mortimer Sang, exasperated at the shameful and cowardly conduct of him on whom he had so sanguinely hoped to prove his prowess, checked the straight course of his horse’s career, and, sweeping around in a narrow circle, ran him at the wooden barrier, and, leaping[315]him desperately over it, rode furiously, lance in rest, against the dastard Knight of Cheviot, who had hardly yet reined up his steed.

Shouts of applause followed this spirited manoeuvre of Sang’s. The base knight heard them, looked around, beheld the esquire coming, and began immediately to fly towards the gates of the lists. “Halt,” cried Mortimer aloud, “halt, thou craven. What! fearest thou a blunt lance? Halt, thou mountain of Cheviot, halt, I say, that I may climb to thine uppermost peak to tweak thee by the nose, that I may pluck thy prickly crest from thy foggy head, and stick it beneath the tail of the draff-horse that beareth thee; halt, coward, that I may forthwith blot out thy rising sun, that thou mayst no more dare to shine.”

But the Knight of Cheviot stayed not to look behind him. His legs played upon the sides of his horse like some piece of powerful machinery, and he spurred off as if the devil had been after him, the animal exhibiting a pace which no one could have believed was in him. The marshalmen would have stopped him in his way to the gate, but to have essayed to arrest the progress of a huge rock, just parted from the summit of some lofty Alp, and spinning along the plain with all the impetus derived from its descent, could not have been a more irrational or more hopeless attempt, or one more pregnant with certain destruction to those who made it. The way was cleared before him; but the gate was shut. Neither horse nor man seemed to regard the obstruction, however; it appeared as if both were influenced by the same blind fear. They ran against it with so great an impetus, that its strong bars and rails yielded before the shock, and were strewed upon the plain. Away flew the fugitive across the Meads, and on Sang urged furiously after him. The shouts from the lists were redoubled. Down rushed crowds of the populace from the scaffolds, and away they poured with a hue and cry after the chase.

The flying giant had much the start of Sang, but the superior speed of the squire’s well-bred courser was fast lessening this advantage. It was in vain that he attempted to double and wheel, for Sang, cutting sharply round, only gained the more on him. He stretched his course straight for the forest, but all saw that he must be speedily overtaken. Sang neared him, and couching his lance, planted himself firmly in his saddle. A single bound of his horse brought him within reach of the knight, and giving him an alert and vigorous push in the rear with his blunt weapon, he threw his unwieldy body forward on his horse’s neck, so that, encumbered by the weight, the animal stumbled[316]a step or two, and then losing his fore legs, rolled himself and hurled his rider forward upon the sod.

Ancient Æsop hath told us of a certain tortoise, that, being carried into the clouds by an eagle, was dropped thence on a rock. It is easy to conceive how the various compartments of the creature’s natural armour must have been rent from each other by the fall. So it was with the Knight of Cheviot. The descent of such a mountain was no light matter. Large as his armour was, its various pieces were far from meeting each other over the immense limbs and joints they should have enclosed; and the leathern latchets which laced them together being somewhat aged, they, and even the rivets, gave way with the shock; and the fastenings of the helmet and of the different plates bursting asunder, and there being no shirt of mail beneath them, the Knight of Cheviot lay sprawling among the ruins of his defences, in a black jerkin and hauselines. The active Sang would have been upon him in a trice, but, filled with astonishment, he reined up his steed and halted to wonder. Nor was superstitious fear altogether without its influence in arresting him in his first intention of seizing the dastard impostor, who had thus disgraced the name of knight, as well as the lists in which he had dared to show himself, and of having him dragged to that summary punishment inflicted on such occasions by the laws of chivalry. His eyes stared with an amazement that was almost incredulous of the reality of what they beheld. He whom he saw struggling on the ground was the wizard, Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick, whom he had once accidentally seen at Norham, and of whose supernatural powers he had then heard enough to fill him now with temporary awe, at this his unexpected appearance. Sang raised his own vizor and rubbed his eyes, and when he saw that it was really the face and figure of the Ancient which he beheld, he for a moment suspected that it was some demoniacal trick of enchantment that had been played him to rob him of the fame he had hoped to earn. Rage got the better of every feeling of superstition.

“Ha!” exclaimed he, “be’st thou wizard or devil, I’ll wrestle with thee;” and flinging himself from his horse, he strode towards the struggling Knight of Cheviot.

But he was a moment too late. Ere he could reach the wizard, the latter had recovered himself sufficiently to scramble to his legs; and just as the squire was about to lay his fangs upon him, he escaped with a sort of shuffling run, that grew as he proceeded into an awkward striding gait that might have done honour to a camelopard; the plates of his armour hanging[317]to his body by frail tags, clattering and jingling as he flew, and spinning off at a tangent from his person, as the thongs successively gave way. The esquire pursued him as fast as he could, but his armour hampered him so much that he had no chance in a race with one who was loosely attired, and who was every moment lessening his weight by getting rid of some part of his steel encumbrances.

“Halt, coward!” cried Sang, puffing and blowing after him. “Ha, by St. Baldrid, ’tis in vain to follow him. An he were the Spirit of the Cheviots himself, who may step thee from one hill-top to another, he could not exert more alacrity of escape. He devoureth whole roods of ground at a stride as he fleeth. By the mass, see him! he courses up yonder bank with his backpiece hanging down behind him, rattling like a canister at the tail of some mongrel hound. Body o’ me, how it got atween his legs; would that it had thrown him down. Ha! now it hath lost its hold of him—and now the red fiend may catch him for me, for there he goes into the forest.”

The squire returned slowly and sullenly to meet his page, who was by this time coming up. The huge dray horse of the Knight of Cheviot having regained his legs, was standing heaving his enormous sides like a stranded whale.

“’Tis a cruel bite, Archibald Lees,” said Mortimer Sang to the page; “’tis a cruel bite, I say, when a man thinketh he hath roused a lion, to find his game turn out but a stinking pole-cat after all. Get thee after the lurdon, and pick up the pieces of his armour, the which did drop from his scoundrel carcase as he fled.”

“Methought, as I chanced to see him casing, that he would turn out to be some such vermin,” replied the page, as he proceeded to obey the squire’s commands.

Sang sat himself down for a little time to recover his wind, comforting himself with the idea that he had at least won a trophy of armour that would be valuable from its very rarity.

“I shall have them hung up in mine own tower,” said he to himself. “As for the horse, he may fetch as much as may repay Sir Patrick for the advance he hath made for the arms I had of Andria Martellino. By mine honour, he hath a body and limbs that might pull a castle after them. He will sell right speedily to a wainman, ay, and that for a noble price too.”

A crowd of the populace now began to approach the place where he was sitting, clamouring as they came along. At their head came Rory Spears, with his fish-clip brandished over his shoulder, and followed by a party of the marshal’s men, bringing[318]along the Italian armourer in custody, whose face exhibited an expression of extreme dismay and trepidation.

“Ay, ay, we shall soon ken whether the rogue speaketh truth or no,” cried Spears indignantly. “He saith, if I mistake him not, that Squire Sang knoweth somewhat of the matter. We shall see what he may hae to say for himsel when he cometh before him. Bring him along here.”

“What turmoil is here, I beseech ye, my masters?” demanded Sang.

“Ah! Signor Mortimero,” cried the Italian, with a deplorable face of terror; “a—a—ah! It is moss joy for me to see dee; I ask dem to bring me to dee—dey no ondairstond me; ah, San Lorenzo!—dey do vant to hang me by de naik—dey do accuse me of de steal.”

“Well,” said Sang, with a gruff laugh, as if the attempt at a joke suited but ill with his present vexation and disappointment at the issue of his combat, “by the mass, methinks thou mayest be well enow content to be accused of steel in Scotland, for there lacketh not in Paris those who did boldly affirm that thou didst employ a much softer metal in thy warlike wares.”

“Pah! no, no, no, signor,” exclaimed Martellino, in extreme distress, “not acciajo, vat dou do call steel van metal—ma, de steal, de rob; dey do accuse me of steal a posse of gold, and as dou art mine verri good friend, I did crave them to bring me to dee.”

“Nay,” said Sang, “that is in truth a more serious matter. An that be made out to be truly the case, thy neck will assuredly be stretched, friend Andria, in spite of all that I may do to help thee. But sith thou hast come to me, I swear that I shall see that thou hast fair play.”

“Oh, Signor Sang, sarai il mio protettore,” exclaimed the Italian, with a gleam of hope in his anxious eyes. “All dat I do vant is de play fair. If dou veelt listen to me, I vill make dee ondairstond dat I no steal.”

“Nay,” said Rory Spears, coming forward, “I have no objection that he should be questioned by Squire Mortimer. St. Lowry forbid that he sudna get justice. Gif he be innocent o’ the coulpe, and can but make his innocence clear, we sall be saved the trouble o’ hooking him up afore the Yearl and his court. It wad be but an evil turn to do a poor foreign deevil, to gar him dree two or three days’ jail, whan he hath done naething that may call for sike a warison. Question him, Maister Sang, question him.”

“If I am thus appointed preliminary judge,” replied Sang,[319]mounting the dray-horse, “I shall get me on my sack here, that I may sit at mine ease, and have mine eye on all that passeth in court. Make way there; clear the way for the prisoner,” continued he, motioning? to the crowd to form a circle round him. “Who hath lost the purse the which he is accused of having taken?” demanded he.

“My wife’s mother, auld Elspeth i’ the burrows town,” replied Rory, and he hastily recapitulated the meagre particulars he had lately given the Earl of Moray.

“Ha!” said Sang, “and who accuseth Andria Martellino of being the thief?”

“Ich do dat, mynheer joodch,” replied a squat, thick-set, broad-faced, heavy-looking German.

“And who mayest thou be, friend?” asked Sang; “and what mayest thou have to effunde that may throw light upon this affair?”

“Mine name ist Hans Eisenfelsenbroken, de grat Yarman, dat mach de armou better nor nobody dat can mach dem so well. Ich dit see de borse in de hond of dis him here mit mine own eyes.”

“A suspicious evidence,” said Sang shaking his head gravely, “a most suspicious evidence; trust me, I shall tell no store by it without strong corroboration. Hath the prisoner yet been searched?”

“Nay, there hath as yet been no time,” replied the marshalmen.

“Let him be forthwith riped, then,” said the esquire.

The marshalmen proceeded to execute his orders, and, to the joy of Rory Spears, they very speedily drew forth from beneath his gaberdine a leathern bag, containing a considerable weight of coin.

“By St. Lowry, but that is my auld mother’s money-bag,” cried Rory Spears, eyeing it from a distance.

“Let me have it,” said Sang; “knowest thou thy mother’s money-bag by any mark?”

“Yea,” replied Spears, readily; “it hath E. S. on the twa lugs of it, and a cross on the braid side.”

“Of a truth, this is the very bag,” said the squire; “the marks are all here.”

“Eh! mine Got, did not Ich tell dee de troot, Mynheer Spears! I do know him to be a tafe. Ha, ha! Er wird be hanged, and Ich werde have all de trade Ich selbst!” cried the rival German armourer, with a joy which he could not contain.

“Silence, fellow, and respect the court,” cried Sang, in a[320]tone of authority. “Canst thou explain how thou hadst this leathern purse, Master Martellino?” continued he. “By St. Andrew, if thou canst not, it will go hard with thee.”

“Ah, si, signor,” replied Martellino, with a face of joy, “de page of dy vorship, de good Signor Lees, he happain to be vid me in my shop at de time after I did sell de great armour to de big gigante, and he did see him give to me de posse of gold dat is dere—van fifty broad piece of gold.”

“That is thy mother’s sum to a tittle,” said Sang, addressing Rory. “But how camest thou to receive so much money from the dastard knave for a suit of armour?” continued he, putting the question to the Italian.

“He did bribe me to give him van of mine vaine horses, dat do carry mine goods,” replied the Italian; “and he did give me de posse and de money and all.”

Archibald Lees vouched for the truth of all this; and some one in the crowd, who had been in Forres during the fire, had remarked the uncouth and gigantic figure as it glided into the old bedrid woman’s house; and having been struck with the strangeness of its appearance, had particularly remembered its passing speedily out again in great haste. Another remembered that the false knight and his two accomplices had lodged in a house of entertainment next door to Elspeth Spears’ house; and it was even supposed by many that they had aided the conflagration, after it was begun by the Wolfe of Badenoch and his party.

All was now clear, and the upright judge proceeded to pronounce his decision.

“Let the money be forthwith told over, and let it, and the bag that holds it, be restored to Master Roderick Spears, as custos thereof for his aged mother. Let the armour, the which hath been gathered piecemeal from the plain, be restored to the rightful owner, Signor Andria Martellino; and let him have our judgment-seat also, sith it doth of right belong to him. I do hereby absolve him from all coulpe. Albeit he is sharp enow in a bargain, verily I believe he would hardly steal. As for thee, Mynheer Eisenfelsenbroken, I shall only say that thy zeal to further justice was rather of the eagerest, and mought have been more creditable to thee had not the culprit, against whom thou wert so ready to witness, been thy rival in trade. Thy conduct will doubtless have its weight with all good men. And now I dissolve the court,” added he, jumping from the dray-horse, and proceeding to mount his own charger, which the page held for him.[321]

The German went grumbling away, disappointed wickedness giving a blacker hue to his swarthy face.

“Ah, Signor Sang,” exclaimed the Italian, coming up to him with tears of gratitude in his eyes; “dou hast been mine good friend; dou hast vin dine armour. Here is de money—here is de price thou deedst pay me. Take it back.”

“What, fellow!” cried Sang, jocularly, putting him by; “what, wouldst thou bribe the hand of justice? Wouldst thou soil that which should be pure? Avoid, I tell thee, avoid;” and, putting spurs to his horse, he rode off towards the lists, followed by the cheers of those who had witnessed the scene.

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