[Contents]CHAPTER XVII.Sir John’s Pursuit in Quest of the Missing Lady—The Forester’s Hunting Camp—Sir Miers de Willoughby’s Border Keep.Sir John Assueton’s fury and distraction carried him on with great rapidity, until he reached the banks of the Tweed, and his own horse, as well as the horses of his small troop of spearmen, were right glad to lave their smoking sides in its cool current, as he boldly swam them to the English shore. He tarried but short time by the way, to refresh either them or his men; and towards nightfall, found himself winding into a green glen, thickly wooded in some parts, opening in smooth pasture in others, and watered by one of those brisk streams that descend into Northumberland from the Cheviot hills.The sight of those lofty elevations, now so near him, brought the object of his hasty march more freshly to his mind, too much agitated hitherto by the violence of the various passions that possessed it, to permit him to act or think coolly. But he began now to reflect that, although he had learned that the Castle of Burnstower, to which Sir Miers de Willoughby was supposed to have carried off the Lady Isabelle, lay somewhere among the intricacies of these hills, his rage and impatience had never allowed him to inquire farther, or to advert to the very obvious circumstance that the extent of the hilly range was so great that he might search for many days before he could discover the spot where it was situated. It was therefore absolutely necessary that he should avail himself of the very first opportunity which might occur of procuring information, both as to the Castle he was in search of, and the owner of it, of whom he had in reality as yet learned nothing. He rode slowly up the glen, therefore, in expectation of seeing some cottage, where he might halt for a short time to gain intelligence, or of meeting some peasant, from whom he might adroitly gather the information[135]he wanted, without exciting suspicion as to the nature of his errand.Fortune seemed to be so far favourable to him, that he had not ridden any great distance ere he descried a forester, standing under a wide-spreading oak, by the side of a glade, where the glen was narrowest. He had a cross-bow in his hand, and appeared to be on the watch for deer.“Ho, forester,” cried Assueton to him, “methinks thou hast chosen a likely pass here for the game; hast thou sped to-day?”“Not so far amiss as to that,” said the forester, carelessly leaving his stand, and lounging towards the party, as if to reconnoitre them.“Dost thou hunt alone, my good fellow,” said the knight.“N—nay,” said the forester, with hesitation; “there be more of us in company a short way off.”“Hast thou any cottage or place of shelter hereabouts, where hungry travellers might have a mouthful of food, with provender, and an hour’s rest for our weary beasts?” demanded Assueton. “Here’s money for thee.”“As to a cottage like,” replied the forester, “I trow there be not many of them in these wilds; but an thou wilt yede thee wi’ me, thou shalt share the supper my comrades must be cooking ere this time; and as for thy beasts, they canna be muckle to dole for, where the grass grows aneath their feet. Thy money we care not for.”“Thine offer is fair and kind, good forester,” said Assueton; “we shall on with thee right gladly, and give thee good thanks for thy sylvan hospitality, such as it may be. Lead on then.”The forester, without more words, walked cleverly on before Sir John Assueton, who followed him at the head of his party. As they advanced a little way, the wooding of the glen became much more dense, and rocks projecting themselves from the base of the hills on either side, rendered the passage in the bottom between them and the stream excessively narrow, so that the men of the party could only move on singly, and were more than once obliged to dismount and lead their horses. The way seemed to be very long, and night came on to increase its difficulties. Assueton’s impatience more than once tempted him to complain of it; but he restrained himself, lest his eagerness might excite suspicion that he had some secret and important hostile object in view, and that he might thus lose all chance of gaining the information he so much wanted. He kept as close as he possibly could to his guide, however, for he began to have[136]strange doubts that he might be leading him into some ambush; and he had resolved within his own mind to seize and sacrifice him the instant he had reason to be convinced he had betrayed them.After forcing their way through a very wild pass, where the rocks on both sides towered up their bold and lofty fronts, the glen widened, and the party entered a little gently-sloping glade or holme, bounded by the high and thickly-wooded banks, which here retired from the side of the stream, and swept irregularly around it. A blazing fire appeared among the trees.“Ay,” said the forester, “these are my comrades: I reckon we come in good time, for yonder be the supper a-cooking.”The party now crossed through the luxuriant pasture, that, moistened with the evening dew, was giving out a thousand mingled perfumes from the wild flowers that grew in it, and speedily came within view of about a dozen men, clad in the same woodland garb worn by their guide. Some of them were sitting about the fire, engaged in roasting and broiling fragments of venison; while others were loitering among the trees, or sitting under their shade. A number of cross-bows and long-bows hung from the branches, several spears rested against their stems; and these, with swords, daggers, and anelaces, seemed to compose the arms of this party of hunters. They appeared to have had good success, for six or eight fat bucks were hanging by the horns from the boughs overhead.“Here is a gallant knight and his party,” said their guide to a man who seemed to be a leader among them, “who would be glad of a share of our supper.”The person he addressed, and who came forward to receive Assueton, was a tall and uncommonly handsome man; and although his dress differed in no respect from that of the others, except that he wore a more gaudy plume in his hat, and that his baldrick, the sword suspended from it, his belt and dagger, and the bugle that hung from his shoulder, were all of more costly materials and rarer workmanship. But there was something in his appearance and mien that might have graced knighthood itself. He bowed courteously to Assueton.“Sir Knight,” said he, “wilt thou deign to dismount from thy steed, and partake with us in our woodland cheer? Here,” said he, turning to the people around him, “let more carcases be cut up; there is no lack of provisions. Will it please thee to rest, Sir Knight?”“I thank thee, good forester, for thy willing hospitality,” said Assueton, alighting, and giving his horse to his squire; “I[137]will rest me on that green bank under the holly busket there, and talk with thee to wile away time and beguile my hunger. This is a merry occupation of thine,” added he, after they had sat down together.“Ay,” replied the forester, “right merry in good sooth, were we left at freedom to enjoy it. But, by the mass, that is not our case here, for there wons in this vicinage a certain discourteous knight, who letteth no one kill a deer on his ground that he may know of; so we be forced to steal hither, at times when we may ween that he is absent, or least on the watch. The red and roe deer do much abound in these glens; and, by the Rood, ’tis hard, methinks, that the four-footed game should be given by nature for man’s food, and that he should be reft of his right to take it.”“And who may this discourteous knight be?” said Assueton, wishing to feel his way with the stranger.“His name,” said the forester, “is Sir Miers de Willoughby, of a truth a most cruel and lawless malfaitor, and as bold a Borderer as ever rode through a moss. He rules everything here, and gives honest folks the bit to champ, I promise thee. Would that some such gallant knight as your worship might meet with him and humble him, for verily he is a scourge to the country.”Sir John Assueton inwardly congratulated himself upon his good luck in having thus so fortunately stumbled on a man, who, having himself suffered from de Willoughby’s oppression, was manifestly so inimical to him: he felt much inclined to speak out at once, but he checked himself, and thought it wiser to proceed with caution.“Is he so very wicked, then, this Sir Miers de Willoughby of whom thou speakest?” said he to the forester.“By the mass is he, Sir Knight,” replied the forester. “He will soar ye from his Border-keep like a falcon, and pounce on any prey that may come within his ken; and als he be so stark as to others using his lands for their honest and harmless occupation of hunting, by’r Lady, he minds not on what earth he stoops, if so be that there be anything to cluth from off its surface. ’Twas but some three days ago that he yode hence on some wicked emprise, for ’twas his absence that led us hither; and this morning, as we lay concealed in these wood shaws, we saw him and his men ride by this very spot, bearing home with him some worthy man’s gentle cosset he had stowne away.”Assueton perfectly understood the forester to have used the[138]word cosset—a pet lamb—in a metaphorical sense; but, to draw him on, he pretended to have taken him up literally.“A cosset!” cried he, with feigned surprise. “A poor pet lamb was but a wretched prey indeed for so rapacious a lorrel as thou wouldst make this same Sir Miers to be, good forester.”“Nay, nay, Sir Knight,” replied the forester, “I meant not in very simplicity a pet lamb, but a fair damosel, who looked, meseemed, as if she had been the gentle cosset of some fond father. ’Twas a damosel, Sir Knight, a right fair and beauteous damosel; and she shrieked from time to time in such piteous fashion, that, by the Rood, it was clear she went not with him willingly.”Assueton’s blood boiled, so that it was with difficulty he could longer restrain his fury. He, however, kept it within such bounds as it might well enough pass for the indignation natural to a virtuous knight upon hearing of such foul outrage done to any damsel.“Unworthy limb of knighthood,” said he, “thus to play the caitiff part of a vile lossel? Show me the way to his boure, and by the blessed bones of the holy St. Cuthbert, he shall dearly rue his traiterie.”“Marry, ’tis no wonder to see a virtuous knight so enchafed at such actings,” said the forester; “yet can the damosel be little to thee; and ’twere scarce, methinks, worth thy while to step so far from thy path. Had she been thine own lady, indeed———”“Nay,” said Assueton, hastily, but endeavouring to conceal his emotion, “thou knowest, good forester, that ’tis but my duty as a true knight to redress this foul wrong; and whosoever this lady may be, and wheresoever I may be bound, I must not scruple to step a little out of my way to punish so wicked a coulpe.”“Right glad am I, Sir Knight,” said the forester, “to see thee so ready to do battle against this caitiff, Sir Miers, and full willing should I be to conduct thee to the sacking of his tower; but, in good verity, ’twere vain to go accoutred and attended as thou art. He keeps special good watch and ward, I promise thee, and he is too much wont to have his quarters beat up, not to be for ever on the alert. He hath scouts stationed all around him, in such a manner that no one may approach his stronghold of Burnstower by day or by night withouten ken, and he is straightway put on the alert long ere he can be reached. If those who come against him be strong and well armed, more than his force than overcome, then he hies him away to the fastnesses[139]of his mosses and hills, where no one but the eagle may follow him, and leaves only his barren walls to the fury of the besiegers. But if the party be small, and such as his wiles may master, he is sure to lead them into some ambush, and to put every man of them to the sword. Trust me, were thou to go clad in steel, and with such a party of spearmen at thy back, he would take the alarm, and thou wouldst either have thy journey and thy trouble for thy guerdon, or thou and thy people might fall by cruel traiterie.”“Then what, after all, may be the best means of coming at him?” said Assueton; “for thou hast but the more inflamed my desire to essay the adventure.”The forester seemed to consider for a time—“In truth,” said he at length, “I see no other way than one, the which thou wouldst spurn, Sir Knight.”“Name it,” said Assueton; “depend on’t, I shall not be over nice in this affair.”“Wert thou,” said the forester, “and, it might be, no more than two of thy people, to venture thither in disguise, with one or two of us to guide thee, thou mightest peradventure pass thither without begetting alarm, and be received into the Castle as lated and miswent travellers, lacking covert for the night. But then all that would be but of small avail, for what couldst thou do with thy single arm, and so small a force to aid it?”“Nay, good forester,” said Assueton, “be it mine to see to that, and be it thine to bring me thither. Knights are but born to conquer difficulties, and, perdie, I have never yet seen that which did not, with me, give greater zest to the adventure I went upon. By the blessed Rood, I shall go with thee. Let us forthwith have our disguises, then, and these two men of my company,” pointing to Riddel and Lindsay, “shall share the glory of mine emprise. So let us, I pr’ythee, snatch a hasty meal, and set forward without delay.”“By the mass, but thou art a brave knight,” said the forester; “yet it doth grieve me to see thee go on so hopeless an errand. Nathless, I shall not baulk thee nor back of thy word; verily I shall wend with thee, to show thee the way thither. But I would fain persuade thee even yet to leave this undertaking untried.”“Nay,” said Assueton, “I have said it, and by God’s aid I will do it, let the peril be what it may; so let us use despatch if it so please thee.”Seeing that the bold and dauntless knight was resolved, the forester ordered some of the venison, that was by this time[140]cooked, to be set before Assueton, and some also to be served to those who were to accompany him; and after all had satisfied their hunger, Assueton doffed his armour, clad himself in a suit of plain Lincoln green, such as the foresters wore, and, unperceived by any one, slipped his dagger into his bosom. He then openly girt his trusty sword by his side, and leaving orders with his party to remain with the friendly foresters until they should see him, or hear from him, he and his two people, who were also disguised, mounted their horses, and set off under the guidance of the leader of the hunting party and two of his men, whom he took with them, as he said, to bear him company on his return.
[Contents]CHAPTER XVII.Sir John’s Pursuit in Quest of the Missing Lady—The Forester’s Hunting Camp—Sir Miers de Willoughby’s Border Keep.Sir John Assueton’s fury and distraction carried him on with great rapidity, until he reached the banks of the Tweed, and his own horse, as well as the horses of his small troop of spearmen, were right glad to lave their smoking sides in its cool current, as he boldly swam them to the English shore. He tarried but short time by the way, to refresh either them or his men; and towards nightfall, found himself winding into a green glen, thickly wooded in some parts, opening in smooth pasture in others, and watered by one of those brisk streams that descend into Northumberland from the Cheviot hills.The sight of those lofty elevations, now so near him, brought the object of his hasty march more freshly to his mind, too much agitated hitherto by the violence of the various passions that possessed it, to permit him to act or think coolly. But he began now to reflect that, although he had learned that the Castle of Burnstower, to which Sir Miers de Willoughby was supposed to have carried off the Lady Isabelle, lay somewhere among the intricacies of these hills, his rage and impatience had never allowed him to inquire farther, or to advert to the very obvious circumstance that the extent of the hilly range was so great that he might search for many days before he could discover the spot where it was situated. It was therefore absolutely necessary that he should avail himself of the very first opportunity which might occur of procuring information, both as to the Castle he was in search of, and the owner of it, of whom he had in reality as yet learned nothing. He rode slowly up the glen, therefore, in expectation of seeing some cottage, where he might halt for a short time to gain intelligence, or of meeting some peasant, from whom he might adroitly gather the information[135]he wanted, without exciting suspicion as to the nature of his errand.Fortune seemed to be so far favourable to him, that he had not ridden any great distance ere he descried a forester, standing under a wide-spreading oak, by the side of a glade, where the glen was narrowest. He had a cross-bow in his hand, and appeared to be on the watch for deer.“Ho, forester,” cried Assueton to him, “methinks thou hast chosen a likely pass here for the game; hast thou sped to-day?”“Not so far amiss as to that,” said the forester, carelessly leaving his stand, and lounging towards the party, as if to reconnoitre them.“Dost thou hunt alone, my good fellow,” said the knight.“N—nay,” said the forester, with hesitation; “there be more of us in company a short way off.”“Hast thou any cottage or place of shelter hereabouts, where hungry travellers might have a mouthful of food, with provender, and an hour’s rest for our weary beasts?” demanded Assueton. “Here’s money for thee.”“As to a cottage like,” replied the forester, “I trow there be not many of them in these wilds; but an thou wilt yede thee wi’ me, thou shalt share the supper my comrades must be cooking ere this time; and as for thy beasts, they canna be muckle to dole for, where the grass grows aneath their feet. Thy money we care not for.”“Thine offer is fair and kind, good forester,” said Assueton; “we shall on with thee right gladly, and give thee good thanks for thy sylvan hospitality, such as it may be. Lead on then.”The forester, without more words, walked cleverly on before Sir John Assueton, who followed him at the head of his party. As they advanced a little way, the wooding of the glen became much more dense, and rocks projecting themselves from the base of the hills on either side, rendered the passage in the bottom between them and the stream excessively narrow, so that the men of the party could only move on singly, and were more than once obliged to dismount and lead their horses. The way seemed to be very long, and night came on to increase its difficulties. Assueton’s impatience more than once tempted him to complain of it; but he restrained himself, lest his eagerness might excite suspicion that he had some secret and important hostile object in view, and that he might thus lose all chance of gaining the information he so much wanted. He kept as close as he possibly could to his guide, however, for he began to have[136]strange doubts that he might be leading him into some ambush; and he had resolved within his own mind to seize and sacrifice him the instant he had reason to be convinced he had betrayed them.After forcing their way through a very wild pass, where the rocks on both sides towered up their bold and lofty fronts, the glen widened, and the party entered a little gently-sloping glade or holme, bounded by the high and thickly-wooded banks, which here retired from the side of the stream, and swept irregularly around it. A blazing fire appeared among the trees.“Ay,” said the forester, “these are my comrades: I reckon we come in good time, for yonder be the supper a-cooking.”The party now crossed through the luxuriant pasture, that, moistened with the evening dew, was giving out a thousand mingled perfumes from the wild flowers that grew in it, and speedily came within view of about a dozen men, clad in the same woodland garb worn by their guide. Some of them were sitting about the fire, engaged in roasting and broiling fragments of venison; while others were loitering among the trees, or sitting under their shade. A number of cross-bows and long-bows hung from the branches, several spears rested against their stems; and these, with swords, daggers, and anelaces, seemed to compose the arms of this party of hunters. They appeared to have had good success, for six or eight fat bucks were hanging by the horns from the boughs overhead.“Here is a gallant knight and his party,” said their guide to a man who seemed to be a leader among them, “who would be glad of a share of our supper.”The person he addressed, and who came forward to receive Assueton, was a tall and uncommonly handsome man; and although his dress differed in no respect from that of the others, except that he wore a more gaudy plume in his hat, and that his baldrick, the sword suspended from it, his belt and dagger, and the bugle that hung from his shoulder, were all of more costly materials and rarer workmanship. But there was something in his appearance and mien that might have graced knighthood itself. He bowed courteously to Assueton.“Sir Knight,” said he, “wilt thou deign to dismount from thy steed, and partake with us in our woodland cheer? Here,” said he, turning to the people around him, “let more carcases be cut up; there is no lack of provisions. Will it please thee to rest, Sir Knight?”“I thank thee, good forester, for thy willing hospitality,” said Assueton, alighting, and giving his horse to his squire; “I[137]will rest me on that green bank under the holly busket there, and talk with thee to wile away time and beguile my hunger. This is a merry occupation of thine,” added he, after they had sat down together.“Ay,” replied the forester, “right merry in good sooth, were we left at freedom to enjoy it. But, by the mass, that is not our case here, for there wons in this vicinage a certain discourteous knight, who letteth no one kill a deer on his ground that he may know of; so we be forced to steal hither, at times when we may ween that he is absent, or least on the watch. The red and roe deer do much abound in these glens; and, by the Rood, ’tis hard, methinks, that the four-footed game should be given by nature for man’s food, and that he should be reft of his right to take it.”“And who may this discourteous knight be?” said Assueton, wishing to feel his way with the stranger.“His name,” said the forester, “is Sir Miers de Willoughby, of a truth a most cruel and lawless malfaitor, and as bold a Borderer as ever rode through a moss. He rules everything here, and gives honest folks the bit to champ, I promise thee. Would that some such gallant knight as your worship might meet with him and humble him, for verily he is a scourge to the country.”Sir John Assueton inwardly congratulated himself upon his good luck in having thus so fortunately stumbled on a man, who, having himself suffered from de Willoughby’s oppression, was manifestly so inimical to him: he felt much inclined to speak out at once, but he checked himself, and thought it wiser to proceed with caution.“Is he so very wicked, then, this Sir Miers de Willoughby of whom thou speakest?” said he to the forester.“By the mass is he, Sir Knight,” replied the forester. “He will soar ye from his Border-keep like a falcon, and pounce on any prey that may come within his ken; and als he be so stark as to others using his lands for their honest and harmless occupation of hunting, by’r Lady, he minds not on what earth he stoops, if so be that there be anything to cluth from off its surface. ’Twas but some three days ago that he yode hence on some wicked emprise, for ’twas his absence that led us hither; and this morning, as we lay concealed in these wood shaws, we saw him and his men ride by this very spot, bearing home with him some worthy man’s gentle cosset he had stowne away.”Assueton perfectly understood the forester to have used the[138]word cosset—a pet lamb—in a metaphorical sense; but, to draw him on, he pretended to have taken him up literally.“A cosset!” cried he, with feigned surprise. “A poor pet lamb was but a wretched prey indeed for so rapacious a lorrel as thou wouldst make this same Sir Miers to be, good forester.”“Nay, nay, Sir Knight,” replied the forester, “I meant not in very simplicity a pet lamb, but a fair damosel, who looked, meseemed, as if she had been the gentle cosset of some fond father. ’Twas a damosel, Sir Knight, a right fair and beauteous damosel; and she shrieked from time to time in such piteous fashion, that, by the Rood, it was clear she went not with him willingly.”Assueton’s blood boiled, so that it was with difficulty he could longer restrain his fury. He, however, kept it within such bounds as it might well enough pass for the indignation natural to a virtuous knight upon hearing of such foul outrage done to any damsel.“Unworthy limb of knighthood,” said he, “thus to play the caitiff part of a vile lossel? Show me the way to his boure, and by the blessed bones of the holy St. Cuthbert, he shall dearly rue his traiterie.”“Marry, ’tis no wonder to see a virtuous knight so enchafed at such actings,” said the forester; “yet can the damosel be little to thee; and ’twere scarce, methinks, worth thy while to step so far from thy path. Had she been thine own lady, indeed———”“Nay,” said Assueton, hastily, but endeavouring to conceal his emotion, “thou knowest, good forester, that ’tis but my duty as a true knight to redress this foul wrong; and whosoever this lady may be, and wheresoever I may be bound, I must not scruple to step a little out of my way to punish so wicked a coulpe.”“Right glad am I, Sir Knight,” said the forester, “to see thee so ready to do battle against this caitiff, Sir Miers, and full willing should I be to conduct thee to the sacking of his tower; but, in good verity, ’twere vain to go accoutred and attended as thou art. He keeps special good watch and ward, I promise thee, and he is too much wont to have his quarters beat up, not to be for ever on the alert. He hath scouts stationed all around him, in such a manner that no one may approach his stronghold of Burnstower by day or by night withouten ken, and he is straightway put on the alert long ere he can be reached. If those who come against him be strong and well armed, more than his force than overcome, then he hies him away to the fastnesses[139]of his mosses and hills, where no one but the eagle may follow him, and leaves only his barren walls to the fury of the besiegers. But if the party be small, and such as his wiles may master, he is sure to lead them into some ambush, and to put every man of them to the sword. Trust me, were thou to go clad in steel, and with such a party of spearmen at thy back, he would take the alarm, and thou wouldst either have thy journey and thy trouble for thy guerdon, or thou and thy people might fall by cruel traiterie.”“Then what, after all, may be the best means of coming at him?” said Assueton; “for thou hast but the more inflamed my desire to essay the adventure.”The forester seemed to consider for a time—“In truth,” said he at length, “I see no other way than one, the which thou wouldst spurn, Sir Knight.”“Name it,” said Assueton; “depend on’t, I shall not be over nice in this affair.”“Wert thou,” said the forester, “and, it might be, no more than two of thy people, to venture thither in disguise, with one or two of us to guide thee, thou mightest peradventure pass thither without begetting alarm, and be received into the Castle as lated and miswent travellers, lacking covert for the night. But then all that would be but of small avail, for what couldst thou do with thy single arm, and so small a force to aid it?”“Nay, good forester,” said Assueton, “be it mine to see to that, and be it thine to bring me thither. Knights are but born to conquer difficulties, and, perdie, I have never yet seen that which did not, with me, give greater zest to the adventure I went upon. By the blessed Rood, I shall go with thee. Let us forthwith have our disguises, then, and these two men of my company,” pointing to Riddel and Lindsay, “shall share the glory of mine emprise. So let us, I pr’ythee, snatch a hasty meal, and set forward without delay.”“By the mass, but thou art a brave knight,” said the forester; “yet it doth grieve me to see thee go on so hopeless an errand. Nathless, I shall not baulk thee nor back of thy word; verily I shall wend with thee, to show thee the way thither. But I would fain persuade thee even yet to leave this undertaking untried.”“Nay,” said Assueton, “I have said it, and by God’s aid I will do it, let the peril be what it may; so let us use despatch if it so please thee.”Seeing that the bold and dauntless knight was resolved, the forester ordered some of the venison, that was by this time[140]cooked, to be set before Assueton, and some also to be served to those who were to accompany him; and after all had satisfied their hunger, Assueton doffed his armour, clad himself in a suit of plain Lincoln green, such as the foresters wore, and, unperceived by any one, slipped his dagger into his bosom. He then openly girt his trusty sword by his side, and leaving orders with his party to remain with the friendly foresters until they should see him, or hear from him, he and his two people, who were also disguised, mounted their horses, and set off under the guidance of the leader of the hunting party and two of his men, whom he took with them, as he said, to bear him company on his return.
CHAPTER XVII.Sir John’s Pursuit in Quest of the Missing Lady—The Forester’s Hunting Camp—Sir Miers de Willoughby’s Border Keep.
Sir John’s Pursuit in Quest of the Missing Lady—The Forester’s Hunting Camp—Sir Miers de Willoughby’s Border Keep.
Sir John’s Pursuit in Quest of the Missing Lady—The Forester’s Hunting Camp—Sir Miers de Willoughby’s Border Keep.
Sir John Assueton’s fury and distraction carried him on with great rapidity, until he reached the banks of the Tweed, and his own horse, as well as the horses of his small troop of spearmen, were right glad to lave their smoking sides in its cool current, as he boldly swam them to the English shore. He tarried but short time by the way, to refresh either them or his men; and towards nightfall, found himself winding into a green glen, thickly wooded in some parts, opening in smooth pasture in others, and watered by one of those brisk streams that descend into Northumberland from the Cheviot hills.The sight of those lofty elevations, now so near him, brought the object of his hasty march more freshly to his mind, too much agitated hitherto by the violence of the various passions that possessed it, to permit him to act or think coolly. But he began now to reflect that, although he had learned that the Castle of Burnstower, to which Sir Miers de Willoughby was supposed to have carried off the Lady Isabelle, lay somewhere among the intricacies of these hills, his rage and impatience had never allowed him to inquire farther, or to advert to the very obvious circumstance that the extent of the hilly range was so great that he might search for many days before he could discover the spot where it was situated. It was therefore absolutely necessary that he should avail himself of the very first opportunity which might occur of procuring information, both as to the Castle he was in search of, and the owner of it, of whom he had in reality as yet learned nothing. He rode slowly up the glen, therefore, in expectation of seeing some cottage, where he might halt for a short time to gain intelligence, or of meeting some peasant, from whom he might adroitly gather the information[135]he wanted, without exciting suspicion as to the nature of his errand.Fortune seemed to be so far favourable to him, that he had not ridden any great distance ere he descried a forester, standing under a wide-spreading oak, by the side of a glade, where the glen was narrowest. He had a cross-bow in his hand, and appeared to be on the watch for deer.“Ho, forester,” cried Assueton to him, “methinks thou hast chosen a likely pass here for the game; hast thou sped to-day?”“Not so far amiss as to that,” said the forester, carelessly leaving his stand, and lounging towards the party, as if to reconnoitre them.“Dost thou hunt alone, my good fellow,” said the knight.“N—nay,” said the forester, with hesitation; “there be more of us in company a short way off.”“Hast thou any cottage or place of shelter hereabouts, where hungry travellers might have a mouthful of food, with provender, and an hour’s rest for our weary beasts?” demanded Assueton. “Here’s money for thee.”“As to a cottage like,” replied the forester, “I trow there be not many of them in these wilds; but an thou wilt yede thee wi’ me, thou shalt share the supper my comrades must be cooking ere this time; and as for thy beasts, they canna be muckle to dole for, where the grass grows aneath their feet. Thy money we care not for.”“Thine offer is fair and kind, good forester,” said Assueton; “we shall on with thee right gladly, and give thee good thanks for thy sylvan hospitality, such as it may be. Lead on then.”The forester, without more words, walked cleverly on before Sir John Assueton, who followed him at the head of his party. As they advanced a little way, the wooding of the glen became much more dense, and rocks projecting themselves from the base of the hills on either side, rendered the passage in the bottom between them and the stream excessively narrow, so that the men of the party could only move on singly, and were more than once obliged to dismount and lead their horses. The way seemed to be very long, and night came on to increase its difficulties. Assueton’s impatience more than once tempted him to complain of it; but he restrained himself, lest his eagerness might excite suspicion that he had some secret and important hostile object in view, and that he might thus lose all chance of gaining the information he so much wanted. He kept as close as he possibly could to his guide, however, for he began to have[136]strange doubts that he might be leading him into some ambush; and he had resolved within his own mind to seize and sacrifice him the instant he had reason to be convinced he had betrayed them.After forcing their way through a very wild pass, where the rocks on both sides towered up their bold and lofty fronts, the glen widened, and the party entered a little gently-sloping glade or holme, bounded by the high and thickly-wooded banks, which here retired from the side of the stream, and swept irregularly around it. A blazing fire appeared among the trees.“Ay,” said the forester, “these are my comrades: I reckon we come in good time, for yonder be the supper a-cooking.”The party now crossed through the luxuriant pasture, that, moistened with the evening dew, was giving out a thousand mingled perfumes from the wild flowers that grew in it, and speedily came within view of about a dozen men, clad in the same woodland garb worn by their guide. Some of them were sitting about the fire, engaged in roasting and broiling fragments of venison; while others were loitering among the trees, or sitting under their shade. A number of cross-bows and long-bows hung from the branches, several spears rested against their stems; and these, with swords, daggers, and anelaces, seemed to compose the arms of this party of hunters. They appeared to have had good success, for six or eight fat bucks were hanging by the horns from the boughs overhead.“Here is a gallant knight and his party,” said their guide to a man who seemed to be a leader among them, “who would be glad of a share of our supper.”The person he addressed, and who came forward to receive Assueton, was a tall and uncommonly handsome man; and although his dress differed in no respect from that of the others, except that he wore a more gaudy plume in his hat, and that his baldrick, the sword suspended from it, his belt and dagger, and the bugle that hung from his shoulder, were all of more costly materials and rarer workmanship. But there was something in his appearance and mien that might have graced knighthood itself. He bowed courteously to Assueton.“Sir Knight,” said he, “wilt thou deign to dismount from thy steed, and partake with us in our woodland cheer? Here,” said he, turning to the people around him, “let more carcases be cut up; there is no lack of provisions. Will it please thee to rest, Sir Knight?”“I thank thee, good forester, for thy willing hospitality,” said Assueton, alighting, and giving his horse to his squire; “I[137]will rest me on that green bank under the holly busket there, and talk with thee to wile away time and beguile my hunger. This is a merry occupation of thine,” added he, after they had sat down together.“Ay,” replied the forester, “right merry in good sooth, were we left at freedom to enjoy it. But, by the mass, that is not our case here, for there wons in this vicinage a certain discourteous knight, who letteth no one kill a deer on his ground that he may know of; so we be forced to steal hither, at times when we may ween that he is absent, or least on the watch. The red and roe deer do much abound in these glens; and, by the Rood, ’tis hard, methinks, that the four-footed game should be given by nature for man’s food, and that he should be reft of his right to take it.”“And who may this discourteous knight be?” said Assueton, wishing to feel his way with the stranger.“His name,” said the forester, “is Sir Miers de Willoughby, of a truth a most cruel and lawless malfaitor, and as bold a Borderer as ever rode through a moss. He rules everything here, and gives honest folks the bit to champ, I promise thee. Would that some such gallant knight as your worship might meet with him and humble him, for verily he is a scourge to the country.”Sir John Assueton inwardly congratulated himself upon his good luck in having thus so fortunately stumbled on a man, who, having himself suffered from de Willoughby’s oppression, was manifestly so inimical to him: he felt much inclined to speak out at once, but he checked himself, and thought it wiser to proceed with caution.“Is he so very wicked, then, this Sir Miers de Willoughby of whom thou speakest?” said he to the forester.“By the mass is he, Sir Knight,” replied the forester. “He will soar ye from his Border-keep like a falcon, and pounce on any prey that may come within his ken; and als he be so stark as to others using his lands for their honest and harmless occupation of hunting, by’r Lady, he minds not on what earth he stoops, if so be that there be anything to cluth from off its surface. ’Twas but some three days ago that he yode hence on some wicked emprise, for ’twas his absence that led us hither; and this morning, as we lay concealed in these wood shaws, we saw him and his men ride by this very spot, bearing home with him some worthy man’s gentle cosset he had stowne away.”Assueton perfectly understood the forester to have used the[138]word cosset—a pet lamb—in a metaphorical sense; but, to draw him on, he pretended to have taken him up literally.“A cosset!” cried he, with feigned surprise. “A poor pet lamb was but a wretched prey indeed for so rapacious a lorrel as thou wouldst make this same Sir Miers to be, good forester.”“Nay, nay, Sir Knight,” replied the forester, “I meant not in very simplicity a pet lamb, but a fair damosel, who looked, meseemed, as if she had been the gentle cosset of some fond father. ’Twas a damosel, Sir Knight, a right fair and beauteous damosel; and she shrieked from time to time in such piteous fashion, that, by the Rood, it was clear she went not with him willingly.”Assueton’s blood boiled, so that it was with difficulty he could longer restrain his fury. He, however, kept it within such bounds as it might well enough pass for the indignation natural to a virtuous knight upon hearing of such foul outrage done to any damsel.“Unworthy limb of knighthood,” said he, “thus to play the caitiff part of a vile lossel? Show me the way to his boure, and by the blessed bones of the holy St. Cuthbert, he shall dearly rue his traiterie.”“Marry, ’tis no wonder to see a virtuous knight so enchafed at such actings,” said the forester; “yet can the damosel be little to thee; and ’twere scarce, methinks, worth thy while to step so far from thy path. Had she been thine own lady, indeed———”“Nay,” said Assueton, hastily, but endeavouring to conceal his emotion, “thou knowest, good forester, that ’tis but my duty as a true knight to redress this foul wrong; and whosoever this lady may be, and wheresoever I may be bound, I must not scruple to step a little out of my way to punish so wicked a coulpe.”“Right glad am I, Sir Knight,” said the forester, “to see thee so ready to do battle against this caitiff, Sir Miers, and full willing should I be to conduct thee to the sacking of his tower; but, in good verity, ’twere vain to go accoutred and attended as thou art. He keeps special good watch and ward, I promise thee, and he is too much wont to have his quarters beat up, not to be for ever on the alert. He hath scouts stationed all around him, in such a manner that no one may approach his stronghold of Burnstower by day or by night withouten ken, and he is straightway put on the alert long ere he can be reached. If those who come against him be strong and well armed, more than his force than overcome, then he hies him away to the fastnesses[139]of his mosses and hills, where no one but the eagle may follow him, and leaves only his barren walls to the fury of the besiegers. But if the party be small, and such as his wiles may master, he is sure to lead them into some ambush, and to put every man of them to the sword. Trust me, were thou to go clad in steel, and with such a party of spearmen at thy back, he would take the alarm, and thou wouldst either have thy journey and thy trouble for thy guerdon, or thou and thy people might fall by cruel traiterie.”“Then what, after all, may be the best means of coming at him?” said Assueton; “for thou hast but the more inflamed my desire to essay the adventure.”The forester seemed to consider for a time—“In truth,” said he at length, “I see no other way than one, the which thou wouldst spurn, Sir Knight.”“Name it,” said Assueton; “depend on’t, I shall not be over nice in this affair.”“Wert thou,” said the forester, “and, it might be, no more than two of thy people, to venture thither in disguise, with one or two of us to guide thee, thou mightest peradventure pass thither without begetting alarm, and be received into the Castle as lated and miswent travellers, lacking covert for the night. But then all that would be but of small avail, for what couldst thou do with thy single arm, and so small a force to aid it?”“Nay, good forester,” said Assueton, “be it mine to see to that, and be it thine to bring me thither. Knights are but born to conquer difficulties, and, perdie, I have never yet seen that which did not, with me, give greater zest to the adventure I went upon. By the blessed Rood, I shall go with thee. Let us forthwith have our disguises, then, and these two men of my company,” pointing to Riddel and Lindsay, “shall share the glory of mine emprise. So let us, I pr’ythee, snatch a hasty meal, and set forward without delay.”“By the mass, but thou art a brave knight,” said the forester; “yet it doth grieve me to see thee go on so hopeless an errand. Nathless, I shall not baulk thee nor back of thy word; verily I shall wend with thee, to show thee the way thither. But I would fain persuade thee even yet to leave this undertaking untried.”“Nay,” said Assueton, “I have said it, and by God’s aid I will do it, let the peril be what it may; so let us use despatch if it so please thee.”Seeing that the bold and dauntless knight was resolved, the forester ordered some of the venison, that was by this time[140]cooked, to be set before Assueton, and some also to be served to those who were to accompany him; and after all had satisfied their hunger, Assueton doffed his armour, clad himself in a suit of plain Lincoln green, such as the foresters wore, and, unperceived by any one, slipped his dagger into his bosom. He then openly girt his trusty sword by his side, and leaving orders with his party to remain with the friendly foresters until they should see him, or hear from him, he and his two people, who were also disguised, mounted their horses, and set off under the guidance of the leader of the hunting party and two of his men, whom he took with them, as he said, to bear him company on his return.
Sir John Assueton’s fury and distraction carried him on with great rapidity, until he reached the banks of the Tweed, and his own horse, as well as the horses of his small troop of spearmen, were right glad to lave their smoking sides in its cool current, as he boldly swam them to the English shore. He tarried but short time by the way, to refresh either them or his men; and towards nightfall, found himself winding into a green glen, thickly wooded in some parts, opening in smooth pasture in others, and watered by one of those brisk streams that descend into Northumberland from the Cheviot hills.
The sight of those lofty elevations, now so near him, brought the object of his hasty march more freshly to his mind, too much agitated hitherto by the violence of the various passions that possessed it, to permit him to act or think coolly. But he began now to reflect that, although he had learned that the Castle of Burnstower, to which Sir Miers de Willoughby was supposed to have carried off the Lady Isabelle, lay somewhere among the intricacies of these hills, his rage and impatience had never allowed him to inquire farther, or to advert to the very obvious circumstance that the extent of the hilly range was so great that he might search for many days before he could discover the spot where it was situated. It was therefore absolutely necessary that he should avail himself of the very first opportunity which might occur of procuring information, both as to the Castle he was in search of, and the owner of it, of whom he had in reality as yet learned nothing. He rode slowly up the glen, therefore, in expectation of seeing some cottage, where he might halt for a short time to gain intelligence, or of meeting some peasant, from whom he might adroitly gather the information[135]he wanted, without exciting suspicion as to the nature of his errand.
Fortune seemed to be so far favourable to him, that he had not ridden any great distance ere he descried a forester, standing under a wide-spreading oak, by the side of a glade, where the glen was narrowest. He had a cross-bow in his hand, and appeared to be on the watch for deer.
“Ho, forester,” cried Assueton to him, “methinks thou hast chosen a likely pass here for the game; hast thou sped to-day?”
“Not so far amiss as to that,” said the forester, carelessly leaving his stand, and lounging towards the party, as if to reconnoitre them.
“Dost thou hunt alone, my good fellow,” said the knight.
“N—nay,” said the forester, with hesitation; “there be more of us in company a short way off.”
“Hast thou any cottage or place of shelter hereabouts, where hungry travellers might have a mouthful of food, with provender, and an hour’s rest for our weary beasts?” demanded Assueton. “Here’s money for thee.”
“As to a cottage like,” replied the forester, “I trow there be not many of them in these wilds; but an thou wilt yede thee wi’ me, thou shalt share the supper my comrades must be cooking ere this time; and as for thy beasts, they canna be muckle to dole for, where the grass grows aneath their feet. Thy money we care not for.”
“Thine offer is fair and kind, good forester,” said Assueton; “we shall on with thee right gladly, and give thee good thanks for thy sylvan hospitality, such as it may be. Lead on then.”
The forester, without more words, walked cleverly on before Sir John Assueton, who followed him at the head of his party. As they advanced a little way, the wooding of the glen became much more dense, and rocks projecting themselves from the base of the hills on either side, rendered the passage in the bottom between them and the stream excessively narrow, so that the men of the party could only move on singly, and were more than once obliged to dismount and lead their horses. The way seemed to be very long, and night came on to increase its difficulties. Assueton’s impatience more than once tempted him to complain of it; but he restrained himself, lest his eagerness might excite suspicion that he had some secret and important hostile object in view, and that he might thus lose all chance of gaining the information he so much wanted. He kept as close as he possibly could to his guide, however, for he began to have[136]strange doubts that he might be leading him into some ambush; and he had resolved within his own mind to seize and sacrifice him the instant he had reason to be convinced he had betrayed them.
After forcing their way through a very wild pass, where the rocks on both sides towered up their bold and lofty fronts, the glen widened, and the party entered a little gently-sloping glade or holme, bounded by the high and thickly-wooded banks, which here retired from the side of the stream, and swept irregularly around it. A blazing fire appeared among the trees.
“Ay,” said the forester, “these are my comrades: I reckon we come in good time, for yonder be the supper a-cooking.”
The party now crossed through the luxuriant pasture, that, moistened with the evening dew, was giving out a thousand mingled perfumes from the wild flowers that grew in it, and speedily came within view of about a dozen men, clad in the same woodland garb worn by their guide. Some of them were sitting about the fire, engaged in roasting and broiling fragments of venison; while others were loitering among the trees, or sitting under their shade. A number of cross-bows and long-bows hung from the branches, several spears rested against their stems; and these, with swords, daggers, and anelaces, seemed to compose the arms of this party of hunters. They appeared to have had good success, for six or eight fat bucks were hanging by the horns from the boughs overhead.
“Here is a gallant knight and his party,” said their guide to a man who seemed to be a leader among them, “who would be glad of a share of our supper.”
The person he addressed, and who came forward to receive Assueton, was a tall and uncommonly handsome man; and although his dress differed in no respect from that of the others, except that he wore a more gaudy plume in his hat, and that his baldrick, the sword suspended from it, his belt and dagger, and the bugle that hung from his shoulder, were all of more costly materials and rarer workmanship. But there was something in his appearance and mien that might have graced knighthood itself. He bowed courteously to Assueton.
“Sir Knight,” said he, “wilt thou deign to dismount from thy steed, and partake with us in our woodland cheer? Here,” said he, turning to the people around him, “let more carcases be cut up; there is no lack of provisions. Will it please thee to rest, Sir Knight?”
“I thank thee, good forester, for thy willing hospitality,” said Assueton, alighting, and giving his horse to his squire; “I[137]will rest me on that green bank under the holly busket there, and talk with thee to wile away time and beguile my hunger. This is a merry occupation of thine,” added he, after they had sat down together.
“Ay,” replied the forester, “right merry in good sooth, were we left at freedom to enjoy it. But, by the mass, that is not our case here, for there wons in this vicinage a certain discourteous knight, who letteth no one kill a deer on his ground that he may know of; so we be forced to steal hither, at times when we may ween that he is absent, or least on the watch. The red and roe deer do much abound in these glens; and, by the Rood, ’tis hard, methinks, that the four-footed game should be given by nature for man’s food, and that he should be reft of his right to take it.”
“And who may this discourteous knight be?” said Assueton, wishing to feel his way with the stranger.
“His name,” said the forester, “is Sir Miers de Willoughby, of a truth a most cruel and lawless malfaitor, and as bold a Borderer as ever rode through a moss. He rules everything here, and gives honest folks the bit to champ, I promise thee. Would that some such gallant knight as your worship might meet with him and humble him, for verily he is a scourge to the country.”
Sir John Assueton inwardly congratulated himself upon his good luck in having thus so fortunately stumbled on a man, who, having himself suffered from de Willoughby’s oppression, was manifestly so inimical to him: he felt much inclined to speak out at once, but he checked himself, and thought it wiser to proceed with caution.
“Is he so very wicked, then, this Sir Miers de Willoughby of whom thou speakest?” said he to the forester.
“By the mass is he, Sir Knight,” replied the forester. “He will soar ye from his Border-keep like a falcon, and pounce on any prey that may come within his ken; and als he be so stark as to others using his lands for their honest and harmless occupation of hunting, by’r Lady, he minds not on what earth he stoops, if so be that there be anything to cluth from off its surface. ’Twas but some three days ago that he yode hence on some wicked emprise, for ’twas his absence that led us hither; and this morning, as we lay concealed in these wood shaws, we saw him and his men ride by this very spot, bearing home with him some worthy man’s gentle cosset he had stowne away.”
Assueton perfectly understood the forester to have used the[138]word cosset—a pet lamb—in a metaphorical sense; but, to draw him on, he pretended to have taken him up literally.
“A cosset!” cried he, with feigned surprise. “A poor pet lamb was but a wretched prey indeed for so rapacious a lorrel as thou wouldst make this same Sir Miers to be, good forester.”
“Nay, nay, Sir Knight,” replied the forester, “I meant not in very simplicity a pet lamb, but a fair damosel, who looked, meseemed, as if she had been the gentle cosset of some fond father. ’Twas a damosel, Sir Knight, a right fair and beauteous damosel; and she shrieked from time to time in such piteous fashion, that, by the Rood, it was clear she went not with him willingly.”
Assueton’s blood boiled, so that it was with difficulty he could longer restrain his fury. He, however, kept it within such bounds as it might well enough pass for the indignation natural to a virtuous knight upon hearing of such foul outrage done to any damsel.
“Unworthy limb of knighthood,” said he, “thus to play the caitiff part of a vile lossel? Show me the way to his boure, and by the blessed bones of the holy St. Cuthbert, he shall dearly rue his traiterie.”
“Marry, ’tis no wonder to see a virtuous knight so enchafed at such actings,” said the forester; “yet can the damosel be little to thee; and ’twere scarce, methinks, worth thy while to step so far from thy path. Had she been thine own lady, indeed———”
“Nay,” said Assueton, hastily, but endeavouring to conceal his emotion, “thou knowest, good forester, that ’tis but my duty as a true knight to redress this foul wrong; and whosoever this lady may be, and wheresoever I may be bound, I must not scruple to step a little out of my way to punish so wicked a coulpe.”
“Right glad am I, Sir Knight,” said the forester, “to see thee so ready to do battle against this caitiff, Sir Miers, and full willing should I be to conduct thee to the sacking of his tower; but, in good verity, ’twere vain to go accoutred and attended as thou art. He keeps special good watch and ward, I promise thee, and he is too much wont to have his quarters beat up, not to be for ever on the alert. He hath scouts stationed all around him, in such a manner that no one may approach his stronghold of Burnstower by day or by night withouten ken, and he is straightway put on the alert long ere he can be reached. If those who come against him be strong and well armed, more than his force than overcome, then he hies him away to the fastnesses[139]of his mosses and hills, where no one but the eagle may follow him, and leaves only his barren walls to the fury of the besiegers. But if the party be small, and such as his wiles may master, he is sure to lead them into some ambush, and to put every man of them to the sword. Trust me, were thou to go clad in steel, and with such a party of spearmen at thy back, he would take the alarm, and thou wouldst either have thy journey and thy trouble for thy guerdon, or thou and thy people might fall by cruel traiterie.”
“Then what, after all, may be the best means of coming at him?” said Assueton; “for thou hast but the more inflamed my desire to essay the adventure.”
The forester seemed to consider for a time—“In truth,” said he at length, “I see no other way than one, the which thou wouldst spurn, Sir Knight.”
“Name it,” said Assueton; “depend on’t, I shall not be over nice in this affair.”
“Wert thou,” said the forester, “and, it might be, no more than two of thy people, to venture thither in disguise, with one or two of us to guide thee, thou mightest peradventure pass thither without begetting alarm, and be received into the Castle as lated and miswent travellers, lacking covert for the night. But then all that would be but of small avail, for what couldst thou do with thy single arm, and so small a force to aid it?”
“Nay, good forester,” said Assueton, “be it mine to see to that, and be it thine to bring me thither. Knights are but born to conquer difficulties, and, perdie, I have never yet seen that which did not, with me, give greater zest to the adventure I went upon. By the blessed Rood, I shall go with thee. Let us forthwith have our disguises, then, and these two men of my company,” pointing to Riddel and Lindsay, “shall share the glory of mine emprise. So let us, I pr’ythee, snatch a hasty meal, and set forward without delay.”
“By the mass, but thou art a brave knight,” said the forester; “yet it doth grieve me to see thee go on so hopeless an errand. Nathless, I shall not baulk thee nor back of thy word; verily I shall wend with thee, to show thee the way thither. But I would fain persuade thee even yet to leave this undertaking untried.”
“Nay,” said Assueton, “I have said it, and by God’s aid I will do it, let the peril be what it may; so let us use despatch if it so please thee.”
Seeing that the bold and dauntless knight was resolved, the forester ordered some of the venison, that was by this time[140]cooked, to be set before Assueton, and some also to be served to those who were to accompany him; and after all had satisfied their hunger, Assueton doffed his armour, clad himself in a suit of plain Lincoln green, such as the foresters wore, and, unperceived by any one, slipped his dagger into his bosom. He then openly girt his trusty sword by his side, and leaving orders with his party to remain with the friendly foresters until they should see him, or hear from him, he and his two people, who were also disguised, mounted their horses, and set off under the guidance of the leader of the hunting party and two of his men, whom he took with them, as he said, to bear him company on his return.