[Contents]CHAPTER XXVIII.Meeting the Wolfe of Badenoch—The Cavalcade.Hepborne and his page proceeded slowly down the margin of the lake, preceded by their new guide; and as they looked back, they saw the bright plaids of Duncan and Donald MacErchar winding up among the rocks, and appearing on the face of the precipitous mountain like two tiny red lady-bird beetles on a wall. The way towards the lower end of the lake was rough and tiresome; but in due time they reached the place where the party had spent the night, and where they found Mortimer Sang looking anxiously out for their arrival. He had almost resolved to go himself in quest of the knight, for he had strongly suspected treachery, as his guide had more than once manifested symptoms of an intention to escape from them during the previous night’s march, and had been only prevented by the unremitting watch kept upon him by the squire, and two or three of his most active and determined people, to whom he had given particular instructions. This circumstance, coupled with the subsequent discovery that the villain had gone off in the night, the moment he had found an opportunity of doing so, had made Sang so apprehensive of some villainy, that nothing would have kept him with the party so long, had it not been for the remembrance of his master’s strict orders to permit no consideration whatever to detach him from them.Poor Maurice de Grey was considerably fatigued, and required to be indulged with a little rest ere they could set forward. At length the whole party mounted and got in motion, and, taking their way slowly down the glen, under their new and intelligent guide, they soon found themselves buried in the endless pine forests. Game, both fourfooted and winged, of every description, crossed their path in all directions. Red deer, and roe deer, and herds of bisons, were frequently seen by them; now and then the echoes were awakened by the howling of a rout of gaunt and hungry wolves, sweeping across the glen in pursuit of their prey; and often the trampling of their horses’ feet disturbed[206]the capercailzie, as he sat feeding on the tops of the highest firs, while their palfreys were alarmed in their turn at the powerful flap of his sounding wings, as they bore him rapidly away.Leaving the deeper forests for a time, they climbed the mountain sides, and, crossing some high ridges and elevated valleys where the wood was thin and scattered, they again descended, and began to penetrate new wildernesses of thick-set and tall-grown pine timber; until, after a very long march, they arrived on the banks of the rapid Spey, where they rested for a time, to refresh themselves and their horses. There Angus procured a guide of the country for them, on whose fidelity he could depend, and, having received a handsome remuneration from Sir Patrick, returned the way he came.They now crossed the river by a broad ford, and began winding through the forests that stretched from its northern banks, and continued gradually rising over its pine-covered hills. The day was approaching its close as they were winding along the side of a steep hill, that rose over the head of a deep but narrow glen, surrounded by fantastic rocks shooting here and there from amongst the oak woods that fringed its sides. Sir Patrick’s attention was attracted by the sight of some white tents that were pitched on a small level area of smooth turf in the bottom, where it was divided by the meanders of a clear rill.“She be theWolfe of Badenochyonder,” said his guide, pointing downwards with a face of alarm.“The Wolfe of Badenoch!” cried Sir Patrick eagerly; “what, are those the tents of the Earl of Buchan?” for he knew that the King’s son, Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan and Lord of Badenoch, whom he was about to visit, had obtained thatnom de guerrefrom his ferocity.“Ay, ay,” said the guide, “she’s right; tat’s the Earl of Buchan—tat’s the Wolfe of Badenoch. Troth she’s at the hunts there. Uve, uve!”“Then, mine honest fellow,” said Hepborne, “if those be indeed the tents of the Earl of Buchan, thy trouble with us shall be soon ended. Do but lead me down thither, and thou shalt be forthwith dismissed, with thy promised warison.”The guide paused and hesitated for a time, his countenance betraying considerable uneasiness and apprehension; but at length he began slowly to retrace his steps along the side of the hill, and, turning off into a path that led down through the wood over a gentle declivity, he finally brought them out into the bottom of the glen, about a quarter of a mile below the spot[207]where they had seen the tents. As they issued from the covert of the trees into the narrow glade, the winding of a bugle-mot came up the glen, and Sir Patrick halted for a few moments, to listen if it should be repeated. By and by the neighing of steeds, and a loud laughing and merry talking, announced the approach of a crowd of people, who very soon appeared, filing round the turning of a rock.“Mercy be about her! yon’s ta Wolfe now,” cried the guide, in the utmost trepidation; and, without waiting for reward or anything else, he darted into the adjoining thicket and disappeared.At the head of the numerous party that advanced came a knight, mounted on a large and powerful black horse. And well was it indeed for the steed that he was large and powerful, for his rider was as near seven as six feet in height, while his body and limbs displayed so great a weight of bone and muscle, that any less potent palfrey must have bent beneath it. But the noble animal came proudly on, capering as if he felt not the weight of his rider. The knight wore a broad bonnet, graced with the royal hern’s plume, and a hunting-dress of gold-embroidered green cloth, over which hung a richly ornamented bugle, while his baldrick, girdle-stead, hunting pouch, anelace, and dirk, were all of the most gorgeous and glittering materials. His boots were of tawny buckskin, and his heels armed with large spurs of the most massive gold. The furniture of his horse was equally superb, the bits in particular being heavily embossed, and the whole thickly covered over with studs and bosses of the same precious metal. His saddle and housings were of rich purple velvet, wrought with golden threads, and the stirrups were of solid silver.But, accustomed as Sir Patrick Hepborne had been to all the proud pomp and splendid glitter of chivalry, he minded not these trifling matters beyond the mere observance of them. It was the head and face of the person who approached that most particularly rivetted his attention. Both were on a great scale, and of an oval form. The forehead was high and retreating, and wore on it an air of princely haughtiness; the nose was long and hooked; the lips were large, but finely formed; and the mouth, though more than usually extended, was well shaped, and contained a set of well-arranged teeth, of uncommon size and unsullied lustre. The complexion was florid, and the hair, beard, whiskers, and moustaches, all ample and curling freely, were of a jet black, that was but slightly broken in upon by the white hairs indicating the approaching winter of life. But the[208]most characteristic features were the eyes, which would have been shaded by the enormous eyebrows that threw their arches over them, had it not been for their extreme prominence. They were fiery and restless, and although their expression was sometimes hilarious, yet they generally wore the lofty look of pride; but it was easy to discern that they were in the habit of being perpetually moved by an irritable and impatient temper, that was no sooner excited than their orbs immediately assumed a fearful inclination inwards, that almost amounted to a squint.This knight, whom Sir Patrick immediately recognized, by the description he had often heard of him, to be Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, the Wolfe of Badenoch, was about the age of fifty, or perhaps a few years younger. By his side rode a lady, clad in a scarlet mantle, profusely embroidered with gold, and seated on a piebald palfrey, covered with trappings even more costly than those of the horse that carried the Wolfe of Badenoch himself. She seemed to be approaching the age of forty, and was slightly inclining toembonpoint, fresh in face and complexion, and very beautiful. Behind them rode five gay and gallant young knights, the eldest of whom might have been about twenty. They were all richly apparelled, and accoutred in a taste somewhat similar to that of the elder knight who rode before them, and were mounted on magnificent horses, that came neighing and prancing along, their impatience of restraint adding to the pleasure of their youthful riders, especially of the younger, who were boys.A large train of attendants followed, partly on horseback and partly on foot. These were variously armed with hunting-spears, cross-bows, and long-bows: and many of the pedestrians, who were coarsely clad, and some of them even barefooted as well as bareheaded, led a number of alloundes, raches, and sleuth-hounds, whilst others carried carcases of red deer and roebucks, suspended on poles borne between two, as also four-footed and feathered animals of chase, which had fallen victims to the sport of the day.All this, which has taken so much time to describe, was seen by Sir Patrick Hepborne at a single glance, or at least he had sufficient leisure to make himself master of the particulars ere the cavalcade came up to him. As the Wolfe of Badenoch drew near, Sir Patrick dismounted, and, giving his horse to his esquire, advanced towards him, and paid him the respectful obeisance due to the King’s son.“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, reigning up his curvetting steed; “who, in the fiend’s name, may this be?”[209]“My noble Lord of Buchan,” said Hepborne, “I wait upon your Highness by the especial desire of His Majesty the King, your royal father. Being on my way to Moray Land, to be present at the tournament to be held by the Earl of Moray on the Mead of St. John’s, I passed by Scone, to pay mine humble duty at his Grace’s Court after my return from France, where I have been for some of these late years; and knowing mine intent of visiting these northern parts, your royal father did kindly bid me seek your well-known hospitality as I should pass into Moray Land. Moreover, he did honour me so far as to charge me with a letter under his own signet, addressed for your Highness.—My name is Sir Patrick Hepborne.”The Wolfe fidgetted to and fro upon his horse, and displayed very great impatience until the knight had finished.“Ha!” said he, the moment he had done speaking—“ha! ’tis well. By my trusty burly-brand, thou art welcome, Sir Patrick Hepborne. Thy name hath a sweet savour with it for stark doughtiness in stiff stour, since thou be’st, as I ween, the son of the bold Sir Patrick Hepborne of Hailes. By my beard, thou art welcome,” said he again, as he stretched out his hand to him. “As for the old man’s letter, we shall see that anon when better place and leisure serve. Know this lady, Sir Patrick,” continued he, turning towards her who rode with him; “she is the Lady Mariota Athyn (of whom peraunter thou mayst have heard), and mother to those five sturdy whelps who ride at my back, and who are wont to call me father. But get thee to horse, Sir Patrick; the feast waits for us ere this, and we can talk anon with our wine wassail. If thou hadst done as much to-day as we have, and been as long from thy trencher, the red fiend catch me but thou wilt think more of eating than of talking. Get thee to horse, then, and on with us, I say; we are now but a short space from the tents. To horse, then, to horse!”Mortimer Sang brought up his master’s steed, Sir Patrick vaulted into the saddle, and, being beckoned by the Wolfe to take his place beside him, immediately obeyed. The Lady Mariota Athyn, who had eyed the handsome Maurice de Gray, gave him a condescending signal to come to her right hand, and in this order they rode up the glen, towards the place where the tents were pitched, the knight’s party mingling as they went with that of Lord Badenoch, according to the various conditions of the persons who composed it.[210]
[Contents]CHAPTER XXVIII.Meeting the Wolfe of Badenoch—The Cavalcade.Hepborne and his page proceeded slowly down the margin of the lake, preceded by their new guide; and as they looked back, they saw the bright plaids of Duncan and Donald MacErchar winding up among the rocks, and appearing on the face of the precipitous mountain like two tiny red lady-bird beetles on a wall. The way towards the lower end of the lake was rough and tiresome; but in due time they reached the place where the party had spent the night, and where they found Mortimer Sang looking anxiously out for their arrival. He had almost resolved to go himself in quest of the knight, for he had strongly suspected treachery, as his guide had more than once manifested symptoms of an intention to escape from them during the previous night’s march, and had been only prevented by the unremitting watch kept upon him by the squire, and two or three of his most active and determined people, to whom he had given particular instructions. This circumstance, coupled with the subsequent discovery that the villain had gone off in the night, the moment he had found an opportunity of doing so, had made Sang so apprehensive of some villainy, that nothing would have kept him with the party so long, had it not been for the remembrance of his master’s strict orders to permit no consideration whatever to detach him from them.Poor Maurice de Grey was considerably fatigued, and required to be indulged with a little rest ere they could set forward. At length the whole party mounted and got in motion, and, taking their way slowly down the glen, under their new and intelligent guide, they soon found themselves buried in the endless pine forests. Game, both fourfooted and winged, of every description, crossed their path in all directions. Red deer, and roe deer, and herds of bisons, were frequently seen by them; now and then the echoes were awakened by the howling of a rout of gaunt and hungry wolves, sweeping across the glen in pursuit of their prey; and often the trampling of their horses’ feet disturbed[206]the capercailzie, as he sat feeding on the tops of the highest firs, while their palfreys were alarmed in their turn at the powerful flap of his sounding wings, as they bore him rapidly away.Leaving the deeper forests for a time, they climbed the mountain sides, and, crossing some high ridges and elevated valleys where the wood was thin and scattered, they again descended, and began to penetrate new wildernesses of thick-set and tall-grown pine timber; until, after a very long march, they arrived on the banks of the rapid Spey, where they rested for a time, to refresh themselves and their horses. There Angus procured a guide of the country for them, on whose fidelity he could depend, and, having received a handsome remuneration from Sir Patrick, returned the way he came.They now crossed the river by a broad ford, and began winding through the forests that stretched from its northern banks, and continued gradually rising over its pine-covered hills. The day was approaching its close as they were winding along the side of a steep hill, that rose over the head of a deep but narrow glen, surrounded by fantastic rocks shooting here and there from amongst the oak woods that fringed its sides. Sir Patrick’s attention was attracted by the sight of some white tents that were pitched on a small level area of smooth turf in the bottom, where it was divided by the meanders of a clear rill.“She be theWolfe of Badenochyonder,” said his guide, pointing downwards with a face of alarm.“The Wolfe of Badenoch!” cried Sir Patrick eagerly; “what, are those the tents of the Earl of Buchan?” for he knew that the King’s son, Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan and Lord of Badenoch, whom he was about to visit, had obtained thatnom de guerrefrom his ferocity.“Ay, ay,” said the guide, “she’s right; tat’s the Earl of Buchan—tat’s the Wolfe of Badenoch. Troth she’s at the hunts there. Uve, uve!”“Then, mine honest fellow,” said Hepborne, “if those be indeed the tents of the Earl of Buchan, thy trouble with us shall be soon ended. Do but lead me down thither, and thou shalt be forthwith dismissed, with thy promised warison.”The guide paused and hesitated for a time, his countenance betraying considerable uneasiness and apprehension; but at length he began slowly to retrace his steps along the side of the hill, and, turning off into a path that led down through the wood over a gentle declivity, he finally brought them out into the bottom of the glen, about a quarter of a mile below the spot[207]where they had seen the tents. As they issued from the covert of the trees into the narrow glade, the winding of a bugle-mot came up the glen, and Sir Patrick halted for a few moments, to listen if it should be repeated. By and by the neighing of steeds, and a loud laughing and merry talking, announced the approach of a crowd of people, who very soon appeared, filing round the turning of a rock.“Mercy be about her! yon’s ta Wolfe now,” cried the guide, in the utmost trepidation; and, without waiting for reward or anything else, he darted into the adjoining thicket and disappeared.At the head of the numerous party that advanced came a knight, mounted on a large and powerful black horse. And well was it indeed for the steed that he was large and powerful, for his rider was as near seven as six feet in height, while his body and limbs displayed so great a weight of bone and muscle, that any less potent palfrey must have bent beneath it. But the noble animal came proudly on, capering as if he felt not the weight of his rider. The knight wore a broad bonnet, graced with the royal hern’s plume, and a hunting-dress of gold-embroidered green cloth, over which hung a richly ornamented bugle, while his baldrick, girdle-stead, hunting pouch, anelace, and dirk, were all of the most gorgeous and glittering materials. His boots were of tawny buckskin, and his heels armed with large spurs of the most massive gold. The furniture of his horse was equally superb, the bits in particular being heavily embossed, and the whole thickly covered over with studs and bosses of the same precious metal. His saddle and housings were of rich purple velvet, wrought with golden threads, and the stirrups were of solid silver.But, accustomed as Sir Patrick Hepborne had been to all the proud pomp and splendid glitter of chivalry, he minded not these trifling matters beyond the mere observance of them. It was the head and face of the person who approached that most particularly rivetted his attention. Both were on a great scale, and of an oval form. The forehead was high and retreating, and wore on it an air of princely haughtiness; the nose was long and hooked; the lips were large, but finely formed; and the mouth, though more than usually extended, was well shaped, and contained a set of well-arranged teeth, of uncommon size and unsullied lustre. The complexion was florid, and the hair, beard, whiskers, and moustaches, all ample and curling freely, were of a jet black, that was but slightly broken in upon by the white hairs indicating the approaching winter of life. But the[208]most characteristic features were the eyes, which would have been shaded by the enormous eyebrows that threw their arches over them, had it not been for their extreme prominence. They were fiery and restless, and although their expression was sometimes hilarious, yet they generally wore the lofty look of pride; but it was easy to discern that they were in the habit of being perpetually moved by an irritable and impatient temper, that was no sooner excited than their orbs immediately assumed a fearful inclination inwards, that almost amounted to a squint.This knight, whom Sir Patrick immediately recognized, by the description he had often heard of him, to be Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, the Wolfe of Badenoch, was about the age of fifty, or perhaps a few years younger. By his side rode a lady, clad in a scarlet mantle, profusely embroidered with gold, and seated on a piebald palfrey, covered with trappings even more costly than those of the horse that carried the Wolfe of Badenoch himself. She seemed to be approaching the age of forty, and was slightly inclining toembonpoint, fresh in face and complexion, and very beautiful. Behind them rode five gay and gallant young knights, the eldest of whom might have been about twenty. They were all richly apparelled, and accoutred in a taste somewhat similar to that of the elder knight who rode before them, and were mounted on magnificent horses, that came neighing and prancing along, their impatience of restraint adding to the pleasure of their youthful riders, especially of the younger, who were boys.A large train of attendants followed, partly on horseback and partly on foot. These were variously armed with hunting-spears, cross-bows, and long-bows: and many of the pedestrians, who were coarsely clad, and some of them even barefooted as well as bareheaded, led a number of alloundes, raches, and sleuth-hounds, whilst others carried carcases of red deer and roebucks, suspended on poles borne between two, as also four-footed and feathered animals of chase, which had fallen victims to the sport of the day.All this, which has taken so much time to describe, was seen by Sir Patrick Hepborne at a single glance, or at least he had sufficient leisure to make himself master of the particulars ere the cavalcade came up to him. As the Wolfe of Badenoch drew near, Sir Patrick dismounted, and, giving his horse to his esquire, advanced towards him, and paid him the respectful obeisance due to the King’s son.“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, reigning up his curvetting steed; “who, in the fiend’s name, may this be?”[209]“My noble Lord of Buchan,” said Hepborne, “I wait upon your Highness by the especial desire of His Majesty the King, your royal father. Being on my way to Moray Land, to be present at the tournament to be held by the Earl of Moray on the Mead of St. John’s, I passed by Scone, to pay mine humble duty at his Grace’s Court after my return from France, where I have been for some of these late years; and knowing mine intent of visiting these northern parts, your royal father did kindly bid me seek your well-known hospitality as I should pass into Moray Land. Moreover, he did honour me so far as to charge me with a letter under his own signet, addressed for your Highness.—My name is Sir Patrick Hepborne.”The Wolfe fidgetted to and fro upon his horse, and displayed very great impatience until the knight had finished.“Ha!” said he, the moment he had done speaking—“ha! ’tis well. By my trusty burly-brand, thou art welcome, Sir Patrick Hepborne. Thy name hath a sweet savour with it for stark doughtiness in stiff stour, since thou be’st, as I ween, the son of the bold Sir Patrick Hepborne of Hailes. By my beard, thou art welcome,” said he again, as he stretched out his hand to him. “As for the old man’s letter, we shall see that anon when better place and leisure serve. Know this lady, Sir Patrick,” continued he, turning towards her who rode with him; “she is the Lady Mariota Athyn (of whom peraunter thou mayst have heard), and mother to those five sturdy whelps who ride at my back, and who are wont to call me father. But get thee to horse, Sir Patrick; the feast waits for us ere this, and we can talk anon with our wine wassail. If thou hadst done as much to-day as we have, and been as long from thy trencher, the red fiend catch me but thou wilt think more of eating than of talking. Get thee to horse, then, and on with us, I say; we are now but a short space from the tents. To horse, then, to horse!”Mortimer Sang brought up his master’s steed, Sir Patrick vaulted into the saddle, and, being beckoned by the Wolfe to take his place beside him, immediately obeyed. The Lady Mariota Athyn, who had eyed the handsome Maurice de Gray, gave him a condescending signal to come to her right hand, and in this order they rode up the glen, towards the place where the tents were pitched, the knight’s party mingling as they went with that of Lord Badenoch, according to the various conditions of the persons who composed it.[210]
CHAPTER XXVIII.Meeting the Wolfe of Badenoch—The Cavalcade.
Meeting the Wolfe of Badenoch—The Cavalcade.
Meeting the Wolfe of Badenoch—The Cavalcade.
Hepborne and his page proceeded slowly down the margin of the lake, preceded by their new guide; and as they looked back, they saw the bright plaids of Duncan and Donald MacErchar winding up among the rocks, and appearing on the face of the precipitous mountain like two tiny red lady-bird beetles on a wall. The way towards the lower end of the lake was rough and tiresome; but in due time they reached the place where the party had spent the night, and where they found Mortimer Sang looking anxiously out for their arrival. He had almost resolved to go himself in quest of the knight, for he had strongly suspected treachery, as his guide had more than once manifested symptoms of an intention to escape from them during the previous night’s march, and had been only prevented by the unremitting watch kept upon him by the squire, and two or three of his most active and determined people, to whom he had given particular instructions. This circumstance, coupled with the subsequent discovery that the villain had gone off in the night, the moment he had found an opportunity of doing so, had made Sang so apprehensive of some villainy, that nothing would have kept him with the party so long, had it not been for the remembrance of his master’s strict orders to permit no consideration whatever to detach him from them.Poor Maurice de Grey was considerably fatigued, and required to be indulged with a little rest ere they could set forward. At length the whole party mounted and got in motion, and, taking their way slowly down the glen, under their new and intelligent guide, they soon found themselves buried in the endless pine forests. Game, both fourfooted and winged, of every description, crossed their path in all directions. Red deer, and roe deer, and herds of bisons, were frequently seen by them; now and then the echoes were awakened by the howling of a rout of gaunt and hungry wolves, sweeping across the glen in pursuit of their prey; and often the trampling of their horses’ feet disturbed[206]the capercailzie, as he sat feeding on the tops of the highest firs, while their palfreys were alarmed in their turn at the powerful flap of his sounding wings, as they bore him rapidly away.Leaving the deeper forests for a time, they climbed the mountain sides, and, crossing some high ridges and elevated valleys where the wood was thin and scattered, they again descended, and began to penetrate new wildernesses of thick-set and tall-grown pine timber; until, after a very long march, they arrived on the banks of the rapid Spey, where they rested for a time, to refresh themselves and their horses. There Angus procured a guide of the country for them, on whose fidelity he could depend, and, having received a handsome remuneration from Sir Patrick, returned the way he came.They now crossed the river by a broad ford, and began winding through the forests that stretched from its northern banks, and continued gradually rising over its pine-covered hills. The day was approaching its close as they were winding along the side of a steep hill, that rose over the head of a deep but narrow glen, surrounded by fantastic rocks shooting here and there from amongst the oak woods that fringed its sides. Sir Patrick’s attention was attracted by the sight of some white tents that were pitched on a small level area of smooth turf in the bottom, where it was divided by the meanders of a clear rill.“She be theWolfe of Badenochyonder,” said his guide, pointing downwards with a face of alarm.“The Wolfe of Badenoch!” cried Sir Patrick eagerly; “what, are those the tents of the Earl of Buchan?” for he knew that the King’s son, Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan and Lord of Badenoch, whom he was about to visit, had obtained thatnom de guerrefrom his ferocity.“Ay, ay,” said the guide, “she’s right; tat’s the Earl of Buchan—tat’s the Wolfe of Badenoch. Troth she’s at the hunts there. Uve, uve!”“Then, mine honest fellow,” said Hepborne, “if those be indeed the tents of the Earl of Buchan, thy trouble with us shall be soon ended. Do but lead me down thither, and thou shalt be forthwith dismissed, with thy promised warison.”The guide paused and hesitated for a time, his countenance betraying considerable uneasiness and apprehension; but at length he began slowly to retrace his steps along the side of the hill, and, turning off into a path that led down through the wood over a gentle declivity, he finally brought them out into the bottom of the glen, about a quarter of a mile below the spot[207]where they had seen the tents. As they issued from the covert of the trees into the narrow glade, the winding of a bugle-mot came up the glen, and Sir Patrick halted for a few moments, to listen if it should be repeated. By and by the neighing of steeds, and a loud laughing and merry talking, announced the approach of a crowd of people, who very soon appeared, filing round the turning of a rock.“Mercy be about her! yon’s ta Wolfe now,” cried the guide, in the utmost trepidation; and, without waiting for reward or anything else, he darted into the adjoining thicket and disappeared.At the head of the numerous party that advanced came a knight, mounted on a large and powerful black horse. And well was it indeed for the steed that he was large and powerful, for his rider was as near seven as six feet in height, while his body and limbs displayed so great a weight of bone and muscle, that any less potent palfrey must have bent beneath it. But the noble animal came proudly on, capering as if he felt not the weight of his rider. The knight wore a broad bonnet, graced with the royal hern’s plume, and a hunting-dress of gold-embroidered green cloth, over which hung a richly ornamented bugle, while his baldrick, girdle-stead, hunting pouch, anelace, and dirk, were all of the most gorgeous and glittering materials. His boots were of tawny buckskin, and his heels armed with large spurs of the most massive gold. The furniture of his horse was equally superb, the bits in particular being heavily embossed, and the whole thickly covered over with studs and bosses of the same precious metal. His saddle and housings were of rich purple velvet, wrought with golden threads, and the stirrups were of solid silver.But, accustomed as Sir Patrick Hepborne had been to all the proud pomp and splendid glitter of chivalry, he minded not these trifling matters beyond the mere observance of them. It was the head and face of the person who approached that most particularly rivetted his attention. Both were on a great scale, and of an oval form. The forehead was high and retreating, and wore on it an air of princely haughtiness; the nose was long and hooked; the lips were large, but finely formed; and the mouth, though more than usually extended, was well shaped, and contained a set of well-arranged teeth, of uncommon size and unsullied lustre. The complexion was florid, and the hair, beard, whiskers, and moustaches, all ample and curling freely, were of a jet black, that was but slightly broken in upon by the white hairs indicating the approaching winter of life. But the[208]most characteristic features were the eyes, which would have been shaded by the enormous eyebrows that threw their arches over them, had it not been for their extreme prominence. They were fiery and restless, and although their expression was sometimes hilarious, yet they generally wore the lofty look of pride; but it was easy to discern that they were in the habit of being perpetually moved by an irritable and impatient temper, that was no sooner excited than their orbs immediately assumed a fearful inclination inwards, that almost amounted to a squint.This knight, whom Sir Patrick immediately recognized, by the description he had often heard of him, to be Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, the Wolfe of Badenoch, was about the age of fifty, or perhaps a few years younger. By his side rode a lady, clad in a scarlet mantle, profusely embroidered with gold, and seated on a piebald palfrey, covered with trappings even more costly than those of the horse that carried the Wolfe of Badenoch himself. She seemed to be approaching the age of forty, and was slightly inclining toembonpoint, fresh in face and complexion, and very beautiful. Behind them rode five gay and gallant young knights, the eldest of whom might have been about twenty. They were all richly apparelled, and accoutred in a taste somewhat similar to that of the elder knight who rode before them, and were mounted on magnificent horses, that came neighing and prancing along, their impatience of restraint adding to the pleasure of their youthful riders, especially of the younger, who were boys.A large train of attendants followed, partly on horseback and partly on foot. These were variously armed with hunting-spears, cross-bows, and long-bows: and many of the pedestrians, who were coarsely clad, and some of them even barefooted as well as bareheaded, led a number of alloundes, raches, and sleuth-hounds, whilst others carried carcases of red deer and roebucks, suspended on poles borne between two, as also four-footed and feathered animals of chase, which had fallen victims to the sport of the day.All this, which has taken so much time to describe, was seen by Sir Patrick Hepborne at a single glance, or at least he had sufficient leisure to make himself master of the particulars ere the cavalcade came up to him. As the Wolfe of Badenoch drew near, Sir Patrick dismounted, and, giving his horse to his esquire, advanced towards him, and paid him the respectful obeisance due to the King’s son.“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, reigning up his curvetting steed; “who, in the fiend’s name, may this be?”[209]“My noble Lord of Buchan,” said Hepborne, “I wait upon your Highness by the especial desire of His Majesty the King, your royal father. Being on my way to Moray Land, to be present at the tournament to be held by the Earl of Moray on the Mead of St. John’s, I passed by Scone, to pay mine humble duty at his Grace’s Court after my return from France, where I have been for some of these late years; and knowing mine intent of visiting these northern parts, your royal father did kindly bid me seek your well-known hospitality as I should pass into Moray Land. Moreover, he did honour me so far as to charge me with a letter under his own signet, addressed for your Highness.—My name is Sir Patrick Hepborne.”The Wolfe fidgetted to and fro upon his horse, and displayed very great impatience until the knight had finished.“Ha!” said he, the moment he had done speaking—“ha! ’tis well. By my trusty burly-brand, thou art welcome, Sir Patrick Hepborne. Thy name hath a sweet savour with it for stark doughtiness in stiff stour, since thou be’st, as I ween, the son of the bold Sir Patrick Hepborne of Hailes. By my beard, thou art welcome,” said he again, as he stretched out his hand to him. “As for the old man’s letter, we shall see that anon when better place and leisure serve. Know this lady, Sir Patrick,” continued he, turning towards her who rode with him; “she is the Lady Mariota Athyn (of whom peraunter thou mayst have heard), and mother to those five sturdy whelps who ride at my back, and who are wont to call me father. But get thee to horse, Sir Patrick; the feast waits for us ere this, and we can talk anon with our wine wassail. If thou hadst done as much to-day as we have, and been as long from thy trencher, the red fiend catch me but thou wilt think more of eating than of talking. Get thee to horse, then, and on with us, I say; we are now but a short space from the tents. To horse, then, to horse!”Mortimer Sang brought up his master’s steed, Sir Patrick vaulted into the saddle, and, being beckoned by the Wolfe to take his place beside him, immediately obeyed. The Lady Mariota Athyn, who had eyed the handsome Maurice de Gray, gave him a condescending signal to come to her right hand, and in this order they rode up the glen, towards the place where the tents were pitched, the knight’s party mingling as they went with that of Lord Badenoch, according to the various conditions of the persons who composed it.[210]
Hepborne and his page proceeded slowly down the margin of the lake, preceded by their new guide; and as they looked back, they saw the bright plaids of Duncan and Donald MacErchar winding up among the rocks, and appearing on the face of the precipitous mountain like two tiny red lady-bird beetles on a wall. The way towards the lower end of the lake was rough and tiresome; but in due time they reached the place where the party had spent the night, and where they found Mortimer Sang looking anxiously out for their arrival. He had almost resolved to go himself in quest of the knight, for he had strongly suspected treachery, as his guide had more than once manifested symptoms of an intention to escape from them during the previous night’s march, and had been only prevented by the unremitting watch kept upon him by the squire, and two or three of his most active and determined people, to whom he had given particular instructions. This circumstance, coupled with the subsequent discovery that the villain had gone off in the night, the moment he had found an opportunity of doing so, had made Sang so apprehensive of some villainy, that nothing would have kept him with the party so long, had it not been for the remembrance of his master’s strict orders to permit no consideration whatever to detach him from them.
Poor Maurice de Grey was considerably fatigued, and required to be indulged with a little rest ere they could set forward. At length the whole party mounted and got in motion, and, taking their way slowly down the glen, under their new and intelligent guide, they soon found themselves buried in the endless pine forests. Game, both fourfooted and winged, of every description, crossed their path in all directions. Red deer, and roe deer, and herds of bisons, were frequently seen by them; now and then the echoes were awakened by the howling of a rout of gaunt and hungry wolves, sweeping across the glen in pursuit of their prey; and often the trampling of their horses’ feet disturbed[206]the capercailzie, as he sat feeding on the tops of the highest firs, while their palfreys were alarmed in their turn at the powerful flap of his sounding wings, as they bore him rapidly away.
Leaving the deeper forests for a time, they climbed the mountain sides, and, crossing some high ridges and elevated valleys where the wood was thin and scattered, they again descended, and began to penetrate new wildernesses of thick-set and tall-grown pine timber; until, after a very long march, they arrived on the banks of the rapid Spey, where they rested for a time, to refresh themselves and their horses. There Angus procured a guide of the country for them, on whose fidelity he could depend, and, having received a handsome remuneration from Sir Patrick, returned the way he came.
They now crossed the river by a broad ford, and began winding through the forests that stretched from its northern banks, and continued gradually rising over its pine-covered hills. The day was approaching its close as they were winding along the side of a steep hill, that rose over the head of a deep but narrow glen, surrounded by fantastic rocks shooting here and there from amongst the oak woods that fringed its sides. Sir Patrick’s attention was attracted by the sight of some white tents that were pitched on a small level area of smooth turf in the bottom, where it was divided by the meanders of a clear rill.
“She be theWolfe of Badenochyonder,” said his guide, pointing downwards with a face of alarm.
“The Wolfe of Badenoch!” cried Sir Patrick eagerly; “what, are those the tents of the Earl of Buchan?” for he knew that the King’s son, Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan and Lord of Badenoch, whom he was about to visit, had obtained thatnom de guerrefrom his ferocity.
“Ay, ay,” said the guide, “she’s right; tat’s the Earl of Buchan—tat’s the Wolfe of Badenoch. Troth she’s at the hunts there. Uve, uve!”
“Then, mine honest fellow,” said Hepborne, “if those be indeed the tents of the Earl of Buchan, thy trouble with us shall be soon ended. Do but lead me down thither, and thou shalt be forthwith dismissed, with thy promised warison.”
The guide paused and hesitated for a time, his countenance betraying considerable uneasiness and apprehension; but at length he began slowly to retrace his steps along the side of the hill, and, turning off into a path that led down through the wood over a gentle declivity, he finally brought them out into the bottom of the glen, about a quarter of a mile below the spot[207]where they had seen the tents. As they issued from the covert of the trees into the narrow glade, the winding of a bugle-mot came up the glen, and Sir Patrick halted for a few moments, to listen if it should be repeated. By and by the neighing of steeds, and a loud laughing and merry talking, announced the approach of a crowd of people, who very soon appeared, filing round the turning of a rock.
“Mercy be about her! yon’s ta Wolfe now,” cried the guide, in the utmost trepidation; and, without waiting for reward or anything else, he darted into the adjoining thicket and disappeared.
At the head of the numerous party that advanced came a knight, mounted on a large and powerful black horse. And well was it indeed for the steed that he was large and powerful, for his rider was as near seven as six feet in height, while his body and limbs displayed so great a weight of bone and muscle, that any less potent palfrey must have bent beneath it. But the noble animal came proudly on, capering as if he felt not the weight of his rider. The knight wore a broad bonnet, graced with the royal hern’s plume, and a hunting-dress of gold-embroidered green cloth, over which hung a richly ornamented bugle, while his baldrick, girdle-stead, hunting pouch, anelace, and dirk, were all of the most gorgeous and glittering materials. His boots were of tawny buckskin, and his heels armed with large spurs of the most massive gold. The furniture of his horse was equally superb, the bits in particular being heavily embossed, and the whole thickly covered over with studs and bosses of the same precious metal. His saddle and housings were of rich purple velvet, wrought with golden threads, and the stirrups were of solid silver.
But, accustomed as Sir Patrick Hepborne had been to all the proud pomp and splendid glitter of chivalry, he minded not these trifling matters beyond the mere observance of them. It was the head and face of the person who approached that most particularly rivetted his attention. Both were on a great scale, and of an oval form. The forehead was high and retreating, and wore on it an air of princely haughtiness; the nose was long and hooked; the lips were large, but finely formed; and the mouth, though more than usually extended, was well shaped, and contained a set of well-arranged teeth, of uncommon size and unsullied lustre. The complexion was florid, and the hair, beard, whiskers, and moustaches, all ample and curling freely, were of a jet black, that was but slightly broken in upon by the white hairs indicating the approaching winter of life. But the[208]most characteristic features were the eyes, which would have been shaded by the enormous eyebrows that threw their arches over them, had it not been for their extreme prominence. They were fiery and restless, and although their expression was sometimes hilarious, yet they generally wore the lofty look of pride; but it was easy to discern that they were in the habit of being perpetually moved by an irritable and impatient temper, that was no sooner excited than their orbs immediately assumed a fearful inclination inwards, that almost amounted to a squint.
This knight, whom Sir Patrick immediately recognized, by the description he had often heard of him, to be Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan, the Wolfe of Badenoch, was about the age of fifty, or perhaps a few years younger. By his side rode a lady, clad in a scarlet mantle, profusely embroidered with gold, and seated on a piebald palfrey, covered with trappings even more costly than those of the horse that carried the Wolfe of Badenoch himself. She seemed to be approaching the age of forty, and was slightly inclining toembonpoint, fresh in face and complexion, and very beautiful. Behind them rode five gay and gallant young knights, the eldest of whom might have been about twenty. They were all richly apparelled, and accoutred in a taste somewhat similar to that of the elder knight who rode before them, and were mounted on magnificent horses, that came neighing and prancing along, their impatience of restraint adding to the pleasure of their youthful riders, especially of the younger, who were boys.
A large train of attendants followed, partly on horseback and partly on foot. These were variously armed with hunting-spears, cross-bows, and long-bows: and many of the pedestrians, who were coarsely clad, and some of them even barefooted as well as bareheaded, led a number of alloundes, raches, and sleuth-hounds, whilst others carried carcases of red deer and roebucks, suspended on poles borne between two, as also four-footed and feathered animals of chase, which had fallen victims to the sport of the day.
All this, which has taken so much time to describe, was seen by Sir Patrick Hepborne at a single glance, or at least he had sufficient leisure to make himself master of the particulars ere the cavalcade came up to him. As the Wolfe of Badenoch drew near, Sir Patrick dismounted, and, giving his horse to his esquire, advanced towards him, and paid him the respectful obeisance due to the King’s son.
“Ha!” cried the Wolfe, reigning up his curvetting steed; “who, in the fiend’s name, may this be?”[209]
“My noble Lord of Buchan,” said Hepborne, “I wait upon your Highness by the especial desire of His Majesty the King, your royal father. Being on my way to Moray Land, to be present at the tournament to be held by the Earl of Moray on the Mead of St. John’s, I passed by Scone, to pay mine humble duty at his Grace’s Court after my return from France, where I have been for some of these late years; and knowing mine intent of visiting these northern parts, your royal father did kindly bid me seek your well-known hospitality as I should pass into Moray Land. Moreover, he did honour me so far as to charge me with a letter under his own signet, addressed for your Highness.—My name is Sir Patrick Hepborne.”
The Wolfe fidgetted to and fro upon his horse, and displayed very great impatience until the knight had finished.
“Ha!” said he, the moment he had done speaking—“ha! ’tis well. By my trusty burly-brand, thou art welcome, Sir Patrick Hepborne. Thy name hath a sweet savour with it for stark doughtiness in stiff stour, since thou be’st, as I ween, the son of the bold Sir Patrick Hepborne of Hailes. By my beard, thou art welcome,” said he again, as he stretched out his hand to him. “As for the old man’s letter, we shall see that anon when better place and leisure serve. Know this lady, Sir Patrick,” continued he, turning towards her who rode with him; “she is the Lady Mariota Athyn (of whom peraunter thou mayst have heard), and mother to those five sturdy whelps who ride at my back, and who are wont to call me father. But get thee to horse, Sir Patrick; the feast waits for us ere this, and we can talk anon with our wine wassail. If thou hadst done as much to-day as we have, and been as long from thy trencher, the red fiend catch me but thou wilt think more of eating than of talking. Get thee to horse, then, and on with us, I say; we are now but a short space from the tents. To horse, then, to horse!”
Mortimer Sang brought up his master’s steed, Sir Patrick vaulted into the saddle, and, being beckoned by the Wolfe to take his place beside him, immediately obeyed. The Lady Mariota Athyn, who had eyed the handsome Maurice de Gray, gave him a condescending signal to come to her right hand, and in this order they rode up the glen, towards the place where the tents were pitched, the knight’s party mingling as they went with that of Lord Badenoch, according to the various conditions of the persons who composed it.[210]