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 OBorner Lancea
 
 The Archbishop and the Barons.
 
 ISortor Xante** 
 
 A Romance 
 
 of the Northern Marches in the Reign 
 
 of Edward the Third 
 
 By the 
 Author of " Belt and Spur 
 
 With many Illustrations 
 
 LONDON 
 
 Seeley & Co., 46, 47, & 48, Essex Street, Strand 
 
 1886 
 
 All right 1 reserved
 
 s^ 534-5 
 
 1 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 TAGE 
 
 I —Of the Cause wherefore this Book was 
 
 % Written J 
 
 II.— Of Sir William de Coucy and his sore 
 
 sickness lI 
 
 pv> III.— Of Bishop de Kirkby of Carlisle . . 28 
 
 en IV.— How we Rode to Carlisle Town, and of 
 
 o that which Befell us by the Way . 36 
 
 V.— How I tarried at Carlisle and after 
 *§ went thence to Rose .... 44 
 
 VI.— Of the coming of the Scots, and the 
 
 Burning of Rose Castle . . -55 
 tn VII.— Of the Squire John de Copeland . . 70 
 *£ VIII.— How we kept Watch and Ward by Night 81 
 
 P* IX.— HOW I ENTERED THE SERVICE OF JOHN DE 
 
 & Copeland 9 1 
 
 Q X.— How Sir William Montague laid Siege 
 
 to Dunbar Castle .... 98 
 XL— How the Squire de Copeland was taken 
 
 Prisoner io 7 
 
 XII.— How the Castle was Relieved by the 
 
 Ramsay u 7 
 
 XIII.— Of the Keeping of Roxburgh Castle . 125 
 Xiv.— Of the Coming of the Earl of Derby, 
 and of the Preparation for the 
 Jousting '34 

 
 vi Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XV. — Of the Riding to Berwick Town, and of 
 
 the Coming of the Scotch Knights 145 
 
 XVI. — Of the Jousts at Berwick Town . -153 
 
 XVII. — How we Rode back to Roxburgh Castle 165 
 
 XVIII.— Of the Taking of Roxburgh Castle . 174 
 
 XIX. — How the Father Adam told the Squire 
 
 a Tale of a Vision . . . .181 
 
 XX. — Of the Monk's Tale 190 
 
 XXI. — Of the Monk's Tale 203 
 
 XXII. — How the Scots began again to come 
 
 into England 222 
 
 XXIII.— How David the Bruce assembled a 
 Mighty Host to enter England, 
 and the Archbishop collected an 
 Army to oppose him . . . .241 
 XXIV. — Of the Battle of Durham . . . 252 
 XXV.— How Sir John de Copeland married the 
 Dame de Coucy, and lived in Ho- 
 nour AND GREAT RENOWN . . . 265
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 The Archbishop and the Barons 
 
 A Boar-Hunt 
 
 St. Kentigern .... 
 St. George and the Dragon . 
 The Coming of Robert the Bruce 
 The Siege of Dunbar . 
 Henry, Earl of Derby 
 On the way to the Jousting . 
 Funeral of Sir William de Coucy 
 The Monk's Vision 
 Disarming David the Bruce 
 The Wedding Feast . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 22 
 38 
 
 52 
 
 86 
 104 
 
 134 
 146 
 168 
 236 
 
 262 
 270
 
 PREFACE 
 
 In writing this tale I have followed most 
 closely the Chronicle of Lanercost, but I have 
 made use of several other works, such as the 
 " Scala Chronicon," Wyntoun's Poems, &c. I 
 have aimed generally at historical accuracy, but 
 in matters of little moment I have allowed 
 myself some freedom of invention. As for the 
 marriage of Sir John de Copeland to the widow 
 of Sir William de Coucy, it has been accepted 
 as authentic by so many writers that I thought 
 myself at liberty to make it the foundation of 
 my story. 
 
 The grotesques interspersed through the 
 pages are copied from drawings in Bestiaries 
 and other MSS. of the fourteenth century.
 
 When sir David the Bruse 
 
 Satt on his stede, 
 He said of all Ingland 
 
 Haved he no drede. 
 Bot hinde John of Coupland, 
 
 A wight man in wede, 
 Talked to David 
 
 And kend him his crede. 
 Thare was sir David, 
 
 So dughty in his dede, 
 The faire toure of Londen 
 
 Haved he to mede. 
 
 Ballad of A T evil Cros, by Laurence Minot.
 
 £ortor Hanres. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 Of the Cause wherefore this Book was Written. 
 
 Now because many, seeking entertainment 
 for an idle hour in this little book, will marvel 
 greatly, saying, " Wherefore doth one so dull 
 of wit and so slow with his pen undertake so 
 great a matter ? " I judge it to be wise to 
 reply to the question beforehand, answering 
 that I was moved thereto by the prayers of the 
 Dame de Copeland. For she, sweet lady, after 
 cruel fortune, and yet more cruel envy, had cut
 
 Of the Cause wherefore 
 
 short the life of her lord, knew no other joy 
 nor solace for her grief than in hearing the tale 
 of his noble deeds. Therefore I, who had 
 served her from a child, did often seek thus to 
 give her comfort and relief from sorrow. And 
 when she perceived that I was well acquainted 
 with the adventures that had befallen her 
 lord, and with his great bearing therein, she 
 earnestly prayed me to write them down in a 
 book, that his memory might be perpetuated 
 and others take example by him. And when 
 I answered that I feared to undertake so great 
 a work, seeing that I was used rather to the 
 labours of war, to the rush of the battle, and 
 the defending of the wall, than to the making of 
 books ; and also that I had ceased to handle the 
 pen ere I was grown to be a man ; she recalled 
 to me the noble knight, Sir Thomas de Grey, 
 who, being a captive in Edinburgh Castle, 
 solaced himself with the composing of a 
 chronicle. Yet, though it is not beyond belief 
 that a man should fight well and also have the 
 skill to write chronicles, the two do but seldom 
 agree together, and I fear greatly it is not so 
 with me.
 
 this Book was Written. 
 
 Nevertheless, although my mistress's reasons 
 prevailed not against my doubts, yet did her 
 entreaties against my will. For she was such 
 that I know not that I ever gainsayed her 
 wish. So I made promise to do according to 
 her desire. But delaying somewhat in apply- 
 ing myself to the task, ere I had made begin- 
 ning, my sweet mistress fell sick of the sick- 
 ness whereof she died, and so passed away out 
 of my sight, to my bitter pain and loss, and for 
 awhile I thought no more of my pen. But 
 when my sorrow was a little abated, my pro- 
 mise returned to my mind, and I bethought me 
 how it was yet unfulfilled. So I turned the matter 
 over in my thoughts many times, considering 
 the difficulty thereof, and also the pleasantness 
 of recalling- that which I had seen in times 
 past, now that I also am no longer young. 
 And at the last I judged that it would be well 
 to take counsel concerning the matter with the 
 holy Father Adam, who hath now the charge of 
 the chapel on St. Mary's Isle, in the lake of 
 Windermere. For he was accounted a man of 
 wisdom when he dwelt in the abbey of Furness, 
 and I have ever taken counsel of him since my 
 
 B 2
 
 Of the Cause wherefore 
 
 childhood. So I took horse and came to the 
 house of my brother at Bethome, and perceiv- 
 ing that it was ebb tide I set forth over the 
 sands ; for, being a native of these parts and 
 well used to wander hither and thither in my 
 childhood, I had no need of a guide ; though, in 
 good sooth, for those who know them not, these 
 sands are perilous. And being come to firm 
 land I climbed the hills and came down to 
 Cartmell Priory, and leaving it behind me went 
 on my way till I came to the river of Leven, 
 which after becometh rocky and full of cataracts 
 and falls, but here floweth smoothly and peace- 
 fully, not having proceeded far from the great 
 lake. And finding here a boat in which were 
 some servants of Sir Thomas de Thweng, who 
 had been fishing, I prayed them to take me 
 with them when they returned up the lake, and 
 they courteously consented. So as the day 
 began to decline they set forth, and the wind 
 being favourable, though there was but little of 
 it, they hoisted sail, and we came in good time 
 easily and pleasantly towards the north end of 
 the lake ; and when we were in sight of St. 
 Mary's Holm, lo ! there was the White Monk
 
 this Book was Written. 
 
 sitting beside the little chapel, and all gilded 
 with the rays of the setting sun. So still he 
 sat that I thought he slept, and bade the men 
 land me at the east end of the isle and go on 
 their way in silence. For the holy father is 
 now grown feeble with age and the sun of his 
 life is fast going down. But when I was come 
 softly round the chapel and stood at his side, I 
 found that he slept not truly, but that his soul 
 was as it were gone forth in meditation, and as 
 he sat leaning on his staff gazing upon the fair 
 hills of Langdale and the bright hues of the 
 sunset, he muttered to himself many things, as 
 old men often are wont to do ; but what they 
 were I know not, save that I heard him say, 
 "The glory of the Lord," and something of 
 " Light at evening time." But when the sun 
 went down behind the hills and the shadow fell 
 upon us, he turned his head towards me and 
 began to speak, having indeed known well of 
 my coming before ; but being, as it were, at a 
 holy service, as if he were celebrating the mass, 
 he thought it not good to hold converse with 
 me. 
 
 So I sat me down beside him, and while the
 
 Of the Cause wherefore 
 
 bright colours spread over the heavens and 
 lightened up the sky after the sun was departed, 
 I spoke with him of my purpose, and he gave 
 me good, yea holy counsel concerning it. Yet 
 I know not that his words have wrought in me 
 courage for my work, rather have they dis- 
 covered to me my poverty of wit and weakness 
 of understanding. For we talked together till 
 the moon had risen high in the sky and the 
 stars shone brightly over our heads. And the 
 purport of his words was that he would have 
 me portray the evils of war, and show all men 
 the miseries that have come upon this land 
 through our divisions, through the ambition of 
 some and the restlessness of others. He told 
 me how in days of old, when all in these parts 
 were dark and savage heathens, there came 
 holy men from the land of Scotland to teach 
 them, and how afterwards, when the blessed 
 St. Margaret reigned in that land, they came 
 to learn of us how to build their churches, and 
 how to order themselves in holy things, for then 
 there was love and peace between us. "And 
 in truth," said he, "■ seeing we are, as it were, 
 all of one stock and of one family, it is the
 
 this Book was Written. 
 
 great sin of fratricide to slay and kill one 
 another, and it is but just that it should bring 
 down the anger of God upon us. For ye war 
 not against the wild races of the hills and 
 islands, who are of another tongue and another 
 race, but with those who are akin to us ; yea, 
 and have perchance gone forth from the midst 
 of us. Have not the Bruces and the Balliols 
 and the Lindsays dwelt in these parts, and will 
 ye go and fight against them as enemies ? 
 Are there not many families divided — father 
 against son, and son against father ? Shall He 
 not visit for these things ? " 
 
 And when I answered him that it was not the 
 part of Englishmen to sit still, when the Scots 
 came over the borders and drove away their 
 cattle, and set light to their houses — " Nay, 
 nay," he said, " I know not whether the blame 
 should rest heaviest on this side or on that. 
 I mind me when the men of these parts prayed 
 the King to remove them into safer places, unless 
 he could protect them better,— so greatly did 
 they fear the Scots when the old King Robert 
 was alive. Then they were all for peace, but 
 now are ye become bolder, and are hot for war,
 
 8 Of the Cause wherefore 
 
 and ride beyond the border, and what do ye 
 there ? Do ye not waste, and burn, and de- 
 stroy, even as the Scots did here ? So is it 
 ever when brother goeth to war with brother. 
 Ye have grown hard of heart, filled with the 
 lust of power, careless of the spilling of inno- 
 cent blood ; every man seeketh his own things. 
 See ye not how the barons in Scotland desire 
 in heart to be subject to no man, and though 
 some have fought for the Bruce, and some for 
 the Balliol, they would fain have had no master, 
 but have done each man that which was right 
 in his own eyes ? Faithful and loyal subjects 
 will they never be, and evil will be the lot of 
 him who sitteth on the throne of that land. 
 Few, alas ! shall come to the grave in peace." 
 
 And as the old man spake, he stood up upon 
 his feet and raised himself to his full height, 
 and, turning towards the north parts, stretched 
 forth his hands, as he would pray the men of 
 that land to dwell at peace with one another 
 and with all men. But even while he stood 
 thus, lo ! an eagle came from his dwelling- 
 place among the lonely hills, and, flying above 
 our heads at this unwonted hour, filled the
 
 this Book was Written. 
 
 darkening air with his piercing cries, and awoke 
 the waterfowl sleeping on the isles. 
 
 But when the bird of prey was passed by, and 
 all was at rest again, I departed, and his words 
 sank deep into my heart, for, as I have said, I 
 have ever accounted him wise, and have sought 
 to guide myself after his counsel. Yet can I not 
 lament that the people of England are not, as in 
 the days of King Edward, second of the name, 
 fleeing- before the Scots ere a blow was struck, 
 paying tribute in gold to save their goods from 
 the flame. Since the noble King Edward III. 
 sat upon the throne, they have held up their 
 heads and shown themselves men again. 
 Father Adam is grown old and fearful, and the 
 thought of blood did ever make him quake. 
 Yet know I also that blood-shedding is a 
 grievous thing, and many a bold knight like 
 Fulk FitzWarenne and Guy of Warwick hath 
 felt the burden of it on his soul. 
 
 Nevertheless, the holy father gave me 
 much good counsel concerning the inditing of 
 the work, and the procuring of pens and paper ; 
 also he did in nowise dissuade me therefrom : 
 only he would have me write such things as
 
 :o Cause wherefore this Book was Written. 
 
 shall profit them that read, and not serve alone 
 to pass away time. I would that he would 
 take the matter in hand and order it for me, 
 for he knoweth the doings of the Scots in these 
 lands for fifty years and more, and the hurt and 
 evil that they have wrought. But for this is 
 he too feeble, and scarcely could he endure the 
 weariness.
 
 II 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 Of Sir William de Coucy and his sore 
 Sickness. 
 
 Albeit the words of Father Adam fell 
 upon my soul like a heavy burden, weighing it 
 to the ground, yet am I bound by my pro- 
 mise given, neither, being an honest and true 
 squire, will I fail of my word. Nevertheless, 
 lest I should smell the battle afar off, and 
 should be filled with the fierce joy of the 
 warrior, and so good counsel should depart 
 from my mind (if so be, indeed, that it be sin- 
 ful to love the battle), I will first speak of my 
 sweet mistress. And, indeed, it is meet that I 
 should speak first of her, for to her was I be- 
 holden for much kindness when I was but a 
 child, learning of her the manners and rules of 
 chivalry. For I became her page when I was 
 about twelve years of age, being sent by my
 
 12 Of Sir William de Coucy 
 
 father, Sir Ralph de Bethome, to be brought up 
 in the household of the noble Sir William de 
 Coucy, of whom he held his lands. And he, 
 seeing I was a gentle boy, and meet to please 
 ladies well, set me to wait upon Dame Joan, 
 his wife. So I dwelt at Ashton, being ever 
 near my lady, and serving her from my heart. 
 Fain would I tell her beauty and grace, but my 
 tongue lacks the skill therefore. She was very 
 noble in bearing and presence, something 
 taller than is the wont of women. Yet was 
 she then but as an opening flower, being scarce 
 fifteen years old, and when she spoke the colour 
 would rush to her soft cheek, and her eye grow 
 bright, so that one loved to gaze upon her. 
 Her waiting-maids loved to do her bidding, 
 and all who dwelt in the castle sought to win 
 her smile, such grace dwelt on her lips. 
 Neither did her lord ever say her nay, for 
 he, too, was courteous and gentle, and loved 
 her well. 
 
 Yet was there a secret sorrow at her heart, 
 and I will tell you how my eyes were opened to 
 see it. She loved greatly to read or hear such 
 romances and tales as tell of honourable deeds,
 
 and his sore Sickness. 
 
 13 
 
 and would have me learn to 
 read them also, seeking con- 
 stantly to fill my heart with 
 desire and longing for fame 
 and glory, and ever urging 
 me to strive to make my 
 name known, and have poets 
 sing of my praise. Oft have 
 I lain awake when all was still around 
 me, with my heart burning hot within 
 me, all aflame with longing desire be- 
 cause of her words. Neither was it so 
 with me alone ; but I could tell of many 
 others also who were stirred by her 
 from slothful indolence, and rode forth 
 to win themselves a name. There- 
 fore, when there came to the castle one 
 day a noted minstrel, by name Andrew 
 Makejoye, I rejoiced greatly, and 
 thought to see my lady's eyes grow
 
 14 Of Sir William de Coney 
 
 bright with pleasure also. For he was a singer 
 of great fame, and much praised by all the 
 country round, and all who were in the castle 
 welcomed him gladly. Sir William also was 
 glad at his coming, and bade them give him a 
 good seat at dinner and serve him well. So 
 they sat down to meat, and I waited beside 
 my lady and thought to see her gay. Now, 
 Sir William was a fair man to look upon, having 
 a skin as white as a woman's, and a red colour in 
 his cheeks that came and went. He was wont, 
 also, to lie back much on his seat, leaning his 
 head upon soft cushions, and speaking and 
 laughing softly. When the meal, therefore, was 
 well-nigh ended, he prayed the minstrel court- 
 eously to entertain him according to his wont — 
 for he was accustomed to repair oftentimes to 
 the castle — bidding him sing something merry, 
 for the time was wet and cold, and he would 
 fain have somewhat to make him gay. So the 
 minstrel took his harp and began his song, and 
 in Qfood sooth I had never heard the like, so 
 sweetly did he sing ; yet when I listened to the 
 matter of the tale, it was not at all of such 
 things as my lady loved, neither did I then
 
 and his soi'e Sickness. 
 
 well comprehend it ; for it was all of evil deeds 
 that men did, and mostly of friars and monks 
 brinofinor- themselves to shame and disgrace. 
 Yet did my lord mightily delight in it, laughing 
 greatly and oft, until he perceived that Dame 
 Joan laughed not, for she was ever tender of 
 heart and loved not to hear of sin and shame ; 
 neither did she love the reviling of holy men. 
 Yet truly now know I full well that what he 
 sang of them was full true ; but women love 
 not such mirth. Also he assumed the voice 
 and manner of Father Adam, who came at 
 that time often to Lancaster on business con- 
 cerning the abbey of Furness, and was well 
 known at Ashton, and by my mistress much 
 revered. Therefore it grieved her much to 
 see him held up to scorn and laughter ; and 
 yet in truth it was hard to abstain from mirth 
 when one saw him so well portrayed. 
 
 So when the knight perceived that his lady 
 laughed not, he chid her in jest, saying it was 
 a merry tale, and such as should please all men 
 of wit. And he said she was but a child, and 
 laughed loud and long at her grave looks. 
 Then he turned him to the minstrel, and bade
 
 1 6 Of Sir William, de Coucy 
 
 him sing a song of fighting to please his brave 
 lady. " Knowest thou not something to make 
 our hearts glow, and stir us up to seize our 
 lances, and ride forth to the wars in haste ? " 
 And he began to sing the song which telleth of 
 the Scottish wars — 
 
 " A little from that foresaid town, 
 Halidon Hill, that is the name, 
 There was cracked many a crown 
 Of wild Scots, and also of tame." 
 
 " Knowest thou not such songs of war that 
 shall make us all lace our helmets, and ride 
 forth to harry the Scots ? " 
 
 But the minstrel prayed him to excuse him 
 in that matter, saying that he was not expert in 
 recounting of battles ; but that if it pleased 
 him, he would try his skill in tournaments, and 
 would tell a tale of a fair knight who jousted 
 for his lady's love. 
 
 " Say on," quoth Sir William ; " but I pray 
 thee be not long and tedious, for of such mat- 
 ters I weary soon to hear." 
 
 Therefore the singer, knowing well the mind 
 of his master, told a tale of adventures to the 
 praise, he said, of noble knighthood, but in
 
 and his sore Sickness. 17 
 
 truth, he did turn all chivalry to scorn, moving 
 one only to laughter and not to emulation. 
 Neither did his song seem tedious to the knight, 
 but my gentle lady soon wearied thereof, and 
 arose and departed to her chamber, and I 
 marked her countenance, and saw that her 
 cheek was red, and the tears were in her eyes. 
 Therefore, musing upon that which I had 
 seen, for I loved not to behold her tears, I 
 spoke of it to one of Sir William's squires, 
 asking wherefore he loved not songs of fighting 
 and battle, and he answered me, " My master 
 loveth nothing that doth weary him, and would 
 rather tarry at home than be at the labour of 
 mounting his horse. Maybe, because he is a 
 Frenchman, he careth not to fight beside King 
 Edward. I would fain hope it is not valour 
 that he lacketh, but rather a cause wherefore 
 he should fight. But know ye not how the 
 song saith — 
 
 " Knights should wear clothes 
 
 Shaped in due manner ; 
 
 * * * * 
 
 But now they be disguised, 
 
 So diversely bedight, 
 That no man may know 
 
 A gleeman from a knight."
 
 i8 Of Sir William de Coney 
 
 " Hast thou seen Sir William ever in coat of 
 mail ? " 
 
 And I, remembering that I had never beheld 
 him in armour, bethought me that he loved not 
 hunting as other gentlemen do, and never rode 
 to the chase, but spent his days chiefly in the 
 house. And at that time the house was but 
 new built, and his thoughts were wholly engaged 
 on the beautifying of it. He sent even into 
 other lands for skilful painters and carvers to 
 decorate the walls ; thinking, perchance, that 
 his land of France brought forth more cunning 
 workmen. Yet was he ever ready to take 
 counsel with Father Adam, and would call him 
 often to his help, for at that time also were they 
 busy in building at Furness, and the Father 
 being skilful in these matters, did superintend 
 the works there, and could often bring thence 
 the workmen whom Sir William sought. 
 Therefore was he ever coming and going, and 
 the house also at that time was filled with men 
 of skill and cunning, workers in tapestry and 
 embroidery, and all curious arts, with whom it 
 was a delight to hold converse. Neither would 
 I have it supposed that the Dame de Coucy
 
 and his sore Sickness. 19 
 
 cared not for these thing's ; in truth, she took 
 great pleasure therein ; but she feared greatly 
 in her heart that her lord was but a degenerate 
 knight, seeing he took no pleasure in his horses 
 or his dogs, and if ever he went abroad, would 
 go rather to the river and sail easily in a boat, 
 than control the waywardness of his fiery horse. 
 And she desired, indeed, no glory for herself, 
 neither riches nor honour, but to be the wife of 
 one famous in war and chivalry ; and she would 
 have loved much in time of peace to have be- 
 held his prowess in jousting, dwelling often 
 in fancy at the tourney, and hearing the heralds 
 shouting aloud the praises of the valiant knight, 
 and the spectators crying, " A Coucy ! a 
 Coucy ! " 
 
 That same day Sir William, perceiving that 
 she was greatly discomposed, sought to soothe 
 her with kind words and gentle caresses, saying, 
 " Nay, love, if thou wilt dry thy tears, I will 
 take a vow upon the swan to go forth at once 
 and join myself to my cousin of Balliol, for 
 whose cause thou art so earnest. But, alas ! I 
 fear there is little left of the swan to vow upon, 
 for our hunger was as keen as thy valour. And 
 
 c 2
 
 20 Of Sir William de Coucy 
 
 truly, indeed, I would as soon be without my 
 armour, which it wearieth me much to bear, and 
 my helmet doth ever make my head to ache. 
 And if Edward Balliol be nearer of kin to us, 
 yet David the Bruce is our cousin also." 
 
 "And carest thou not," she answered re- 
 proachfully, " that thy lands in Scotland are 
 possessed by others ? " 
 
 " And sorry lands they are, I doubt not, bleak, 
 and cold, and barren. Let others hold them if 
 they will. 'Tis cold enow here. I think, did 
 I live in a more sunny land, I should be more 
 to thy liking, for I fear more the cold and the 
 wet than the face of an enemy. I love not the 
 rain soaking to my bones. Therefore, because 
 the sun shineth here so seldom, we will make 
 this house gay with fair pictures and bright 
 paintings, and thou shalt ever be clad in silks 
 and rich garments, and we will sing and dance, 
 and be glad within doors. Methinks I must be 
 akin to Master Robert de Coucy, the mason of 
 Rheims, and not to the valiant Sire de 
 Coucy." 
 
 And thus he led her with him to the hall to 
 look upon a painting which was being wrought
 
 and his sore Sickness. 2 r 
 
 upon the wall ; for at that time the hall was yet 
 imperfect, and the dinner was served in one of 
 the chambers. And Sir William would have his 
 lady judge whether it was fitting to entrust to 
 the same painter the decorating of the chapel, 
 seeing that was a matter on which her heart 
 was much set. And thus discoursing, the 
 minstrel's evil tales were forgot. 
 
 Then not long after, the bad weather having 
 amended, and the sun again appearing, there 
 came unto Ashton, from the town of Kirkby, 
 in Kendal, some of Sir William's kinsfolk who 
 dwelt there, and for them were prepared many 
 banquets and revelries, with sports and other 
 entertainments. And one day, at their desire, 
 they rode out to hunt the wild boar. And with 
 them rode Sir William, contrary to his wont, 
 for he thought it not courteous to leave them, 
 and it may be that he feared to seem slothful 
 in his lady's eyes. But whether he went 
 against his wish or no, he rode that day gal- 
 lantly, and performed feats of great valour, 
 winning for himself the admiration of all who 
 beheld him. His squires, and I myself (for I 
 was permitted to follow him), marvelled greatly,
 
 22 Of Sir William de Coucy 
 
 thinking him to be changed into another man. 
 Also these noble hunters, vying, as it were, 
 with one another, who could best support the 
 fatigues of the chase, returned not home at the 
 wonted time, but continued to pursue the sport 
 for many hours, so that I, being yet young and 
 tender, was near fainting for very weariness, 
 and was fain to cast myself down on my couch 
 as soon as I came home, falling at once into a 
 sound sleep, neither did I awake again until the 
 morrow. And lo ! when I arose, I found the 
 house full of wailing and mourning, and fear 
 written on every countenance, because my 
 master, Sir William, through the grievous toil 
 of the day, was fallen sick, and the fever was 
 so strong upon him that all feared for his 
 life. 
 
 Then that day was there great hurrying to 
 and fro, calling for physicians ; moreover, the 
 guests took their leave and returned home, for 
 it was no time for feasting any longer. But I 
 tarried in my master's chamber, watching to do 
 my lady's will. For she departed not there- 
 from for many clays and nights, but ministered 
 to him with her own hands, being skilful in the
 
 3
 
 and J its sore Sickness. 
 
 healing art. So she sat beside him pale 
 and woeful, and left him not, save that 
 sometimes she would pass into the chapel, 
 to offer there her prayers before the 
 altar. 
 
 Thither, as I mind me well, came to her one 
 morn the Father Adam, seeking to strengthen 
 and console her, and she lay, as it were, prostrate 
 with her grief upon the ground ; and I (for I 
 feared to lose sight of her) sat a little removed, 
 though she knew not of my presence, and 
 listened while the monk spake to her. And he, 
 standing beside her and looking upon her with 
 compassion, bade her rise up from the earth, 
 saying, " Daughter, thou art overcome of evil, 
 contrary to the commandment of the holy 
 Apostle ; but beware lest in thine oversorrow 
 thou lose the true profit thereof. For tribula- 
 tion to the just is as pruning to the vine, as the 
 plough to the fallow ground, as cleansing to the 
 soiled garment, as a bitter potion to the sick, 
 as the furnace to the gold." 
 
 But my mistress broke in upon his words, 
 saying, " Nay, father, bid me not cease from 
 my prayers. I would cry day and night to the
 
 24 Of Sir William de Coticy 
 
 holy saints if they would hear me and bring 
 healing. Send rather to thy brethren, the 
 holy fathers, and bid them pray for me. I will 
 give much money to the building of the abbey, 
 pearls and jewels, and silks and rich cloths ; 
 yea, all that I have." 
 
 And the monk answered, " It is well said, 
 daughter, for the prayer of the righteous man 
 availeth much. Thou doest well to offer of 
 thy worldly wealth to obtain such prayers, 
 for what is all that thou possessest in com- 
 parison of them ! And fear not, many shall 
 rise to heaven for the knight's life. Trust in 
 them and be comforted. Yet forget not to do 
 thy part in prevailing on him also to make 
 atonement for his sins and to offer of his riches 
 himself for his soul's welfare." 
 
 Then there overspread her countenance a 
 pallor as of death itself, and she said, trembling, 
 " Ye bid me all ' Take courage, for he will not 
 die,' and then ye would have him prepare for 
 death. There is no hope ! He rode out at my 
 bidding to win him renown, and lo ! he must 
 die." 
 
 And she broke forth into such bitter weeping
 
 and his sore Sickness. 25 
 
 that the father was deeply moved, and sought 
 with all his heart to find that which would ease 
 her, forgetting any longer to turn the occasion 
 to the profit of his abbey. Then did he speak 
 of the vanity of all earthly glory and of the 
 surpassing fairness of the heavenly kingdom, 
 seeking to raise her thoughts above this world 
 and fix them on celestial things. " Many a 
 knight clotheth himself in his coat of mail and 
 winneth to himself glory here below, and yet, 
 if ye inquire concerning his deeds, lo ! he hath 
 poured out the blood of the innocent like 
 water and hath made many fatherless ; but he 
 who putteth on the breastplate of righteousness 
 and the helmet of salvation, and rideth forth 
 on the horse of holy desires, wearing on his 
 left foot the spur of the fear of hell, and on his 
 right the promise of heavenly joys, though 
 he may have to charge through the very 
 thickest rank of his enemies, or find them 
 lying in ambush against him, shall at last 
 win a crown of victory, and earn for himself 
 a never-dying name among the armies of 
 heaven." 
 
 And I sitting, as I said before, a little re-
 
 26 Of Sir William de Coucy 
 
 moved, felt my heart beat fast as he told of 
 the glories of that city whose streets are of 
 gold and the gates of pearl, and it seemed to 
 me as he spake, greater to fight with the devil 
 and his evil anrels than with the boldest 
 knight in Christendom. And as I thought 
 thereupon I lifted up my eyes and looked, and 
 lo ! before me was the fine window of coloured 
 glass which Master James Fitz-Walter of 
 Durham had just set up in its place, and there- 
 in was depicted the holy saint William laying 
 aside his armour and taking upon himself the 
 habit of a monk. And I cried aloud with 
 wonder and surprise, for it seemed to me, as I 
 looked upon it, that the saint stooped down to 
 me and called me to follow him. Then the 
 monk broke off from his speech, and the lady 
 also turned round to see who cried so loud, and 
 I fell down before them, and told them of that 
 which had passed through my mind, and how 
 I was purposed to give up the world. And my 
 mistress was greatly pleased with my words, so 
 that the colour flushed in her pale cheek ; but 
 the father Adam smiled gravely and patted 
 me on the head, saying it was too soon for me
 
 and his sore Sickness. 
 
 27 
 
 to take upon me such vows, for I knew not 
 what I did. Therefore I should consider well 
 of the matter, and not proceed hastily in that 
 which I understood not.
 
 28 Of Bishop de Kirkby 
 
 Chapter III. 
 Of Bishop de Kirkby of Carlisle. 
 
 Now whether it was through the prayers of 
 the monks of Furness, or of the Minor Friars 
 of Lancaster, or of the other holy houses, and 
 they were many, to which the Dame de Coucy 
 sent rich offerings, I know not, but so it fell out, 
 that in a few days the knight began somewhat 
 to amend, and it appeared that the danger of 
 death was passed. And when he was suffi- 
 ciently recovered there came to visit him 
 Bishop John de Kirkby, who had come on 
 affairs concerning his diocese of Carlisle into 
 these parts, and was sojourning in the Priory 
 of Conishead, being himself of the Order of 
 Austin Canons. His enemies have said that 
 in his wisdom he tarried not much within his 
 own diocese, being little beloved there ; but 
 I, forasmuch as I received much kindness at
 
 of Carlisle. 29 
 
 his hands, hold that they belied him greatly. 
 They that hated him were evil men ; and, in 
 good sooth, it needeth not that I bring proof 
 thereof, seeing they themselves have declared 
 it by lying in wait for him and assaulting him 
 with sharp weapons, not once nor twice, though 
 he was one anointed to the holy priesthood. 
 
 And that same day, towards evening, I was 
 called into his presence and found him in the 
 chamber that had been set apart for him ; for 
 Sir William, being still exceeding feeble, could 
 not endure long discourse. And when I came 
 before him and looked upon him, he wore no 
 appearance of dignity upon him, not being one 
 of those who delighted in gay clothing, nor 
 bearing in his countenance those features of 
 holiness by which some obtain honour and 
 worship. The enemies of Holy Church are 
 ever wont to point the finger of scorn at those 
 prelates who clothe themselves in garments of 
 new fashion, with chains of gold and girdles of 
 embroidered work, following all the fantastic 
 follies of the times ; but Bishop Kirkby was 
 clad in the garb of a simple Austin Friar, 
 neither was he careful to shave his face, and his
 
 Of Bishop de Kirkby 
 
 garments and also his person bore upon them 
 the stains of travel. He was in close converse 
 with the father Adam, and it was long ere 
 he observed my coming ; yet, methought, he 
 wearied somewhat of the discourse, for he was 
 himself a man of few words and short in speech, 
 and the subject on which they spoke was the 
 art of building churches, in which Father Adam 
 greatly delighted, and with him speech run- 
 neth like a river. "Thy skill, brother," quoth 
 the bishop, as he would end the matter, " I 
 doubt not, surpasseth thy report as much as 
 thy words surpass my understanding. There- 
 fore, as I said before, ride with me to the 
 merry city of Carlisle, and give me counsel 
 there concerning the building of the choir. It 
 troubleth me to see the great east window 
 stand but half-built, and many already cry 
 shame upon us, yet know I naught of the 
 matter." And when Father Adam would have 
 made excuse he said, as one that would not be 
 gainsayed, "Get thee leave of thine abbot and 
 come with me. He refuseth not to let thee 
 labour here for the knight Sir William, and 
 what I require of thee is for Holy Church."
 
 of Carlisle. 31 
 
 And turning him with the sudden motion 
 that was his wont, he beheld me standing 
 before him, and with a loud voice, as if in 
 anger, asked of me what I did there, thinking, 
 perhaps, I had stolen in upon them to listen to 
 their talk. But ere I had time to make excuse 
 he bethought himself, and said, "Nay, Brother 
 Adam, but is this the boy of whom thou 
 spakest ? " And as he set himself to look 
 upon me, methought he would have laughed 
 aloud, and the blood mounted to my face, and 
 my heart was hot within me, yet durst I not 
 speak. " And so thou desirest to lay aside thy 
 good sword and take upon thee the habit of the 
 monk ? And thy lady here commendeth thee 
 to me, and would have me urge thee on in the 
 good way ? " 
 
 "He is yet full young, holy father," 
 answered Father Adam, speaking in my stead ; 
 " I have told him he knoweth not well his own 
 mind, and therefore it was I asked counsel of 
 thee, lest on the one part he should strive to run 
 ere he can walk, or on the other I should quench 
 the smoking flax." 
 
 " Thou art the son of Sir Ralph de Bethome,
 
 32 Of Bishop de Kirkby 
 
 the lady telleth me," said the bishop. "He 
 came forth to meet me as I rode hither from 
 Conishead, and entertained me in his hall, and 
 conducted me courteously on my way. He is 
 a good knight, and there hath been long friend- 
 ship between his family and mine. Hast thou 
 taken counsel with him, boy, and asked his 
 will ? " And when I answered that I had not 
 yet found occasion, with more gentle mien he 
 bade me tell him wherefore I desired this 
 thing. So I plucked up heart and told him 
 how the blessed Saint William himself had 
 moved me to it. And he listened to me with 
 patience, yet with a smile upon his face. Then 
 when I had done, he said, "If thou wilt fol- 
 low my counsel I will order matters for thee, 
 so that it shall content both thee and the 
 noble Dame Joan de Coucy, whom it were a 
 sin to grieve. I would not for much cast a 
 stumbling-block in her way, who is a good 
 servant of the Church. Yet do I hold her also 
 to be full young to give thee counsel in this 
 thing. If thou wilt, thou shalt come with me 
 and serve me, and I will entreat thee as a son, 
 and thou shalt dwell with me, and be taught by
 
 of Carlisle. 33 
 
 the learned clerks that are with me, until thou, 
 having seen the ways of holy men, learn 
 whether to choose them for thyself." 
 
 And so it came to pass that not many days 
 after I set forth in the company of the holy 
 bishop, and with us went Father Adam, yet he 
 went somewhat unwillingly ; for, first he loved 
 not to ride on long journeys, having rather a 
 love of ease than of adventure ; and secondly, 
 he considered within himself, that Carlisle lay 
 very nigh the borders of Scotland and had 
 suffered much from the Scotch inroads. " I 
 love not peril of captivity in those savage 
 lands," said he to me as we rode on our way to 
 Lancaster town, but speaking in low tones, lest 
 the bishop should overhear his words; "thou 
 thinkest, I doubt not, fair child, 'twould be but 
 ill booty to take a poor monk like me. Yet 
 but a few years agone, a kinsman of mine, 
 being a priest and going unwarily into those 
 parts, was laid hold of and carried away to a 
 strong castle, and they bound him in iron 
 chains and cast him into a loathsome dungeon 
 and cruelly ill-treated him, feeding him only on 
 bread-and-water, until he yielded to their wish
 
 34 Of Bishop de Kirkby 
 
 and celebrated the Holy Mass in their chapel 
 and gave them the sacraments, which was a 
 grievous sin in him, for in those days was the 
 land of Scotland excommunicate. Afterwards 
 he made haste to escape, breaking his prison 
 bars by night, and came back in safety to this 
 land and obtained, after many prayers, absolu- 
 tion for his sin. Yet though I deny not that 
 his sin was very great, my heart misgiveth me, 
 lest in so great temptation I also should fall 
 like him. Neither was he alone in so great 
 a trial, for many a priest have they captured in 
 their sacrilegious wickedness ; yea, and there 
 was one simple clerk, one Roger del Hill, 
 whom they seized, and carrying him to the 
 excommunicate bishop of St. Andrew's, forced 
 him to receive all the holy orders from his 
 hands within the space of six weeks." 
 
 Nevertheless we rode not without protection, 
 for with the bishop were many of his servants 
 bearing crossbows and daggers, and also some 
 men-at-arms of his train. The bishop himself 
 also wore a quilted doublet, and a good sword 
 hung by his side. But it may well be that the 
 monk thought the company of the bishop to be
 
 of Carlisle. 35 
 
 less of a protection than a peril, for he trembled 
 oft at the mere rustling of the bushes and 
 looked fearfully behind him at times, while it 
 was scarce possible that the wild Scots could 
 come upon us in those parts. Yet I could not 
 then be merry at his fears, not because they 
 assaulted me also, for I was well used to ride 
 abroad, neither knew I at that time how many 
 were the enemies of the bishop. But my heart 
 was sad at leaving Ashton, and with the remem- 
 brance of my sweet mistress Joan. For she,, 
 leaving the care of her sick lord to bid farewell 
 courteously to the venerable father in God r 
 spoke with me in fervent words, bidding me to 
 lift up my heart steadfastly to heavenly hopes, 
 and not to suffer the desire of the vainglory of 
 this world to take root in it, for that it was 
 hard to uproot, and with this she sighed and 
 bade me depart. But ever as I rode would 
 her face, pale and weary yet with watching and 
 fear, arise before me, even to the blotting out 
 the memory of the blessed St. William, so that 
 I sought in vain to recall the look with which 
 he had seemed to summon me to follow him.
 
 36 How we Rode to Carlisle Town, 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 How we Rode to Caidisle Tozvn, and of that 
 which Befell us by the Way. 
 
 Now that day we went on our journey in 
 peace, and lay the night in the castle of Kirkby 
 in Kendal, Sir Thomas de Ros, kinsman of 
 my master Sir William de Coucy, receiving 
 the bishop courteously and inquiring anxiously 
 for tidings of his kinsman's health. Departing 
 thence we proceeded on our way, and because 
 no harm happened unto us the Father Adam 
 plucked up heart again and entertained us with 
 many tales by the way, to make the road seem 
 shorter to us ; neither did he forget to turn his 
 discourse to our profit, telling us many things 
 from the lives of holy saints of old. Much of 
 his talk hath passed altogether from my memory, 
 yet do I remember that which he told us when 
 the hill of Crossfell appeared to our sight, lighted
 
 and of that which Befell us by the Way. 3 7 
 
 by the vain brightness of a wandering sun 
 beam, while the sky behind it was dark with 
 clouds and rain, and one of our companions 
 named it to us. For he recounted to us 
 whence it received its name, following, he said, 
 the learned history of the life of the glorious 
 St. Kentigern, bishop and confessor, written by 
 the great Jocelinus, the light of the holy abbey 
 of Furness. 
 
 " Now this great saint," said he, " suffered 
 much persecution from evil men, and being 
 once in great peril of life from the machina- 
 tions of his enemies, thought it good to give 
 place unto wrath ; and departed out of his 
 diocese to go to visit the blessed Saint David 
 in the land of Wales. And when he was come 
 on his journey to the parts about Carlisle, it was 
 told him that there were yet many dwelling in 
 these mountains given to idolatry and worship- 
 ping devils, knowing not the things of God. 
 Wherefore, turning out of his way, he came 
 among them, and like a mighty warrior con- 
 tended against the devils whom the people 
 served, and overcame them, yet conquering 
 with the weapons of love. For he was a man 
 
 41
 
 38 How we Rode to Carlisle Town, 
 
 of most sweet and reverend aspect, with the 
 eyes of the dove and most mellifluous speech. 
 And so, when he had tarried among them a 
 certain space, and had converted many from the 
 error of their ways, he set up among them the 
 sign of salvation, whence the place is called to 
 this day Crossfell ; for it was his wont to set 
 up this holy token, knowing that by its power 
 he could make the evil spirits flee out of the 
 land. Many are the wondrous things that have 
 been recorded of this saint, and methinks it 
 were good for us this day if he were journeying 
 with us. For the father Jocelinus relateth of 
 -him, that never in his life was his raiment wet 
 with the rain, neither did the snow nor the hail 
 touch him. But he would walk abroad when 
 the heavens were pouring down their floods, as 
 happened oft in these parts, but they fell not 
 on him ; yea, and his presence also served as a 
 shelter to his disciples who followed him. 
 
 It may be that the saints who dwelt in these 
 parts had special need to be sheltered from the 
 rage of the elements. For I mind me that the 
 holy St. Ninian also (of whom I am this day a 
 humble follower, for he, coming into this north
 
 '•qksgg^j^ 
 
 S. Kentigern.
 
 and of that which Befell us by the Way. 39 
 
 region, taught the people how to build churches, 
 being the first to set up a church of stone), — St. 
 Ninian, I say, had the like marvellous protection, 
 and could sit reading in the heaviest shower, no 
 drop of rain falling on his book. But that we 
 may learn to fear the smallest entrance of evil, 
 it is told of him, that journeying one day with 
 another holy man, they turned aside from the 
 road and sitting down refreshed themselves with 
 the Psalms of David, and the rain began to fall 
 on all sides, but they sat as if within a house, 
 until St. Ninian lifted his eyes from off his book, 
 being tempted thereto by the whispers of the evil 
 one. Straightway did the water break its bounds 
 and poured down unceasingly upon the leaves, 
 until the saint, moved by the reproofs of his 
 fellow, drove away from him both the wicked 
 suggestion and the drops of rain." 
 
 But even as Father Adam spoke these words 
 the wind rose, as it were, with a sudden leap 
 and bore down upon us as a company of horse- 
 men, assaulting us with large and heavy hail- 
 stones. Also the clouds gathered thick above 
 our heads, as if the day were already closing 
 in. Then did we set spurs to our horses with
 
 40 How we Rode to Carlisle Town, 
 
 one accord, and rode with all speed to seek 
 shelter, for it seemed but a little way to come 
 to Penrith ; yet as we passed over the rivers, lo, 
 the waters were already rising high, and rush- 
 ing furiously over the rocks, boiling like an 
 angry sea. So we rode on in haste, our 
 company becoming somewhat dispersed from 
 the diverse power and swiftness of our horses, 
 many being left far behind. Therefore, when 
 the violence of the storm abated for a moment, 
 the bishop, who kept ever to the front, drew 
 rein, that the hindermost might overtake us. 
 But even as he turned to speak with us, I, 
 riding close after him (for my horse esteemed 
 me but a light burden), saw suddenly rise up, 
 from the shelter of a wall, a little band ol 
 armed men, and ere I could cry aloud to warn 
 him, they ran upon the bishop with drawn 
 swords. Nevertheless, my horse being still at 
 the top of his speed, carried me between them 
 and him, and ere the first accursed sword 
 reached its mark, I threw myself upon the 
 leader's neck and bore him, as I fell, with me 
 to the ground. Then arose a hubbub of cries 
 and shouting ; above me sounded the clash of
 
 and of that which Befell us by the Way. 4 1 
 
 swords and armour, and the horses reared and 
 plunged so that I thought I must without fail 
 be trodden beneath their hoofs. This way and 
 that did the combatants waver ; now would 
 the enemy obtain the advantage and rejoice 
 greatly, exulting already in the victory, with 
 cruel threats ; now did the men-at-arms, fired 
 by the bishop's words and the valour also of his 
 deeds, rally round him and beat off their assail- 
 ants. Yet did I, lying thus on the ground and 
 unable to rise, many times despair of victory ; 
 but at the last the unholy assailants began to 
 give ground, and turning their backs made 
 haste to escape into a wood a little from the 
 road and were seen no more. Yet did they 
 all escape in safety, none of them remaining in 
 our hands, for the men-at-arms were weary 
 and breathless with their gallop ere they began 
 the fight. 
 
 So when they were departed from us, the 
 bishop made inquiry which of us were wounded, 
 and it was found that one of the men-at-arms was 
 sore hurt, and of the bishop's serving men three 
 were bleeding from lesser wounds. The bishop's 
 garments also were much cut and torn, and his
 
 42 How we Rode to Carlisle Town, 
 
 doublet all but pierced through in many places ; 
 but of this I heard not at the time, being told 
 of it afterwards by one of his body-servants. 
 Also I was so bruised and wounded by my 
 fall that for a little time it seemed that I had 
 no whole bone in my body. So they set me 
 behind a squire on his horse and bade me cling 
 fast to him, and they laid the wounded man 
 on a horse, having bound up his wounds as 
 they best could, and we set forth at a gentle 
 pace to come to the town. But though it was 
 but a little way, I could scarce hold myself up, 
 and thought many times I should have fainted 
 from weariness. Yea, and all that night I 
 could scarce sleep for the aching of my bones, 
 yet was I kindly tended in the house of the 
 Austin Friars, where the bishop took up his 
 abode for the night. They would also that I 
 should tarry with them until I were perfectly 
 recovered. But when I heard that it was 
 judged prudent that the bishop should depart 
 from the town immediately because of the ill- 
 feeling of the people, I prayed him earnestly 
 to be permitted to accompany him ; and foras- 
 much as my hurt made little outward show,
 
 and of that which Befell us by the Way. 43 
 
 none would gainsay my will. Nevertheless, 
 ere I was come to Carlisle, my sickness grew 
 strong upon me, neither was I healed fully 
 therefrom for many days.
 
 44 How I tarried at Carlisle 
 
 Chapter V. 
 
 How I tarried at Caidisle and after went 
 thence to Rose. 
 
 But when I was somewhat recovered and 
 could rise again from my bed, growing wearied 
 of the tediousness of the sick chamber, I went 
 forth one morning when the sun shone brightly, 
 seeking pastime. But my strength being not 
 yet restored, ere I had gone many steps from 
 the Priory gates, I began to desire rest. So I 
 returned and entered into the cathedral, and 
 finding a man busied in carving the capital of 
 a pillar, I sat down to watch him. And he was 
 cutting out of the red stone a monster of a 
 curious aspect, being in part a bird, yet having 
 the head of a man. But though the thing 
 had an evil look, and seemed to me to belong 
 to that wicked company which the devil useth
 
 and after went thence to Rose. 45 
 
 to torment a man when the fever is strong 
 upon him, yet did the man work upon it 
 lovingly, and I marvelled much at the patience 
 with which he laboured, seeking, as I saw, to 
 add terror to its aspect. 
 
 But while I was still gazing upon it, I heard 
 voices of men in discourse, and looking round 
 me, I observed Father Adam, and with him a 
 Grey Friar. The monk's countenance was 
 troubled, only, when he became aware of me, 
 he waved his hand to me smilingly, yet con- 
 tinuing in his discourse. 
 
 "It is all to no profit. What availeth it to 
 send unto Furness for the chief of our masons 
 there ? It is but lost labour to use a few 
 men for such a work. It is a great work, 
 and needeth that all should arise and join 
 with heart and hand to bring it to a happy 
 issue. For what purpose did the bishop
 
 46 How I tarried at Carlisle 
 
 bring me hither if he careth not for the 
 matter ? " 
 
 I know not what the Friar answered to 
 these words, for they were yet at a distance 
 from me, but as they approached nearer, I 
 understood that he was pointing out to Father 
 Adam what had been already done towards re- 
 building the church, and how far the great fire 
 had destroyed. 
 
 " 'Twas no fire of man's making," he said, 
 " that burst forth among us 
 in that terrible spring, and 
 laid the city low in sudden 
 ruin, and hushed to silence 
 the sweet singing of priest 
 and friar. I say not human 
 hands had nought to do 
 with it, but all men were 
 aware that night that evil 
 spirits of great potency were abroad. All 
 the elements were at war with us ; the sea 
 broke its bounds and came sweeping over the 
 land, overwhelming the cattle in their pastures, 
 and destroying them miserably, and the wind 
 became, as it were, mad with fury, so that none
 
 and after went thence to Rose. 47 
 
 could stand against it, but in the streets of the 
 city men were forced to cling for safety to the 
 posts or to aught that they could find. Yea, 
 there were strong men riding upon horses 
 seized in a sudden outbreak of the storm and 
 whirled about furiously until they fell helpless 
 to the ground, or were dashed against a wall. 
 And because all men knew that it was no 
 power of earth that was contending with them, 
 therefore did their hearts fail them, neither 
 knew they what to do. None dared to lie 
 down to rest, but stood, as it were, watching for 
 the evil that was to befall them. Then sud- 
 denly, in the darkest hour of the night, did the 
 flames burst forth, and ere any found courage 
 to oppose them, enwrapped the whole cathedral, 
 shooting up high into the heavens and rushing 
 on with fierce fury, seized the houses that were 
 near, till the whole city seemed ablaze with fire 
 of hell. 'Tis many years ago, yet will none 
 that saw it ever lose the memory of it. The 
 sight is often before my eyes, and the fearful 
 sounds in my ears — the hissing, crackling, and 
 roaring fire with the rushing tempestuous wind, 
 and awhile a strange pause, in which one could
 
 48 Hoiu I tarried at Carlisle 
 
 hear the cries of those that were perishing 
 without hope of rescue. Many, alas ! were 
 slain that night, for, as I have said, men stood 
 aghast before the devouring enemy and with- 
 stood him not. Yet, had they opposed him, 
 it had been in vain, for such fire no earthly 
 power could resist : it devoured the very stones ; 
 beasts fell to the ground overpowered with the 
 intolerable heat, and the fowls of the air 
 circling around the chimney tops were caught 
 by it and dropped into the flames. And they 
 flew on exulting in our ruin, until nought 
 was left but smouldering ashes and desola- 
 tion. 
 
 " Yet the city has risen again from her ashes, 
 fair and smiling as aforetime, and the people 
 dwell in their ceiled houses, while the house of 
 God lieth waste," said Father Adam sadly. 
 "Wherefore is it that the bishop turneth away 
 his thoughts to other matters ? " 
 
 Then there broke in upon their talk the 
 sound of armed men treading upon the pave- 
 ment, and behold the bishop himself came upon 
 them, for they stood near to a doorway, and it 
 appeared straightway that he had overheard
 
 and after went thence to Rose. 49 
 
 their words, for he turned him sharply to the 
 monk, and said in rough tones, — 
 
 " Thou shouldest speak of that of which thou 
 knowest something. Therein doubtless thou 
 hast wisdom enough, and skill, but in other 
 matters concern thyself not. If thou wilt bring 
 back the Douglas and set him again in yonder 
 castle bound with chains as he was before, 
 maybe I will turn my thoughts to this church. 
 It were well also that thou shouldest see to the 
 strengthening and repairing of the fortress, for 
 there is little safety for us while it remaineth so 
 broken and ruined. Shall we give of our best 
 to build this church, only that the Scots may 
 come in to burn it down ? Didst never hear of 
 their coming into these parts, or supposest thou 
 that the danger thereof hath ceased ? I tell 
 thee, they will be upon us again in but a short 
 space, and wilt thou deny that it is the duty of 
 the shepherd to see to the protection of his 
 flock ? " 
 
 But the father answered not a word, seeing 
 perchance that the bishop's anger was aroused. 
 And he, seeing that he answered not, continued 
 his speech, saying, —
 
 50 How I tarried at Carlisle 
 
 " Wilt thou help us in this matter ? Wilt 
 thou take the oversight of the men who work 
 upon the castle here, and wilt thou come to me 
 at Rose and order the embattling and fortifying 
 thereof ? " 
 
 But the monk shook his head, saying, " Nay, 
 for such matters I am all unskilled, and cannot 
 serve thee, holy father. If there is nought for 
 me to do here I will return to my home in 
 peace." 
 
 " Get thee gone then, and with all speed. 
 Maybe ere thou arrive in thy place the Scots 
 will be in the land," and methought he spake 
 with some disdain. But he turned to me in 
 more gentle fashion, bidding me make haste 
 to recover my strength, that I might come 
 and dwell with him. Also, ere he departed, 
 he spake again to Father Adam, saying 
 that his thoughts had changed, and he con- 
 sidered it were better he should abide still 
 in Carlisle and labour at the cathedral, for 
 that money had been given for the building, 
 and men would be ill-pleased if nought were 
 done with it. 
 
 So when he was gone forth, and the sound of
 
 and after went thence to Rose. 51 
 
 his armed men had died away, the monk and 
 the Grey Friar looked one on the other, and 
 for awhile none spake, but after a space the 
 Friar looked on me and said, — 
 
 " Thou, boy, art then the young gallant who 
 fought so well all unarmed at Penrith. Knowest 
 thou that thy assailants have been cursed with 
 book and candle, and yet none know who they 
 were, and I trow they will never be found. 
 Perchance some would have rejoiced if thou 
 hadst not been there." 
 
 " Nay, speak not so to young ears," answered 
 the monk, "and rejoice not when men lay 
 sacrilegious hands on holy men. Alas, that we 
 live in times which have lost all holy fear, when 
 men plunder monasteries and religious houses, 
 holding high revelry in the temples of God, 
 when cardinals are stopped by the wayside and 
 robbed and spoiled, and the bishops of this 
 land carried captive or slain. It may well be 
 that it is vain to beautify the house of God 
 when such things are done, neither is it only 
 from the Scots that the danger cometh. Me- 
 thinks I will return to the abbey, and not spend 
 my strength in vain." 
 
 E 2
 
 52 How I tarried at Carlisle 
 
 Nevertheless, when I rode away to the 
 bishop's house at Rose, the monk yet lingered 
 in Carlisle town, perchance still hoping for 
 better days. But when I came thither, I found 
 there a busy crowd of masons and carpenters 
 engaged in constructing towers and defences, 
 and the bishop himself superintending the 
 work. " A rose," saith he, " that bloometh in 
 these north parts should be set close with 
 thorns, and I am minded to make them sharp 
 and strong." 
 
 And, indeed, at that time, there was need of 
 great preparation, for Sir William Douglas 
 had been busy all the winter, doing us much 
 mischief. Also but a little before Sir Eustace 
 de Maxwell, whom the King had entrusted 
 with the keeping of the castle of Caerlaverock, 
 had broken faith with him and gone over to 
 the Bruce. And the King, therefore, naming 
 in his stead the Lord Dacres of Gillesland, the 
 brave knight entered the land, and so wrought 
 there that the Scots vowed to wipe out the 
 memory of his deeds in the blood of the men 
 of Cumberland. Wherefore all the summer 
 long men were alert and ready, and tales of
 
 and after went thence to Rose. 53 
 
 danger and of fighting were in all men's 
 mouths. 
 
 The castle, as it began to be called, was ever 
 filled with men of war, but the bishop bade 
 me not take heed to them, nor hold converse 
 with them, but submit myself to the care of a 
 grave chaplain whom he appointed over me, 
 and give myself wholly to the study of books. 
 And indeed I sought to obey his words, being 
 yet fully persuaded that I was called to be a 
 holy monk ; but, as it chanced, the fairest book 
 that belonged to the bishop bore upon one 
 of its leaves the image of the holy martyr St. 
 George ; and it was painted with so great skill 
 that I never wearied of gazing upon it until it 
 was imprinted upon my memory. And when I 
 would call upon St. William for help to follow 
 him, there rose up ever before me the picture 
 of the knight contending with the evil dragon. 
 It seemed to me at times that the saints dis- 
 puted together for me, and then I would say to 
 myself that they were both alike holy, and it 
 mattered not which I followed ; and again the 
 thought of death would overwhelm me, and I 
 would pray to be kept steadfast in the way I
 
 54 How I tarried at Carlisle, &c. 
 
 had chosen, and mourned that I found my heart 
 inclining again to the things of the world, and 
 that the good words that my mistress had 
 spoken to me at my departing were forgotten, 
 but her tales of glory abode with me.
 
 55 
 
 Chapter VI. 
 
 Of the coming of the Scots, and the Burning 
 of Rose Castle. 
 
 So the masons laboured without upon the walls 
 and I sat within, feigning to be busy with my 
 book, but my teacher had but seldom words of 
 praise for me. For in truth my ears were filled 
 with the sound of the workmen's hammer, and 
 the tramp of those who kept guard, and heard 
 not his words. For the lust of war grew 
 stronger than ever within me, and all my desire 
 was to escape from my teacher's bondage, and 
 get forth to gather news of the doings of the 
 Scots, and to hear what towns they had burnt, 
 and who had gone forth against them, hoping 
 greatly to meet them soon face to face, and 
 know them for myself. And all around 
 seemed to burn with the same fire, labouring 
 with such zeal upon the works, that it appeared
 
 56 Of the coming of the Scots, 
 
 they expected the enemy daily. But after a 
 while their ardour abated, although the danger 
 grew no less great, the cause being rather the 
 absence of the bishop, of whose spirit they 
 drank in his presence. For when the month 
 of September was come, the English leaders, 
 considering that the harvest of the Scots would 
 be fully ripe, resolved to march into their land 
 and repay them for the hurt and damage they 
 had done in the northern parts. So Sir Antony 
 de Lucy, with the Lord Dacres and Sir Robert 
 de Clifford and many others, rode forth purpos- 
 ing to meet the army of the Earl of Warwick 
 in Scotland ; and to them the bishop joined 
 himself. But because I went not with them 
 (for the bishop would not give consent, though 
 I besought him even with tears), I will not 
 speak of their ride. And, indeed, though they 
 lacked not boldness nor skill, and laid the land 
 desolate wherever they came, burning the 
 standing corn, and that also which had already 
 been gathered into barns, and capturing much 
 cattle, yet did they return but ill-satisfied. For 
 they had met enemies against whom they could 
 not stand, even great rain and floods, so that
 
 and the Burning of Rose Castle. 5 7 
 
 they could proceed but a little way, and the 
 enemies by whose overthrow they had hoped 
 to obtain glory they had not found ; for the 
 Scots hid themselves as they advanced, follow- 
 ing them, indeed, when they returned towards 
 England. 
 
 Now, as I have said already, as soon as the 
 bishop was departed on this expedition (and he 
 rode ever with the foremost, and by his vigour 
 and activity made the Scots to hear of him), 
 they that builded on the walls slackened their 
 labour and put little heart in their work. 
 
 Therefore, when he returned again, he found 
 his house no better fortified than when he left 
 it, saving that on one side they had set up a 
 wall so crookedly that it threatened to fall on 
 their heads. The bishop was sore wroth when 
 he saw it, and some say he swore to make his 
 Rose red with their blood. And indeed, though 
 I scarce believe he used such words as these, 
 there was mighty disputing between them, and 
 in the end the chief workmen departed, leaving 
 the work unfinished. 
 
 Seeing, therefore, that he could hold his 
 castle against no assault of the enemy, the
 
 58 Of the coming of the Scots, 
 
 bishop returned to Carlisle to make prepara- 
 tion there against their coming, bidding us all 
 to follow him at the first tidings of danger. 
 Nevertheless, though we looked for them con- 
 tinually, riding out by day and night to seek for 
 news of them, and sleeping ever, as it were, with 
 our eyes open, yet so suddenly did they come 
 at the last that we heard not of it until they 
 were upon us. And it came about in this man- 
 ner. There being then but few of us dwelling 
 at Rose, some few servants, and two of my 
 lord's chaplains, with myself in their keeping, 
 the priests growing weary of the stillness, and 
 doubting that the danger would never befall, 
 took me with them that day, and went forth to 
 the moors with bows and arrows, seeking game. 
 And as we were returning at the decline of the 
 day, I being a great distance before them, being 
 young and less cumbered with flesh than they, 
 saw a man come riding from the north side as 
 if in great haste and fear. Therefore, as our 
 custom was to all that passed that way, I 
 ran to him crying " What tidings ? " and he, 
 crying only " The Scots ! " would have passed 
 on his way, but I, barring the road, so terrified
 
 and the Burning of Rose Castle. 59 
 
 his horse that he could no longer control it, and 
 was forced to stay until the priests came up ; 
 and they would have had him turn into Rose 
 Castle and refresh himself. But when we had 
 looked in his face, my heart gave a great leap, 
 for I knew that that which I had wished for so 
 long was come. Then he, in a few words, told 
 us of the urgency of the matter, and how the 
 Scots were gathered all about the city of 
 Carlisle, a very great multitude, and how they 
 had arrayed themselves in order of battle, 
 calling upon the men of the city to come forth 
 and fight with them. 
 
 " But we within the town," said the man, 
 " are scarce strong enough to man the walls, 
 and they are as the sand of the sea, innumer- 
 able ; and from the battlements we could see 
 them as the sun shone upon them, bristling 
 with lance and spear like porcupines. Many a 
 bright helmet and gay pennon did I behold ; 
 and all men say that Sir William himself is 
 there, and that he comes to burn to the ground 
 the castle in which he was bound. Not against 
 such foes can we contend, yet did it chafe us 
 much to listen to their taunts, and bide within
 
 6o Of the coming of the Scots, 
 
 the walls ; and most of all was the bishop wroth, 
 for against him did they cast many insults, 
 calling him a bloody priest, and swearing to 
 light a fire in his rosebush, and give his sweet- 
 briar to the flames." 
 
 Then were the priests taken with a great 
 fear, and cried out, " And we, whither shall we 
 flee ? will not the bishop come to save us ? " 
 
 But he, "Nay, when he heard their threats, 
 in his rage and fury he commanded to shoot 
 upon them from the walls, and some that were 
 approached too nigh were wounded ; but 
 in a little space he stayed his men, bidding 
 them husband their missiles, and sent forth 
 messengers to go into all parts and warn 
 the people of their coming, and call the Lords 
 Percy and Nevill to the aid of the city. But 
 even as we were about to pass out of the 
 Botchergate, lo ! the Scots began to leave their 
 battle array and ride round the east side of the 
 city ; therefore we, returning in haste, escaped 
 by the Caldewgate and rode forth with speed. 
 Therefore delay me no longer, for even as I 
 passed over the river I saw the flames rising up 
 into the sky from the hospital without the gate
 
 and the Burning of Rose Castle. 61 
 
 where the lepers dwell, and in little space will 
 they be here also." 
 
 Yet the priests would have held him fast, as if 
 he were a guard unto them, but he broke from 
 them and passed soon out of our sight. And 
 they stood looking the one on the other, as not 
 knowing what they should do, until suddenly a 
 murmur of men's voices and the sound of hurry- 
 ing footsteps broke upon our ears, and they, 
 clutching one another in their terror, cried, "The 
 Lord have mercy upon us!" "Holy Virgin, 
 shield us ! " thinking the enemy was upon us. 
 Nevertheless, we discerned shortly that the 
 noises came but from the castle, for the tidings 
 had reached the men of the house, and they were 
 all pouring forth with intent to escape. There- 
 fore we made haste to join ourselves to them ; 
 and forasmuch as we had none to lead us, we 
 were swayed this way and that by vary- 
 ing counsels, and could not determine which 
 way to flee. Yet did all esteem it most 
 dangerous to tarry at Rose, knowing the 
 hatred that the Scots bore to the bishop ; 
 therefore at the last it was agreed to essay to 
 escape to the city, hoping to leave the Scots on
 
 62 Of the coming of the Scots, 
 
 the right hand. So, as the darkness began to 
 fall upon us, we set forth, and the wiser ones 
 had provided themselves with food for the way, 
 and a warm garment to wrap themselves in, 
 if perchance they were forced to lie in the 
 fields that night. But many were so filled 
 with terror that they would not tarry for such 
 matters, fearing that if they entered the house 
 their companions would depart without them. 
 Yet we had proceeded but a little way ere we 
 began to part the one from the other. For 
 some in their fear left the road, thinking it 
 safer to be hidden by the bushes, but being 
 able to proceed but slowly, were soon left be- 
 hind. And others made such haste to escape 
 that they soon passed out of our sight, and we 
 saw them no more. Yet I doubt that so great 
 speed soon wore out their strength. 
 
 Now I at the first setting forth had joined 
 myself to Thomas Gatescale, a body-servant of 
 the bishop's, knowing him to be a man of 
 valour, and not unused to danger, and also to 
 have me in his favour. Neither would I suf- 
 fer myself to be parted from him, but kept 
 ever by his side ; which I could the more easily
 
 and the Burning of Rose Castle. 6 
 
 j 
 
 contrive, because, although he was a strong 
 man, he was come a little into age, and was 
 somewhat lame from a wound he had suffered. 
 And though I confess not to have felt any 
 fear, yet I by no means desired to be left by 
 myself, for as the night came on every tree 
 and bush seemed to spring up into sight in the 
 form of an armed man with lance and shield, 
 and there was ever in one's ears a distant sound 
 as of the tramp of a mighty army or the rush- 
 ing of horses. So we twain passed on to- 
 gether, making good way though we went not 
 fast, and were soon parted from the rest ; yet 
 for awhile we heard at times their voices, or 
 perceived them against the sky at the turning 
 of the road. Ever and again Thomas would 
 pause and listen, and then the sounds in my 
 ears grew loud and clear, but he answered me 
 lightly and we set forth again. But at the last 
 we climbed to the summit of a little hill, whence 
 by day could be seen well all the way that yet 
 lay between us and Carlisle, and we sat clown 
 to listen and consider our course. Now there 
 was a moon that night, but the sky being in 
 great part covered with clouds, we could for
 
 64 Of the coming of the Scots, 
 
 some time observe nothing. Only before us 
 we could see here and there the flames rising 
 from the farms and villages. Also behind us 
 on the hill-tops were fires blazing, but these I 
 understood were warning beacons set burning 
 to give notice of the Scots' coming to all the 
 country round. And as we held our breath to 
 listen there was no longer any doubt that the 
 enemy were near at hand. The sound of the 
 clash of armour came up to us distinct and 
 clear ; yea, even the shouts of the soldiers we 
 could hear, and sometimes it seemed to me the 
 cry as of one that was sore hurt. Yet for 
 awhile we could not discern which way they 
 rode, for the sounds rose as from our left hand, 
 and also, but nearer at hand, upon our right. 
 Then, as we doubted of the matter, lo ! the 
 clouds passed from the face of the moon, and 
 made all clear to our eyes. For we could see 
 before us the bands of the Scots, which, having 
 passed to the south of the city, were already 
 come over the river and riding full fast towards 
 Rose, being between us and the city. And 
 Thomas looked sadly back towards the deserted 
 castle and said, " There is no mercy for thee ! 

 
 and the Burning of Rose Castle. 65 
 
 Down thou goest to the ground ! alack that 
 none can help or save thee." But I, perchance 
 loving the place less than he, bade him turn 
 again and look, for at the very foot of the hill 
 not many yards distant were armed men, but 
 marching in silence, and, as it were, stealthily. 
 And he as soon as he perceived them began 
 to descend the hill, creeping cautiously among 
 the bushes and keeping ever in the shade of 
 them. And so, I following close at his heels, 
 we came near to them, and with joy discovered 
 from their speech that they were English. 
 Also we understood that they were uncertain 
 of the way, for they were in truth a band of 
 men whom Sir Antony de Lucy had gathered 
 together, that they might hang upon the 
 enemy's skirts, and do them a mischief whenever 
 they could find opportunity. And they had 
 followed them ever since they came over the 
 border, and it chanced that there was no man 
 with them who was at home in these parts. 
 When, therefore, we saw that they halted and 
 questioned the one with the other, Thomas 
 started forth into the midst of them, and made 
 offer to lead them wherever they would go
 
 66 Of the coming of the Scots, 
 
 And they gladly received him, and bade him 
 guide them by short ways that they might come 
 to Rose before the Scots reached it. For 
 though they could not hope to save it from 
 them, yet they thought to cut off many while 
 they were busy in destroying. 
 
 So we returned upon our steps, and Thomas 
 was joyful at heart that he might strike a blow 
 for the castle ; yet he did not forget to take care 
 of me, for knowing me to be yet unseasoned 
 to war, he prayed one of the men to take 
 me up behind him. Yet so swiftly did the 
 northerners ride that when we came thither 
 again, the foremost of them were already 
 arrived, and were gathering about it. But 
 although they found it silent as the grave, yet 
 did they at first fear treachery and durst not 
 enter within. Then did Sir Antony hide some 
 of his men among the bushes at a little distance 
 from the house, and when Thomas led him to 
 a spot from whence he could descry all that 
 was done, I came softly after him, being un- 
 willing to be parted from him. 
 
 And we stood gazing silently while the Scots 
 rode about the place, searching lest there should
 
 and the Burning of Rose Castle. 67 
 
 be defenders hidden within ; but when more 
 and more of them came up until a mighty 
 company was assembled, they grew bolder, and 
 breaking down the doors entered, and cast 
 forth by the windows all that they deemed 
 worthy of carrying away. And when they had 
 sufficiently spoiled the house, they gathered to- 
 gether fuel of every kind and set light to it, 
 shouting the while a great shout and rejoicing 
 greatly in their evil deeds. But we lay still 
 and durst not come forth, for there were many 
 of them, yet did Thomas curse them bitterly 
 the while with many a deep oath, swearing if 
 he had but sword or spear he would quench 
 the flames in their blood ; but Sir Antony bade 
 him bide patiently, for the time of vengeance 
 was not come. And the flames rose fiercely, 
 curling about the roof and chimneys in many 
 a strange fantastic shape, and the Scots showed 
 black against the fire dancing like wicked 
 spirits in their glee. Then it fell out that 
 there came to the side that was nearest to us 
 a tall Scot all clad in armour, yet with the 
 visor raised, and he was leading by a cord a 
 milk-white cow, and the sight begot in me a 
 
 F 2
 
 68 Of the coming of the Scots, 
 
 fierce anger, for the beast was of unwonted 
 tameness, and had oft fed from my hand, run- 
 ning to me when she beheld me. And he, 
 standing with his face turned towards us, cried 
 out to his comrades in scorn, " Lo ! how the 
 thorns crackle in the pot ;" and as he spoke, the 
 flames gave forth a louder roar, and the cow 
 being affrighted sought hard to escape. But 
 he being hard of heart struck her without 
 mercy. Then suddenly it came into my mind 
 that I had yet in my hand the crossbow with 
 which I had followed the game that morning, 
 and ere Thomas could prevent me, I had dis- 
 charged a bolt full into the Scot's face. But 
 of that which followed I scarce know the truth, 
 for terror took hold of me when I knew what I 
 had done. Yet, as it fell out, it turned to our 
 profit, for the Scots, when they saw the knight 
 fall, knew not whence the bolt came, and per- 
 ceiving the cow was got free, chased her heed- 
 lessly into the bushes, and were cut down ere 
 they knew of the ambush. And they that 
 were busy about the castle, suddenly perceiving 
 that their enemies were around them, were 
 smitten with panic fear and fled away. Then 

 
 and the Burning of Rose Castle. 69 
 
 they that had been hidden arose upon them 
 from all sides, and slew all that lingered, and 
 cut off the hindermost of them. So the fall 
 of the castle was revenged in some sort.
 
 7o 
 
 Chapter VII. 
 
 Of the Squire John de Copeland. 
 
 Now after the Scots were departed we lay- 
 down to rest, for Sir Antony determined to 
 follow them no further, but to return north- 
 ward, hoping that at the coming of the Lord 
 Percy and the Lord Nevill they might bar the 
 way against their return to their own land. 
 So we tarried at Rose, needing to make no fire 
 to warm us, and our sleep was broken at times 
 by the fall of the burning piles. But when the 
 morning was come Thomas awaked me, and 
 my eyes being fully opened, for sleep was 
 heavy upon me, and the sun was not yet risen, 
 I looked up upon him and, lo ! he wore upon 
 his head a helm of cuir bouilli, and he had 
 girded by his side a good sword, of which the 
 hilt was curiously inwrought, and on his 
 shoulder he bare a sharp axe. And he spoke
 
 Of the Squire John de Copeland. 7 1 
 
 with a gay countenance to me, saying, "Wake 
 up, lad, wilt sleep till doomsday ? See, I have 
 armed myself for the fight, and this day, I 
 trow, thou shalt not win the honour from me." 
 Then I arose quickly and shook myself, think- 
 ing also to find arms from the spoil of the 
 fallen, but the men-at-arms made merry at my 
 discomfiture, for I was yet too feeble to wield 
 a sword, and they bid me keep to my cross- 
 bow, with which I had done such redoubtable 
 deeds. Yet was I permitted to choose from 
 among the hobbies that had been taken, one 
 for my own riding, and on the bridle thereof 
 I found written, " My name is Rougedragon." 
 So having broken our fast, we mounted, and rode 
 away at the command of our captain, joyful 
 and glad at heart as -though no evil had be- 
 fallen the land. Yet did the land through 
 which we passed show everywhere signs of 
 misery, but I understood not what they be- 
 tokened, and as we rode through the desolate 
 fields and the pastures where no cattle fed any 
 longer, or marked the deserted homesteads 
 black from the fire, we looked only towards the 
 north, ever hoping to see the army of North-
 
 72 Of the Squire John de Cope land. 
 
 umberland riding to our rescue, and to cut off 
 the return of the Scots to their own land. 
 
 Nevertheless that day they came not, neither 
 had the people of Carlisle any tidings of them, 
 for Sir Antony himself went thither to take 
 counsel with the bishop and with the governor 
 of the castle. But Thomas Gatescale went 
 not near the gates of the city, desiring rather 
 to tarry for the fight than to return to his 
 master's service. Yet would he have had me 
 remember the command of the bishop to repair 
 to the city at the first appearance of danger. 
 But in this I would not yield to him. And 
 that day was a long one, and the hours went 
 but slowly, for we grew impatient for the 
 coming of the men of the east marches, fearing 
 the Scots would depart before they came. 
 Also we knew that they had sent their 
 wounded men and abundance of spoil across 
 the border already ; yea, and we were forced to 
 see the cattle pass by before our eyes, being 
 not strong enough to assail them by daylight. 
 
 So at the last growing weary of the delay, 
 there went forth a band of us along the road 
 that leadeth to Newcastle, hoping to meet the
 
 Of the Squire John de Cop eland. 73 
 
 Lord Percy and to hasten his coming ; and as 
 we came near the new castle of the Lord 
 Dacres at Naworth, we were gladdened with 
 the sight of banners and spears, and rode 
 swiftly on to join ourselves to them. And 
 they were indeed the foremost men of the 
 army of Northumberland, a gallant company 
 and well arranged, but few in number, and 
 they told us that the army itself was many 
 miles away and would scarce arrive that night. 
 But when they heard our lamentations and 
 understood the urgency of our need, they made 
 haste to send back messengers to the Lords 
 Percy and Nevill to hasten them. And they 
 themselves laid spear in rest and spurred their 
 horses on, for it stung them to the heart to 
 think that they might come too late. 
 
 But as we returned on our steps, we were 
 aware that the Scots also were making their 
 way back, and the country was full of their 
 bands. So we rode all together, keeping close 
 and watching well on all sides, and thus came 
 to Sir Antony and told him of the case. And 
 the leaders took counsel together, and made 
 agreement to post their men in companies
 
 74 Of the Squire yohn de Copeland. 
 
 across the road that leadeth to Scotland, and 
 to light many fires in divers spots, and to make 
 a great tumult all the night through, hoping to 
 persuade the enemy that there was a mighty 
 army in their path, and thus to hold them in 
 check until the Lord Percy came. 
 
 Thus we were divided into little companies, 
 and each passed to the place assigned to it ; but 
 it fell out that on every side they met the bands 
 of the enemy spoiling, and many a little battle 
 was fought that night. And men began to say 
 one to another that the Scots seemed better 
 acquainted with the land than we were our- 
 selves, and to look strangely in one another's 
 faces and inquire how it came that it was so. 
 Then Thomas Gatescale and I joined ourselves 
 to a party among whom were some of the 
 Northumbrians, and we were led by a squire of 
 great stature, so mighty of limb and fierce in 
 gesture and bearing, that it seemed to me that 
 I had never beheld one to equal him. And 
 him we all followed gladly, for he spake as one 
 that knew not fear or doubt, in a loud voice 
 and resolute. And going before us, he went 
 towards a little ascent, and was already going
 
 Of the Squire John de Copeland. 75 
 
 up it, when there broke upon our ears the 
 sound of lamentations and bitter entreaties. 
 The squire stopped short at the sound, and 
 looked to see whence it came ; and perceiving 
 that a cottage lay half hidden by the trees on 
 the hill-side, without delay he ran towards it, 
 leaping over the bushes with mighty strides. 
 Then did we all make haste to follow him, yet 
 when we arrived, he had scarce need of our 
 help. For at his feet, when we beheld him, 
 lay a tall Scot, and another he held fast by the 
 throat, and the rest of them had escaped away. 
 I know not how many there were, but so 
 sudden was his attack that the monk who was 
 entreating their mercy was yet upon his knees. 
 But when we were come, he gave over the man 
 whom he held prisoner, to be bound, sparing 
 to take his life and went quickly to the door of 
 the house. And I, seeing him stoop down, 
 went near him to perceive what it was whereon 
 he gazed ; and, lo ! there lay on the earth a little 
 maid, pale and still as death and her garments 
 stained with blood. Yet as she lay there with 
 her golden hair all dishevelled, oh ! how fair a 
 sight she was ; and I cast myself on the ground
 
 J 6 Of the Squire John de Copeland. 
 
 beside her, and gave forth a loud and bitter cry- 
 as though she had been dear to me, so much it 
 wounded me to see her wounded. Then did 
 the squire turn and look upon me, and the 
 fierceness was wholly departed from his coun- 
 tenance, yea, methought there were tears in his 
 eyes. And kneeling down upon the ground, 
 he raised the child from the earth gently, and 
 with care sought to find out where she was 
 hurt, but she lay still in her swoon and spoke 
 not. Therefore he bid me seek water to re- 
 cover her. So I went forth, yet for all my 
 impatience was I long in finding it, knowing 
 not the place. And when I returned, the little 
 maid was already revived and sat up, but lean- 
 ing yet against the squire's knee, and her eyes 
 were full of fear and trouble, neither could she 
 answer his words. Therefore the monk stand- 
 ing before them sought to tell what had be- 
 fallen, yet did he tremble so that his speech 
 was as it were a mountain stream falling over 
 rocks, now hurrying on tumultuously and all con- 
 fusedly, and suddenly pausing and standing still 
 as if it would go no further. But when I heard 
 his voice instantly I knew it well to be that of
 
 Of the Squire John de Copeland. yy 
 
 Father Adam, and stood still surprised to meet 
 him again. 
 
 " And the man, the child's father — canst thou 
 not say whither he hath gone?" asked the squire. 
 " Hath he been long departed ? " 
 
 And the monk answered, stammering in his 
 speech, " I prayed him with many prayers, yea, 
 entreated him mightily not to leave us, fearing 
 if he departed some evil would befall us ; but 
 I could not prevail. I besought him to tarry 
 but a little until I had taken a little repose and 
 could follow him further, for I was weary with 
 my wandering to and fro and could hold my- 
 self up no longer." 
 
 " But whither went he ? canst not answer 
 me that ? Supposest thou that he hath fallen 
 into the hands of the Scots ? " 
 
 "Alas, tell me not that. The Lord have 
 mercy on him ! they are men with hearts of 
 stone, ruthless and immovable in their cruelty." 
 
 " Nay, man, I know nought of him," answered 
 the squire with impatience, for the child, hear- 
 ing the lamentations of the monk, began to sob 
 and wail. "Answer in a few words, whither 
 went he ? "
 
 78 Of the Squire John de Copeland. 
 
 " Nay, I have said he went but up the hill to 
 look if there were danger near. He was scarce 
 gone when they were upon us with drawn 
 swords and " 
 
 " And the place was deserted when ye came 
 hither. Wherefore did they tarry then ? " 
 
 "The ground, as ye behold, is close marked 
 with the hoofs of cattle, and they go all toward 
 the shed. So they made their way thither and 
 found it bolted fast, but when they had broken 
 down the door, they found nothing within. 
 Then in their anger did they turn upon us, 
 swearing we had deceived them, and they cast 
 the child to the ground, and would have done 
 me grievous hurt if thou hadst not come at my 
 cry. 
 
 " Yet I think they laid no hand upon thee," 
 answered the squire smiling. " Give the saints 
 thanks for it. But wilt thou tarry here, with the 
 child ; for we must to our post." 
 
 But the monk laid his hand upon him, and 
 said, "Nay, nay, I come with thee. Thou art 
 my protector and deliverer, I will not leave 
 thee." 
 
 So they came with us up the hill, although
 
 Of the Squire John de Copeland. 79 
 
 the squire was unwilling, for he feared the night 
 air would do the child a mischief. Neverthe- 
 less he bore her himself on his shoulder, and 
 when we had made a great fire, he wrapped the 
 child in his cloak, and laid her near to it, and 
 bade me sit beside her and keep her company. 
 Also the monk was near us, but the squire 
 went to order his guard and set a watch. 
 Then did I tell Father Adam of all that had 
 befallen me since the day that I left Carlisle ; 
 and he in like manner told me how he had 
 lingered in the city, doubting of his duty until 
 the Scots came over the border, and how he 
 had joined himself to Nicolas de Haverington, 
 whose name I knew well, for he dwelt at 
 Farleton, and held land of my father, Sir Ralph 
 de Bethome. For he was tarrying in Carlisle 
 at that time, and desired if he could to make his 
 way to his home, fearing lest the Scots might 
 besiege the city and he be shut up in it. So 
 he set forth and Father Adam with him, and 
 also his young daughter Margery and many of 
 his servants. And the monk recounted to me 
 also how they had been all dispersed by an 
 alarm of the Scots, and the servants having fled
 
 8o Of the Squire John de Copeland. 
 
 the rest had wandered about, suffering much 
 from want and fear, until, having altogether 
 forsaken the right road, they found shelter in 
 the cottage on the hill.
 
 8i 
 
 Chapter VIII. 
 
 How we kept Watch and Ward by Night. 
 
 The slumbers of the little maid were that 
 night much broken by the sounding of horns 
 and the cries and shouting of the soldiers. For, 
 as I have said, they made believe that there 
 was a mighty host assembled there, and the 
 guards did cry to one another without ceasing 
 all the night through, and did hit their arms 
 together and gather their horses into companies 
 as if they were about to ride forth. When, 
 therefore, the noise was very great, the child 
 would awake, and from the strangeness of the 
 place and the sight of the armed men, together 
 with the pain of her bruises, would break forth 
 into so bitter weeping that I knew not how to 
 give her comfort, and would fain have had a 
 skill in nursing like the Dame de Coucy. And 
 the thought of that sweet lady was with me
 
 82 How we kept Watch and Ward by Night. 
 
 much that night, and often, when with fast 
 closing eyes I thought to still her sobs, did it 
 seem to me that the lady stood beside us, and 
 laid her hand upon the child and hushed her to 
 peace. 
 
 Once in the night, but I know not at what 
 hour, I was awaked by the cold, for the fire 
 burned dim, and seeing that the child slept (for 
 the squire had given her to my charge), I rose 
 up and went to the fire to warm myself, and 
 hearing the voices of men in altercation, I 
 drew near to listen. And there stood together 
 knights and squires and men-at-arms talking 
 with eagerness and with many signs of wrath, 
 but above them all I saw the squire of great 
 stature, and as I came near, he made a gesture 
 with his hand as he would put somewhat away 
 from him, and said, " Nay, of craft and cunning 
 I understand nought. Let a man swear to his 
 lord and keep it. But he who is now Scottish 
 man and now English is not for my company." 
 
 " And which of all us callest thou Scottish 
 man ? " cried in fierce anger a squire of tender 
 age, and as he spake he drew forth his sword. 
 
 But the squire answered boldly, "Skill to
 
 How we kept Watch and Ward by Night. 83 
 
 read the hearts of wicked men have I none, but 
 that there are traitors here canst thou deny ? 
 Neither do I hold it impossible that they come 
 of thy race ; Sir Antony holdeth already lands 
 of the Cliffords forfeited for treason." 
 
 Then did the young John Clifford break forth 
 into the very madness of anger, and rushed 
 upon him, and would have cast him to the 
 ground, but the squire stood like a strong tower 
 and could not be shaken ; and a knight of grave 
 aspect cried "shame" upon them both and 
 bade part them. But the squire shook off the 
 stripling and said, laughing as he spake, " Go 
 prove thyself an honest man, and I will love 
 thee as my brother, but many say that Cumber- 
 land is full of men who give aid secretly to 
 the Scots ; and when I hear men praised for 
 their skill in stratagem and deceit, and for that 
 they being one thing, did make men to suppose 
 them to be another, truly my soul feels a loath- 
 ing for them." 
 
 So when the tumult was ceased, the young 
 John Clifford being drawn aside by those who 
 were his friends (for his countenance was yet 
 dark with wrath, and he swore fiercely to be 
 
 g 2
 
 84 How we kept Watch and Ward by Night. 
 
 avenged), the tall squire and those of his party 
 sat down by the fire and spread forth their 
 hands to the blaze. And I also crept closer 
 and sat me down where I could behold his ' 
 countenance, for his words seemed to me noble 
 and great, and in my heart I held him to be 
 like one of the great heroes of old time, a 
 doughty knight and true, fearing none and 
 scorning falsehood. 
 
 But when silence had fallen on all, the father 
 Adam raised his head and said, " Thou dost 
 not well, worthy squire, so greatly to despise 
 strategy and craft. The mind of man has its 
 strength as well as the body. Yea, and many 
 a time hath prevailed against it. By the use of 
 wiles, the few may often prevail against the 
 many. Have not the Douglas and the Ramsay 
 many a time by their cunning taken strongholds 
 and fortresses, yea, and destroyed companies of 
 men by their ambushes and secret assaults ? " 
 
 " Yea, in good sooth, so they have," answered 
 the squire, " and the Earl Patrick in time of 
 need yieldeth him to the King, and sweareth 
 to be his man, and receiveth of him wages, and 
 goeth at his command and buildeth again his
 
 How we kept Watch and Ward by Night. 85 
 
 castle of Dunbar, and maketh it strong with the 
 King's money to keep the country in the English 
 peace, and when it is finished he stuffeth it full 
 of Scottish men, and maketh it a very scourge 
 to all the land. Wouldst have me follow in his 
 steps ? " 
 
 "Alas! alas!" quoth the monk, "for the 
 vows that have been broken in these wars, and 
 for the men that have been forsworn ! Yet 
 the cause of the evil is in their fierce courage. 
 Lay aside your swords, and contend no more 
 the one against the other, and the false swearing 
 will cease." 
 
 " That is strange counsel from thy lips, 
 father. Cry thou no more for help, and I will 
 draw my sword no more in thy behalf." 
 
 " Nay, son, I forget not that which I owe thee, 
 and, indeed, against thieves and robbers it is 
 holy to contend, but when the sun ariseth again 
 upon this land, upon how many houses burnt 
 and ruined will he look down ? Your swords 
 have availed nothing to save them, but had ye 
 fought with guile ye might perchance have 
 overcome. I remember how the great King 
 Robert Bruce came into our parts, and by the
 
 86 How we kept Watch and Ward by Night. 
 
 wisdom of our holy abbot he was changed into 
 a lamb. 'Twas in a year of fear, when the sun 
 in the heavens was turned into the colour of 
 blood, and the fowls of the air contended fiercely 
 together and filled the air with their cries, 
 strewing the earth also with their slain, so that 
 all men foreboded evil, and the power of the 
 Scots was so great that none could withstand 
 them. Then, when the fear was strong upon 
 us, came the tidings of his coming, and that he 
 came in fierce wrath, burning and slaying, 
 sparing none, and how he had spoiled even the 
 monastery where the body of his father lay 
 buried. Therefore we said one to another, 
 ' Surely an evil spirit is in him, and none will 
 find mercy before him.' 
 
 "Then did our holy abbot arise to our 
 defence, and having no arms of the flesh where- 
 with to contend, by the power of his wisdom 
 he saved us from destruction. For, assembling 
 us all together, he bade us gather all the precious 
 things that appertained to the abbey, vessels of 
 gold and silver and embroidered hangings, and 
 all things of beauty, and in their place he put 
 things of mean value. Also we attired our-
 
 How we kept Watch and Ward by Night. 87 
 
 selves in old and used garments, that the King 
 might suppose us to be stricken with poverty. 
 And in the night-time, ere his coming, the 
 chiefest things were conveyed by trusty men to 
 the castle on the island, and put in hiding 
 there. Then did the abbot go forth in holy 
 garments, bearing the host, to meet the fierce 
 conqueror, and offered money if he would grant 
 peace to our land, and the Bruce's anger was 
 abated and he took the money, and our land 
 was redeemed from the flames. His image is 
 yet before me, as he rode to the gates of the 
 abbey and descended from his horse in peace. 
 For whereas we had feared to find him cruel 
 and bloodthirsty, instead thereof he was 
 courteous, and withal gracious ; and there was 
 written on his countenance the signs of sickness 
 and suffering, abating somewhat from the 
 dignity of his bearing. Yet did he look about 
 him much, marking closely all that befell, so 
 that I feared he would discover the changes we 
 had wrought, and, remembering the sacrilege 
 and bloody murder his hand had wrought, I 
 trembled greatly. But the abbot in his wisdom 
 prevailed, and he departed from us, going over
 
 88 How we kept Watch and Ward by Night. 
 
 the sands to burn the lands of the black canons, 
 and the holy houses of Lancaster. Yet did our 
 ransom impoverish us greatly, so that to this day 
 we are poor, and often in sore need." 
 
 And at this tale the squire laughed again, 
 and said, " Ye fight with the weapons of monks, 
 but such are not for men of war. I rode not 
 from Northumberland to give money to the 
 Scots. But tell me, father, wherefore do ye in 
 these parts suffer that traitors dwell among you. 
 The King knoweth well that there are those 
 here that send food and help to the Scots, and 
 we have seen that they have guides to show 
 them the way, and to tell them of our doings. 
 Else had we in very deed cut off their way of 
 escape. Many also who were called to the 
 army came not, because in their hearts they 
 desire not victory for us. Sir Antony telleth 
 me that the French knight, Sir William de 
 Coucy, bideth at home and cometh not at the 
 King's call, and Sir " 
 
 But when I heard him speak that name, 
 without knowing what I did, I sprang lightly to 
 my feet, crying, " Sir William lieth at home 
 smitten with sore sickness. Therefore cometh
 
 How we kept Watch and Ward by Night. 89 
 
 he not for the fight. But he is no traitor, and 
 the Dame de Coucy loveth our land with a 
 mighty love." 
 
 Then the squire looked upon me, laughing 
 at the fire of my words, and yet methinks 
 he liked it well, and he said, " My words this 
 night are as bolts from a sure crossbow and 
 make cruel wounds. But what hast thou 
 to do to speak for Sir William ? Thou art 
 no Frenchman, and comest not of his 
 stock." 
 
 And when I, growing abashed at my own 
 boldness, answered not, Father Adam said, "He 
 hath been trained in his house, and hath sat at 
 the feet of the Dame Joan ; for I take it, it is she 
 that should have been dubbed a knight, being 
 fulfilled with the spirit of chivalry, and breath- 
 ing it into those that surround her. But Sir 
 William is rather a man of peace, loving his 
 ease." 
 
 " And wilt thou also, father, be surety for 
 him that he is no traitor ? " 
 
 But the monk shook his head, saying, " It is 
 written, ' A man void of understanding be- 
 cometh a surety.' But mine eyes grow weary
 
 90 How we kept Watch and Ward by Night. 
 
 of watching, and I would fain have some repose 
 ere the day dawn." 
 
 So he stretched himself upon the ground ; 
 but the squire continued long in discourse with 
 me ; or, to speak more truly, he made me recount 
 to him much concerning my mistress, and that 
 which I had learnt of her, bidding me tell 
 him of her looks, and of the tones of her voice. 
 " And that sluggard knight," quoth he, " is 
 moved yet to no deeds of fame. Truly, me- 
 thinks, he is unworthy of her." And so he held 
 me in converse until sleep overcame me.
 
 9* 
 
 Chapter IX. 
 How I entered the Service of John de Copeland. 
 
 I awoke not again until the sun was already 
 high in the heavens, having driven away from 
 the earth all mists and darkness, and from my 
 soul all thoughts of misery and sorrow. The 
 little maid Margery arose frolicsome as a 
 young lamb in spring, and we sported together 
 gaily on the hill-side, among the heather and 
 the whin. Yet ever and anon would come 
 over her sweet face, as it were, an April cloud, 
 and she would cry, with tears, for her father. 
 Therefore the father Adam determined to carry 
 her with him back to the city of Carlisle, sup- 
 posing that her father would return thither, — if 
 he were yet in the land of the living, which 
 indeed he was, returning to his child within two 
 days, — and knowing, moreover, that her gran-
 
 92 How 1 entered the Service of 
 
 dame dwelt there, and would receive her into 
 her keeping. 
 
 And thither also went Thomas Gatescale, for 
 by the sunrising it was seen but too clearly 
 that the fears of Sir Antony and the other 
 knights were fulfilled, and that the Scots were 
 already gotten into safety with their wounded 
 men and their booty. Forasmuch, therefore, as 
 there remained no more fighting to be done, he 
 determined to return to his master the bishop, 
 and bade me also come with him. Yet was I 
 sore loath to do so, for I desired not to return 
 to my books, but would rather dwell on the 
 hill-side, and ride forth day by day seeking ad- 
 venture. Yea, and in my heart did I long 
 ardently to dwell with the squire of great 
 stature, being willing to follow him as his dog, 
 if I might be with him. Yet because I knew 
 not how to excuse myself, I was forced to mount 
 my little Rougedragon, and join company with 
 them. And when the father was with difficulty 
 gotten into his saddle, Thomas would have 
 lifted the little Margery to set her behind him, 
 but the little maid would not consent, and cried 
 sore to ride with me, until Thomas, at the last,
 
 John de Copeland. 93 
 
 yielded to her wish. And my little hobbie bore 
 us both down the hill-side and over the fields 
 until we came to the city, and left her in safety 
 at her grandame's house. 
 
 But my thoughts were all upon what I should 
 say to the bishop, and how I might prevail 
 upon him to let me go with the squire. Yet 
 was it long before I could gain speech of him, 
 for he was vexed and angered at that which 
 had befallen, and when the Lords Percy and 
 Nevill of Raby were come with their army, 
 there was much recrimination and disputing 
 among the leaders as to who was the cause of 
 their failure. For that there had been some 
 black treachery all were agreed, but some laid the 
 blame thereof upon one man, and others upon 
 another. And some thought that the treason 
 was widespread, and that there were many who 
 had a part in it. And many a time did those 
 around me repeat the words of John de Cope- 
 land concerning Sir William de Coucy, saying 
 that his sickness was feigned. And when I 
 sought to defend him, they told me many tales 
 of the treacherous doings of his kinsman 
 Robert, and because I knew not how to disprove
 
 94 How I entered the Service of 
 
 them, I grew weary of speaking, and was forced 
 to listen in silence to words that made my cheeks 
 burn with shame. 
 
 And when at the last I came into the bishop's 
 presence, he had few words for me, but an- 
 swered me shortly that he knew well I was not 
 fitted for a holy life, being in truth no saint, and 
 that if my father gave me leave to go with the 
 Squire de Copeland, he cared nought about it. 
 Yet the bishop himself was making ready to 
 ride into Scotland with Sir Antony and the 
 Lord Dacres, to relieve the Castle of Edin- 
 burgh, sore pressed by the Scots. But from 
 the love that I bore to the squire, it seemed 
 better to me to go with him than to ride at 
 once to the wars. Now he tarried still at 
 Carlisle, and had taken affection to me also, 
 being willing that I should go with him and be 
 his page. So he bade me ride quickly to my 
 father and obtain his consent and return again 
 to him. 
 
 And I joined myself to Nicolas de Havering- 
 ton, and rode with him to my home, rejoicing 
 in many sports and gambols with the little 
 Margery by the way. And my father, at the
 
 John de Copeland. 95 
 
 first, was but little pleased with my request, 
 thinking me overmuch given to change ; but 
 because he desired not my return to Ashton, on 
 account of the treason with which Sir William 
 was charged, he gave consent to my prayer. 
 And my brother Ralph envied me much, and 
 would fain have gone with me. But forasmuch 
 as he was the eldest son, my father would not 
 suffer him to leave him. 
 
 Then, ere I returned to Carlisle, I rode to 
 Ashton to see and speak with the Lady Joan, 
 desiring to tell her of that which I had done. 
 And when I was entered into the house I 
 looked, and it was all as it had been aforetime, 
 and Sir William lay upon soft cushions holding 
 discourse with a pair of popinjays, and himself 
 smiling and gay as he had ever been, and with 
 a bright red colour in his cheeks. And the 
 Dame de Coucy sat near him, ever attentive to 
 his will, but pale and grave, and speaking little. 
 But ere I departed she led me again to the 
 chapel, where methought the blessed St. Wil- 
 liam had spoken to me, and asked me where- 
 fore my purpose was changed. And I told her 
 how my desire had died within me, and in its
 
 96 How I entered the Service of 
 
 stead the fire of battle burnt fiercely. And 
 she spake not in anger towards me, but sighed 
 deeply, and said, " Methinks it burneth in my 
 heart also. Fain would I ride with thee, and 
 wipe away the name of traitor. K no west thou 
 that men call a Coucy a traitor ? " And when I 
 hesitated in my answer, she spoke quickly, say- 
 ins", "It is false ! it is false ! He is weak and 
 sick, and could by no means endure the weight 
 of his armour. I hoped long that it would 
 befall him as it did the Bruce, when, being 
 sick, the tidings of war were brought to him, 
 and he called for his horse, and mounting him, 
 found himself healed of his disease. But Sir 
 William careth not what men say concerning 
 him. Nevertheless, thou, if thou ridest to the 
 wars, join thyself to a good knight, to one that 
 feareth God and fighteth truly, scorning all 
 falsehood and guile, gentle also to the weak, and 
 generous to the conquered. Yea, and I would 
 have him one who is a true-hearted Englishman, 
 able to defend his land from the Scots, and not 
 content to- buy peace with them for gold." 
 
 Then did I take courage, and told her of the 
 master whom I should follow, and whom, though
 
 John de Copeland. 97 
 
 but a poor squire, and little accounted of among 
 the great, I held to be nobler than the noble. 
 And I told her of his doings and of his words, 
 and wherefore I esteemed him a worthy ex- 
 ample. And she listened to my relation, and 
 answered saying, " Verily, if he be such as thou 
 sayest, thou hast chosen well. It were better 
 far to follow such an one, than to serve a man 
 rich in gold and lands." 
 
 So when I had taken my leave of her, I de- 
 parted, and rode away. And when I was gone 
 a little space, I turned to behold again the house 
 in which I had dwelt, and methoueht I could 
 discern my fair mistress standing upon the 
 tower and looking down the road after me ; and 
 the thought came into my mind that such as 
 she should dwell in the midst of danger, ever 
 at hand to raise the sinking courage, and to 
 strengthen men in loyalty and faith. Yea, and 
 methought it were more fit that she should 
 make use of her skill in binding up those that 
 were wounded, and healing the bruises that 
 were gained in honourable war, than in sitting 
 beside Sir William's couch and tending him 
 that had no thirst for glory.
 
 98 How Sir William Montague 
 
 Chapter X. 
 
 Hozv Sir William Montague laid Siege to 
 Dztnbar Castle. 
 
 Thus did it fall out that I, who had been 
 my lady's page, dwelling at ease, took for my 
 master a simple squire of poor estate, and 
 followed him through many years of toil and 
 hardship. For he was one who loved rather 
 the labour of war than the glitter of it, and a 
 dauntless spirit than shining armour of gold 
 and silver. There have been some who said 
 that he lacked grace not only in the handling 
 of arms but in the service of ladies, being 
 unskilled in delicate courtesies. Yea, and he 
 himself hath bewailed the matter to me, say- 
 ing, "Thou art as light of tongue as of foot, 
 boy, and canst tread safely where I should sink 
 deep in the mire." And therefore did he make 
 to himself unwitting many enemies. Yet were
 
 laid Siege to Dunbar Castle. 99 
 
 there also many ever ready to follow his pennon 
 though he bore it into the thickest fight and 
 never turned again. He understood nought of 
 feigned attacks or hidden ambushes, but trusted 
 to the weight of his charge and the strength 
 of his right hand. Therefore did many of the 
 leaders hold him of little account and even as a 
 dangerous man, but the common men followed 
 him gladly and loved him as a father. And I, 
 whom he kept ever near him to serve him with 
 his cup by day and to sleep in his chamber by 
 night, can testify that in the fiercest fray he 
 thought rather of others' clanger than his own ; 
 and many a time when fallen have I beheld his 
 sword as a shield above me warding- off the 
 mortal blow. Methinks he delighted rather in 
 the greenwood than in tapestried halls. Yet did 
 he love marvellous well to hear tales of romance, 
 and would listen for hours when I related at 
 his bidding those with which I was well 
 acquainted, lamenting much when my memory 
 failed me. And he would question me con- 
 cerning those that my mistress favoured most, 
 and wherefore she favoured them. And oft 
 he would end with a sigh, saying, " It is but a 
 
 h 2
 
 ioo How Sir William Montapue 
 
 '& 
 
 barren thing to win glory for oneself alone. 
 Were I to make my sword known to all the 
 kniehts of England and of Scotland what 
 would it profit me ? And yet I fear I am but 
 a savage man and not worthy to be a knight." 
 
 Now, of my first riding with him from 
 Carlisle I will tell nought, for nothing of 
 adventure befell, neither is it graven on my 
 memory as my riding with the bishop, being 
 no longer a new thing to me. There was at 
 that time a great gathering of the men of the 
 north, for the new Earl of Salisbury, Sir 
 William de Montague, with other earls and 
 captains, was to lead a mighty army into Scot- 
 land to subdue the rebel Scots and give peace 
 to the kingdom. The Squire de Copeland, 
 therefore, gathered a little company and joined 
 himself to the army, and those that followed 
 him were bold and daring men, unflinching in 
 danger, so that in short space they were known 
 among all as the bravest company in all the host, 
 and Sir William de Montague made them his 
 body-guard, and kept the squire near his person. 
 
 Now, forasmuch as the English knew well that 
 no mighty host would come forth to encounter
 
 laid Siege to Dunbar Castle. 101 
 
 them in battle, — for the Scots followed the com- 
 mand that the great King Robert the Bruce 
 had left them at his death, and fought not in 
 the open field, but hid themselves in forests 
 and marsh lands, waylaying small bodies of 
 men that were separate from their companions, 
 and ever ready to attack where they were least 
 expected, — for this cause Sir William Mon- 
 tague, having no enemy to oppose him, by desire 
 of the King prepared to lay siege to the castle 
 of Dunbar. For not only was it become, by 
 the treachery of the Earl Patrick, a stronghold 
 for the enemy, having been fortified with the 
 King's own money, but also it was a terror to 
 all the country round, so that the people who 
 dwelt there, and in especial the English, were 
 forced to buy peace by the payment of a 
 ransom. 
 
 So the English army set forward on its march, 
 well-ordered and in good array, and the sight 
 thereof made my heart leap for joy ; the banners 
 and the pennons of every gay hue fluttering 
 in the wind ; and the knights shining in armour, 
 so bright and glittering that I thought upon 
 the archangel Michael and his hosts ; the fiery
 
 102 How Sir William Montague 
 
 Spanish horses hastening to the battle, and the 
 blowing of the trumpets, and the shouting of 
 the men, all together filled me with such mirth 
 and glee that I was like a bird in spring, sing- 
 ing from very joy. So we entered the enemy's 
 land and came before the castle ; but the Earl 
 Patrick tarried not within to defend it against 
 us, loving rather to fight in the open field. 
 Nevertheless, he had committed the govern- 
 ment of it to a worthy captain, even to his wife, 
 daughter of the Lord Randolph of Moray, the 
 great captain of King Robert the Bruce. Now 
 of the Earl Patrick I need not say much at 
 this time, because we contended not against 
 him. Yet are there many of the Scots them- 
 selves who call him traitor ; for setting his pride 
 on his skill in cunning and deceit he became 
 such a wily Scot that all alike misdoubted him. 
 Nevertheless, we found the castle shut fast 
 against us, neither would the Countess listen to 
 Sir William's summons to surrender. The 
 Earl, therefore, commanded a fierce assault to 
 be made without delay, to wit if they were pre- 
 pared for defence ; but finding the garrison 
 strong and ready at all points, he called back
 
 laid Siege to Dunbar Castle. 103 
 
 his men, and bade them sit down in order 
 before the place. And the Earl himself and 
 his chief captains went all about the castle to 
 behold its situation and its strength, and, lo ! it 
 was very strong, being defended on the one 
 side by the sea, which at this season of the 
 year was very fierce and broke in mighty waves 
 upon the steep rocks, and the walls on the other 
 side being new built had no weak places, but 
 were whole and entire and fitted for long defence. 
 The Earl seeing this, set his men to build houses 
 of wood before the gates of the castle, and 
 tents for the besiegers to dwell in, that they 
 might have some shelter from the cold ; for the 
 year was yet young, and the east wind came up 
 from the sea upon us sharper than the enemy's 
 darts to pierce us through, bringing with it 
 thick fogs and blowing thus for many weeks 
 without change, as though it fought for the 
 Scots. Much did I suffer from the bitter wind, 
 my yet tender skin being sore cut by it, and 
 my master shielded me from its unkind blows 
 to the utmost of his power, being as tender 
 over me as a nurse with her babe. Yet did he 
 laugh to scorn all my bewailings, and took me
 
 104 How Sir William Montague 
 
 ever with him to the fight. Nevertheless, he 
 was himself sore chafed in his mind, being 
 impatient with the delays of the siege, delight- 
 ing not at any time in such slow methods of 
 warfare. Neither did the Earl himself nor 
 any of his men love thus to be held in check 
 by a woman. The squire was ever eager for 
 an assault, and would have had the Earl com- 
 mand them to storm the place daily, and at all 
 times was he to the front and the nearest to 
 the walls, until he grew familiar not only with 
 Black Agnes herself, but with many of the 
 defenders, and exchanged with them gibes and 
 jests as readily as blows and thrusts. The 
 valour of the Countess moved him to great 
 admiration, and he never wearied of extolling 
 her courage. Yea, I remember when the great 
 engine was set up and brought near to the wall, 
 and discharged upon it stones so great and 
 heavy that methought the wall must fall down 
 flat before it, and the Countess, as in scorn, sent 
 her maid to wipe away with a towel the dust 
 that was made, he could in no wise restrain 
 himself, but broke forth loudly in her praise, 
 and recounting to those who had not beheld
 
 laid Siege to Dunbar Castle. 105 
 
 her, the manly valour of her bearing, with the 
 flashing of her dark eye, and the disdainful 
 smile which spread itself over her swarthy 
 features, he cried aloud, " Her heart is clad in 
 sure armour that no arrow of fear can pierce ! " 
 Methinks also it was he who taught the English 
 to sing, 
 
 " Come I early or come I late 
 I find Annot at the gate." 
 
 And he deemed her wit passing shrewd when she 
 made the sow to cast her pigs, pouring on the 
 machine boiling pitch, which slew many of our 
 men, and made the rest flee apace. He, indeed, 
 lacking altogether the spirit of caution, fought 
 never under shelter, and fortune favoured him, 
 so that none of my lady's pins, as the Earl 
 called them, pierced him to the heart. Yet do 
 I remember that one night, when he had been 
 driving away sleep from his eyelids by discourse 
 concerning the stout heart of the Countess, he, 
 speaking with me alone, said, " Doth Black 
 Agnes in ought resemble thy fair lady, boy ? " 
 and I answered quickly, " Nay, in good truth 
 she resembleth her not a whit. My lady is 
 fair to see, with hair like the daffodil and eyes
 
 106 How Sir William Montague laid Siege. 
 
 like the blue violet, and a red colour in her 
 cheeks like the hues of the sunrising, ever 
 changing, and the tones of her voice are soft 
 and low." 
 
 " And Agnes is black as night, and crieth 
 aloud as she were the evil one himself," said 
 the squire, laughing. "Yet methinks I could 
 fight at her side manfully, and do great things 
 to win her praise. But thou hast said oft that 
 thy mistress's eyes grow bright at thought of 
 battle. Were she in yonder castle, thinkest 
 thou she would fight like Black Agnes, or yield 
 it to the Earl ? " 
 
 " Nay, yield would she never," said I, 
 " rather would she die ; yet methinks she 
 would not triumph so when her enemies fell, 
 and mock their torments." 
 
 " Beware, lad," said he, " thou art soft- 
 hearted thyself. Were the Countess to open 
 her heart to let in pity there would rush in 
 with it doubts and fears. Yet if thy lady is 
 like the vision that haunteth me in sleep, she 
 standeth upon the ramparts with hands folded 
 in prayer, and not with threatening clenched 
 fist." 

 
 io7 
 
 Chapter XI. 
 
 How Squire de Copeland was taken Prisoner. 
 
 A little after Mid Lent, the Earl departed 
 from us for awhile, and the fierceness of the 
 siege abated, none daring to make assault while 
 he was absent. For he rode with a company to 
 Edinburgh to cheer the men of the castle there. 
 For the governor of the castle thereof going 
 forth to spoil, had fallen into the hands of the 
 Douglas, and he, carrying his prisoner before 
 the castle, bade those within yield to him, or if 
 they would not, he would hang their governor 
 on high gallows before the gates. The garri- 
 son indeed remained faithful to their King, yet 
 being greatly dismayed, the Earl of Salisbury 
 thought good to go to their succour, and ap- 
 pointed them another governor and men to 
 strengthen the garrison. And bethinking him 
 that if such a threat dismayed the hearts of
 
 io8 How Squire de Copeland 
 
 fierce warriors, it might well shake the courage 
 of a woman, he sent into England praying that 
 the notable prisoner, the Earl of Moray, might 
 be sent to him. And he brought him before the 
 walls of Dunbar, and having called for a parley, 
 showed him to the Countess, his sister, and bade 
 her as she pitied her brother to yield up the castle 
 to the English. But she, all unmoved, looked 
 upon him with dry eye, neither did her lip 
 tremble, and she answered that she held the 
 castle for her lord, and would never yield it but 
 at his command. And the Earl and other of 
 the English captains, yea, and of the Scots also, 
 began to urge her vehemently, bidding her con- 
 sider well what she did. " Dost consent then, 
 lady, to his death ? Hast thou no pity on his 
 young life ? Shall he be slain so young, and 
 for thee ?" 
 
 But she, laughing scornfully, cried jesting, as 
 was her wont, " Nay, if thou slay him, then the 
 earldom of Moray is mine, for I am the heir 
 thereof." And with that she turned from them 
 and would speak no more with them. 
 
 So they carried the Earl back to his prison 
 and slew him not. But the squire, my master,
 
 was taken Prisoner. 109 
 
 thought the thing evil, saying it was ill done of 
 the Earl to follow the teaching of the Scots 
 and learn deceit of them. And when I thought 
 the matter was past and forgotten, I marvelled 
 that his anger did not abate, but that rather he 
 grew the more fierce, and I observing him, saw 
 that he sat at times with his brows knit and a 
 troubled air, pondering on somewhat that dis- 
 pleased him sore. Yet would he not tell me 
 the cause thereof. But after many days being 
 troubled at his trouble, one of his men ex- 
 plained to me wherefore he was sad. Now there 
 was in his company one Henry de Watton, 
 a mason by trade, but a strong man and good 
 with his weapon. And he had at the first re- 
 pairing of the castle been employed thereupon, 
 but forasmuch as he was English, the Earl 
 Patrick took occasion to dismiss him and send 
 him back to his own country, wherefore he 
 took service with the squire. Nevertheless 
 there were within the castle divers with whom he 
 was well acquainted, and with these as he found 
 opportunity he would hold discourse, having 
 learnt in time of peace a path among the steep 
 rocks by which he could approach in safety
 
 1 1 o How Squire de Copeland 
 
 near to the wall, and yet be hidden from the 
 view of those that were on it. 
 
 Now the Earl heard of his doings, and send- 
 ing for my master and Watton, he spoke with 
 them in secret, enquiring whether they could 
 aid him by opening the gates of the castle. 
 But when the squire understood his meaning, 
 he cried out that it was treachery, and that if 
 there were those within that would sell their 
 honour, he would have nought to do with them. 
 And at his words the Earl laughed much, hold- 
 ing his scruples to be foolish, and turning him 
 to Watton he bade him consider his words, for 
 there was honour and wealth to be won. And 
 he being fired with his promises went imme- 
 diately to work and sowed the seeds of treachery 
 in the hearts of several within the castle. So 
 after Watton had gone to and fro between them 
 many times, it was agreed that the Earl with 
 a chosen company should come at the hour 
 when the Countess was wont to sup, by the 
 path that Watton had been used to follow to 
 the wall of the castle, and that when he had 
 made himself known to one of the traitors that 
 kept guard above, he should be allowed to steal
 
 was taken Prisoner. 1 1 1 
 
 along- unhurt till he came to the gate, which 
 should be opened to him by others of the plot. 
 Thus entering in he should possess himself 
 of the castle, or at the least hold the gate until 
 the English came to his aid. 
 
 Nevertheless, the Squire de Copeland ceased 
 not to beseech the Earl to forsake his plans, 
 disliking them from his heart, saying that such 
 a victory would bring him no glory, but would 
 rather be a stain on his honour. But the Earl, 
 growing impatient, answered that what he 
 sought was the King's profit, and that alone, 
 and bade him hold his peace. But he, being 
 much concerned thereabout, prayed him to 
 consider well whether it were wise to trust 
 those who would betray their charge ; but the 
 Earl would give no ear to his entreaties. So 
 when the day was come, and the sun being 
 already gone down, the shades of night were 
 beginning to fall, the Earl armed himself and 
 girt on his sword, and went forth in silence to 
 a spot at a short space from his tent where 
 had assembled the chosen men whom he had 
 appointed, for he desired that his going should 
 be hidden from the English. And when he
 
 U2 How Squire de Copeland 
 
 saw de Copeland among them he bade him 
 return back again, saying he had no need of 
 him ; but the squire refused, saying, " Thou 
 goest not to danger without me." And the 
 Earl laughing, answered, " The danger, I trow, 
 is small." 
 
 Now, as I have said, the squire spoke not of 
 the matter to me, but Henry Watton, being 
 filled with high hopes, did pour forth to me all 
 his thoughts. So when the squire went forth 
 that evening, leaving me as he supposed un- 
 witting, I followed him at a little distance, 
 and the hill-side being grassy, I came with the 
 company unobserved to the castle wall. And 
 listening in the darkness, I heard one from 
 above speak in a low tone, and the Earl him- 
 self below answered with the word agreed, 
 " A Montague for evermore." So he above 
 let them pass on in peace, and I followed 
 breathlessly ; but the banks being steep and 
 rough, I stumbled and rolled down the sides 
 thereof. Yet finding myself unhurt, I arose 
 again and clambered up and pursued after 
 them ; but they were gotten some way before 
 me, and in the darkness I could scarce discern
 
 was taken Prisoner. 113 
 
 them. Nevertheless, straining my eyes, me- 
 thought I beheld them gathered about the 
 barbican, and after a little space, lo ! a sally- 
 port was opened, and I saw the light of torches 
 within, and the foremost of them pressing on 
 quickly. Thereupon I made haste to come 
 to them, and, running with my utmost speed, 
 was come within a short space of the sally-port, 
 when a great cry arose from the battlements, 
 many shouting as in derision, " A Montague 
 for evermore !" with loud laughing and taunts, 
 and ere I could pause in my haste, the Earl 
 with his company returned back through the 
 gate as if hasting to escape from a danger ; 
 and scarce did they appear without when they 
 were assailed with a thick shower of arrows 
 and bolts mingled with stones, poured upon 
 them from the ramparts. But though many 
 were wounded, the Earl stood like one chafed 
 in his mind ; and, unwilling to give ground, 
 turned again as if to make assault upon the 
 walls, and his men cried, "A Montague!" in 
 response to the taunts of the enemy, and 
 made ready to follow him. But he recovering 
 himself, and knowing well that his company
 
 1 14 How Squire de Copeland 
 
 was too weak to prevail, shook his fist towards 
 the castle, and turned in silence to depart. 
 And from the ramparts arose a shout of loud 
 laughter, and above the noise I heard a voice 
 crying, " Adieu, Montague ; I thought verily 
 thou wouldst have supped with us to-night!" 
 But he passed on with his head hanging down, 
 and answered not, and his men followed hard 
 after him, yet seeking what shelter they could 
 find from the missiles as they went along. 
 
 And I being now mingled with them, going 
 from one to another of them, sought to find out 
 which of them was my master ; but when I could 
 not find him, suddenly a great fear took hold 
 of me that he had been slain, and laying hold 
 of Henry de Watton, I cried aloud to him to 
 tell me of him. But he, looking sullenly upon 
 me, answered not, and would have turned from 
 me, signing to me to be silent because of the 
 Earl. Nevertheless the anguish took such hold 
 upon me that I would not be gainsayed, and 
 cried but the louder that he should return 
 back with me to find him. And the Earl 
 hearing my cries stopped, and perceiving who I 
 was, strengthened himself to speak kindly to
 
 was taken Prisoner. 115 
 
 me, saying, "It is vain, lad, to seek thy master ; 
 yet is he not dead, but a prisoner within those 
 walls. Thou canst do nought for him this 
 night, but erewhile thou and I will have 
 revenge for their treachery." Then he turned 
 and went hastily back to his lodging, but 
 Henry Watton laid his hand upon my mouth 
 and would not suffer me to answer him, and 
 so we came back to our place. 
 
 And it was long before I could prevail upon 
 him to tell me how it befell, for he was overcome 
 with shame and fear, thinking that the punish- 
 ment of this misadventure would fall upon him. 
 But at the last I understood, that when they 
 were gotten within the sally-port, being admitted 
 by a man bearing a torch, they began to rush 
 forward to seize the gate, the Earl himself 
 being foremost ; but suddenly a gleam of the 
 torch fell upon a strong company of armed men 
 concealed in the darkness, and the light striking 
 upon their helmets, discovered them, where- 
 upon John de Copeland perceiving them, leaped 
 in front of the Earl and pushed him back with 
 force, and at the same minute the portcullis fell 
 and shut him in. And the men of the garrison, 
 
 1 2
 
 1 1 6 Squire de Copeland taken Prisoner. 
 
 pouring down upon their heads boiling pitch, 
 forced them without delay to give way and 
 make their escape. So was the squire taken 
 without rescue. Many there were that lamented 
 him, yet did they upbraid me for my sorrow, 
 and the Earl himself seemed loath to look 
 upon me, saying that such things were but the 
 fortune of war, and that I behaved myself as 
 one too tender to bear the sword. Therefore 
 I hid my sorrow within me and sought to let 
 no man see it ; yet was I as one orphaned of 
 his father.
 
 ii7 
 
 Chapter XII 
 
 Hozv the Castle was Relieved by the Ramsay. 
 
 Now at this time there came to the Earl two 
 Genoese galleys to aid him, and they anchored 
 over against the castle to cut off all supplies of 
 
 food from the garrison, and the castle being 
 thus straitly shut up, all men said the Coun- 
 tess could hold out but little space. So all 
 assaults upon the castle having ceased, and
 
 1 1 8 How the Castle was 
 
 little going on in the camp, I also being as one 
 without a master, and none caring what I did, 
 wandered oft to the sea, holding converse with 
 the sailors of the galleys, or searching the rocks 
 and caverns of the shore. For, indeed, the 
 squire's imprisonment distressed me sore, and 
 it irked me much to dwell in his tent and miss 
 his presence. 
 
 Therefore, one day, it befell that searching 
 thus among the rocks on the shore, methought 
 I espied a path by which, clambering from rock 
 to rock, I might attain to the wall near by a 
 certain tower, and thither I had oft desired 
 to come ; thinking I might, perchance, hold 
 converse with my master, as the minstrel did 
 with King Richard. So without delay I set 
 forth ; but I had climbed but a little way along 
 a narrow ridge when my foot slipped, and I fell 
 from the rock. It was but some ten feet or so, 
 and the ground was of soft sand, so I arose up 
 but a little bruised and shaken. But when I 
 had looked about me, lo ! the" rocks rose per- 
 pendicular above me on three sides, without 
 stepping place for my foot, or aught to cling 
 to, and when I turned to the sea, the waves
 
 Relieved by the Ramsay. 1 1 9 
 
 boiled and raged so furiously among the rocks, 
 that I durst not venture into it. Then I sat me 
 down and rested, and it came into my mind that 
 I was also taken captive, and shut up without 
 hope of escape. Upon that, terror took hold 
 of me, and I sprang up and sought to climb up 
 to where I was before, falling back again and 
 again till I was weary. Thus the hours went 
 on, and the afternoon faded away, and no help 
 came to me ! Yet in the distance could I per- 
 ceive one of the galleys lying at anchor. Then 
 I went again and stood by the brink of the 
 water, and thought to plunge in and escape 
 round the rock, but the wave rose up before me 
 to a great height, and dashed itself against the 
 wall so fiercely, that I fled back in terror. And 
 I bethought me that when the tide was fully 
 ebbed, the danger would be less, and sat me 
 down to tarry till then. And as I sat, the dark- 
 ness came upon me, and with it came many evil 
 things. For with it came the thought of gob- 
 lins and wicked spirits, of whom there are many 
 in these parts ; yea, and there were some in 
 our host who held ever that Black Agnes kept 
 many in her service, and guarded the castle by
 
 120 
 
 How the Castle was 
 
 their aid. And I sought to recall to mind that 
 which Father Adam had told me of their man- 
 ner of appearing, and the words in which it 
 were wisest to speak to them according to their 
 
 kind. For he knoweth 
 much concerning them, 
 and hath oft cautioned 
 me touching them. 
 And he had oft said 
 to me that they dif- 
 fered greatly one from 
 another, and that that which overcame one 
 was altogether powerless against those of 
 another species. Yet did his counsel that night 
 depart from me. Neither could I recall any 
 words of power to drive them 
 away. Yea, my tongue clove 
 to the roof of my mouth, and 
 when I forced myself to speak 
 the sound of my voice was 
 strange to my own ears, and 
 my speech was stammering 
 and confused, and wholly without meaning. 
 
 And they came out of the caves in companies 
 as the darkness thickened, and gathered in
 
 Relieved by the Ramsay. 
 
 121 
 
 troops about the castle, uttering many hideous 
 cries, and as the night went on they stirred up 
 the waves and made them hiss and froth as in 
 a cauldron, and the wind also rose up as they 
 issued from their hiding-places and contended 
 with the waves, until the storm raged all around 
 me. And as I sat crouched up against the rock, 
 gazing out into the blackness, 
 hideous things with foul breath 
 came out of the dark corners 
 and hovered about me, flapping 
 against my head with doleful 
 groans and shrieks, or perched 
 themselves on the crags, and 
 answered one another in dismal 
 antiphons. 
 
 But when I thought I could 
 endure no longer, and all holy 
 words were clean departed out of my mind, 
 the saints took compassion upon me ; and 
 suddenly there broke upon my ears the sound 
 as of a boat being thrust forth into the sea. 
 And straightway it came into my mind that I 
 had seen in the morning a boat of the Genoese 
 galleys lying on the beach ; therefore, spring-
 
 122 How the Castle was 
 
 ing to my feet, I raised a cry so great that 
 the evil things fled from me, and dispersed 
 themselves among the rocks, howling piteously. 
 Yet did I cry many times ere the sailors heard 
 me, but at the last they came to my help, and 
 some of them mounting the rocks, let down to 
 me a cord and drew me up to them. And be- 
 cause the night was already late, and I could 
 not return to the camp, they carried me with 
 them to their galley. 
 
 Now that night, which indeed is deep graven 
 on my memory, was pregnant also with events 
 concerning the fate of the castle. For as we 
 rowed towards the galley, being sore let and 
 hindered by the violence of the waves, we were 
 driven by chance against some small ships, 
 heavily laden, making for the castle. And the 
 captain of the boat, suspecting them to be Scots, 
 made haste to escape from them, and to bear 
 tidings of their coming to the galley. And they 
 on board being much concerned at the news, 
 weighed anchor quickly, and made for the shore ; 
 but ere they could proceed against them, the 
 storm was risen to such a height that the ship 
 was caught by the wind and driven out far to sea.
 
 Relieved by the Ramsay. 123 
 
 And all that night we struggled with the ele- 
 ments, neither were we able to return to land 
 until the next day was far advanced. And 
 when we were returned, there was consternation 
 through all the camp, for at daybreak the garri- 
 son had made a fierce sally, and having surprised 
 the guards had slain many, and returned with- 
 out hurt to the castle. And the rumour was 
 gone forth that the Ramsay was gotten into the 
 castle by the sea-gate, and had brought great 
 store of victual, so that there was no more any 
 risk of famine therein. And the Earl being 
 greatly moved, reproached the captains of the 
 galleys bitterly for that they had permitted the 
 Ramsay to enter. Thus confusion and de- 
 spondency reigned throughout the camp, but the 
 contest grew fiercer, for day by day were there 
 encounters with the garrison, and men were 
 slain on either party. 
 
 Therefore were all men glad at heart when 
 the tidings came that the King, desiring to go 
 to war with the French, had made a truce with 
 the Scots, and commanded the Earl to return 
 to him with all speed. And without delay he 
 sent heralds to the castle to proclaim the truce,
 
 124 The Castle Relieved by the Ramsay. 
 
 and made agreement with the Countess that 
 she should not destroy the houses of wood that 
 he had set up, but that all things should remain 
 as they were until peace was made, and then, 
 after all due courtesies had been performed, he 
 departed in haste to his lord. And my master 
 came forth from captivity, and the army being 
 broken up, each man returned to his place.
 
 12=: 
 
 Chapter XIII. 
 
 Of the Keeping of Roxburgh Castle. 
 
 Thus for a while the din of war ceased in the 
 land, and the warriors of either party were 
 bidden to sheath the sword, and dwell together 
 in friendship. Yet forasmuch as the Scots 
 knew well that the King's eyes were altogether 
 fixed on the land of France and turned away 
 from Scotland, they on their part thought it 
 no time for peace, but stood ever ready armed 
 and with the hand on the hilt, waiting but for 
 the occasion to draw the sword. The English 
 therefore also were forced to make ready, and 
 they strengthened the garrisons of the castles 
 and kept good watch and ward. 
 
 Then William Felton, the governor of the 
 Castle of Roxburgh, being commanded to make 
 sure of his guard, sent away the forty hobilers 
 who were therein, to fill their places with forty
 
 126 Of the Keeping of Roxburgh Castle. 
 
 trusty men-at-arms. And he prayed John de 
 Copeland to come and be with him, for his 
 valour began to be spoken of. Now the squire 
 had received of the King lands in the county 
 of Roxburgh, in the parts about Ormeston, 
 both as a reward for the good service he had 
 done him, and also because the King would put 
 trusty men in those parts to hold the land for 
 him. Therefore did the squire gladly join 
 himself with de Felton, for the Castle of Rox- 
 burgh was as the Castle of Norham had been 
 in the days of King Edward II., the most 
 perilous place in all the land, and therefore the 
 most fit for the man to dwell in who thirsted 
 for honour and glory. And, in good sooth, when 
 he came forth of the Castle of Dunbar, I found 
 him indeed as it were all on fire for renown ; 
 so that I marvelled much, asking concerning 
 the Scottish knights who had held it, sup- 
 posing, perchance, he had drunk of their spirit. 
 And he spake much in praise of their hardi- 
 hood, saying that they recked not of danger, and 
 flinched at nought, caring not, it seemed, for 
 cold, or hunger, or thirst, or for any sufferings of 
 the body, and deeming it better to die by the
 
 Of the Keeping of Roxburgh Castle. 1 2 7 
 
 sword in the field than on the bed of sickness. 
 And in especial did he speak of the Ramsay as 
 of one worthy of all honour, with whom indeed 
 he had knit a friendship during his captivity, 
 receiving from him at his departing the gift of 
 a dagger curiously wrought. 
 
 But after he had spoken concerning him, he 
 sat awhile silent, looking upon the rippling 
 waters of the Teviot river, and I gazing upon 
 him thought I beheld a light playing about his 
 lips as the sunbeams played on the little waves. 
 Then at the last he said, " Boy, thou hast ever 
 thy mouth full of the words of the poets, and 
 methinks thou wouldst fain be a poet thyself. I 
 would thou couldst write in verse the tale of a 
 vision which appeared to me while I lay in the 
 Castle of Dunbar. And I would have thee 
 know that on the night when I fell into the net 
 I was wounded in the head, not grievously, but 
 in such sort that I suffered therefrom for certain 
 days. And as I lay tossing in the fever I was 
 ever bemoaning my discomfiture as though all 
 hope in life had gone from me ; and while the 
 dismal roaring of the sea against the founda- 
 tions of the castle filled my ears, there were
 
 128 Of the Keeping of Roxburgh Castle. 
 
 continually in my mouth broken fragments of 
 thy romances and songs, and it troubled me 
 much that my memory ever failed me in the 
 midst. And in especial did the lamentation of 
 the Squire of low degree linger in my lips, and 
 I was ever crying, — 
 
 Alas that I were born ! 
 
 Oh, that I were rich of gold and fee, 
 
 That I might wed that lady free, 
 
 Of gold or good or some treasure, 
 
 That I might win that lady flower. 
 
 Would God I were a king's son ! 
 * # * # 
 
 Or else so bold in each fight, 
 
 As was Sir Lybius, that gentle knight, 
 
 Or else so bold in chivalry 
 
 As Sir Gawain or Sir Guy, 
 
 But ever he cried Wayleaway ; — 
 
 and then did my memory ever fail me, so that 
 I could proceed no further. And as I rose up 
 and wrestled with myself to recover that which 
 was gone from me, it would fall upon my heart 
 like lead, that I lay in prison, and that no lady 
 would speak comfort to me as to that squire. 
 Methinks the sickness must have sore enfeebled 
 me, for at times I bewailed my misery even 
 with tears. But one night, having fallen asleep
 
 Of the Keeping of Roxburgh Castle, 129 
 
 from very weariness, there came to me the fair 
 lady of the song, clad in a garment of glad 
 bright green, and the hair of her head shining 
 like gold, and she, as it seemed in my dream, 
 opening the window of her chamber with its 
 painted imagery, descended as floating on the 
 wind to the ground, and coming to me as I lay 
 sick, she laid a cool hand on my brow, saying, 
 
 " Ride through many a perilous place, 
 As a venturous man to seek my grace, 
 Over hills and dales and high mountains, 
 In weathers wet, both hail and rains ; 
 Be thou advised when thou fight, 
 Stand thou ever in the right, 
 Be it thou shalt stand alone ; 
 Till seven year be come and gone, 
 And thou hast worthily won thy name, 
 And hast become a knight of fame. 
 
 " And as I gazed upon her, being as it were 
 amazed at her wondrous beauty, she departed 
 from me, and awaking, lo ! the sun shone into 
 my eyes, and in good sooth, boy, it was as 
 though he shone into my heart, and he shineth 
 there still." 
 
 This therefore, as I suppose, was the cause 
 wherefore he sought so much for adventures, 
 
 K
 
 1 30 Of the Keeping of Roxburgh Castle. 
 
 and thrust himself into so great peril and 
 danger. Nevertheless, he had but seldom 
 occasion to ride far, for at that time the Castle 
 of Roxburgh was like a headland running out 
 into a stormy sea, against which the waves dash 
 on every side. It standeth by the River Teviot, 
 but a little way from the place where it runneth 
 into the Tweed, and being on an eminence 
 commandeth a view of both rivers, and of the 
 country on either side of them. Day by day 
 did we watch from the towers to see whether 
 the Scots were stirring ; and oft beholding 
 thence the bands of them riding this way 
 or that, went forth ourselves to encounter 
 them, having many a hard struggle and fierce 
 encounter. The greatest and most notable 
 was when the Earls of March and Sutherland 
 made a road into England, doing her a great 
 mischief, but were met as they returned back 
 again by the men of Roxburgh and overthrown. 
 That time were Sir Thomas Gray and Sir 
 Robert Manners of our company. But against 
 whomsoever we rode, or whithersoever we 
 went, none bore himself like the squire, John 
 de Copeland. Yet were the men of our castle
 
 Of the Keeping of Roxburgh Castle. 131 
 
 men of iron, fierce and bold and dauntless in 
 war. Many of them indeed were cruel at 
 heart, and rejoiced in blood and slaughter, being 
 such as for their crimes had been driven out 
 from men, and having no hope of pardon had 
 hardened their hearts against all fear of God or 
 man. Of these was Henry Watton, for he 
 being disappointed of his hopes at Dunbar, was 
 riding towards England after the raising of the 
 siege much discomposed in his mind. And it 
 fell out, as he sat drinking with some of his 
 comrades at a wayside inn, they taunted him 
 sore with his downcast countenance, and one of 
 them, by name Thomas Samel, having divined 
 the cause of it, though the Earl no less than 
 Henry had sought to keep it secret, stung him 
 so sharply with his bitter jests, that he seeking 
 an opportunity, and being perchance somewhat 
 heated with wine, stabbed him in the back 
 with a mortal wound. In the tumult that arose 
 others also were slain, and Henry Watton being 
 taken would have been hanged for his deed, 
 had not his valour at Dunbar stood him in 
 good stead. But though he obtained the King's 
 pardon, he was forced to flee from the friends 
 
 k 2
 
 132 Of the Keeping of Roxburgh Castle. 
 
 of him whom he had slain ; so he disguised 
 himself, and calling himself by the name of 
 Hood came to the Castle of Roxburgh, and 
 took service therein, and by his valour soon 
 obtained for himself admiration and regard 
 from his comrades. Yet he bore ever upon 
 him the mark of Cain, not only in the 
 scar of a wound on his brow received in the 
 struggle, but also in his altered bearing and 
 sullen look. 
 
 Evil was the talk of these men, though the 
 worst of them spoke but little, dwelling for the 
 most part in gloomy silence. And I shunned 
 their presence and followed ever Copeland and 
 those whose company he loved, for they, though 
 bold in war, yet feared to show cruelty, and 
 went often to the chapel hearing mass ere they 
 rode out to the peril of their lives. The squire, 
 indeed, was much beloved by the peasants of 
 the country round about ; and would hold long 
 discourse with the children, delighting much in 
 their simple talk. Yet did he oft return from 
 them sore troubled, for he said that though the 
 men and women of the land declared themselves 
 of the English party, the children did ever
 
 Of the Keeping of Roxburgh Castle. 133 
 
 answer him that they were King Davy's men ; 
 and this wrought in him great forebodings that 
 David the Bruce would sit again on the throne 
 and rule over this land.
 
 134 Of th e Coming of the Earl of Derby, 
 
 Chapter XIV. 
 
 Of the Coming of the Earl of Derby, and of 
 the Preparation for the Jousting. 
 
 But now about the time when the Scots began 
 to come in like a flood, and the Castle of 
 Roxburgh was left like a high bank of sand 
 yet uncovered by the sea which has swept over 
 all around it, there came to us a short breathing- 
 space. For the King himself, after the siege 
 of the city of Tournay was raised, came into the 
 land, and having made a truce with the French, 
 made one also with the Scots. And he, tarry- 
 ing at Melrose Abbey, celebrated the feast of 
 Christmas there ; and the young Earl of Derby, 
 his cousin, dwelt with us in the Castle of 
 Roxburgh, and we laid aside all trouble and 
 care, and gave ourselves up to merriment and 
 rejoicing. For the Earl was a very perfect 
 knight, well trained in arms, and of more gentle
 
 Henry, Earl of Derby.
 
 and of the Preparation for the f ousting. 135 
 
 manners than any whom I had beheld before 
 that time ; courteous alike to friend and foe. 
 Having also a great yearning to win honour, 
 and fearing idleness like every good knight, 
 he sent in this time of peace to Sir William 
 Douglas, praying him in courteous fashion to 
 ride three courses with him. 
 
 Then did I indeed hope to have seen great 
 feats of arms performed, for all men know 
 what things the Knight of Liddesdale hath 
 done. But although he came without delay 
 to Roxburgh, and with him the Ramsay and 
 other knights, yet but little came of it ; for at 
 the very beginning Sir William was wounded 
 in the hand by a splinter of his own lance. 
 And although he would have made light of it, 
 the Earl would in no wise consent to continue 
 the joust, for he desired no man's hurt. So he 
 put a stop to the contest at once, and instead 
 thereof prayed Sir Alexander Ramsay to gather 
 a company of good knights and come at a fixed 
 time to the town of Berwick, where he proposed 
 to hold a joust, that thus all things, being done 
 at more convenient leisure, micrht be carried to 
 a more successful issue. And the jousting was
 
 136 Of the Coming of the Earl of Derby, 
 
 to be jousting of war ; and that there might be 
 no lack of combatants, he prayed him, if gen- 
 tlemen failed him, to bring valiant yeomen in 
 their place. So the Ramsay was well content, 
 and departed to make ready. 
 
 And while we on our part also were much 
 occupied in preparation therefore, — for certain 
 
 of the garrison, and among them my master, 
 were resolved to follow the good Earl to the 
 joust, — there was much coming and going be- 
 tween the Castle of Roxburgh and the Abbey of 
 Melrose, because the Earl sought to persuade 
 the King's valiant knights to join his company. 
 Those indeed of the English party who had 
 lived long in the land, found themselves but ill 
 furnished for such an occasion, for their armour 
 bore the marks of many a conflict, and their
 
 and of the Preparation for the Jousting. 1 3 7 
 
 raiment was so faded and used that they were 
 much put to to appear worthily arrayed. My 
 master indeed cared but little concerning such 
 things ; but I, unwilling to have him surnamed 
 the slovenly squire, wearied my wits in con- 
 triving the matter, bargaining with other squires 
 and knights for the exchange of armour and 
 harness, and polishing his armour until my 
 hands ached from weariness. All therefore 
 were busy, and, as I have said, men were 
 constantly passing between Melrose and 
 Roxburgh. But it may be, though at that 
 time I thought not of it, that business of more 
 grave purport was in consideration, for monks 
 came not seldom from Melrose to the Castle 
 and had audience of the Earl ; but being well 
 accustomed to meet them and also the monks 
 of Kelso, I thought but little of their presence. 
 Nevertheless, I was surprised and also greatly 
 rejoiced, when I beheld among them the Father 
 Adam. The Squire de Copeland also was 
 glad of his coming, and when his business with 
 the Earl was concluded, would not consent to 
 his departing, but forced him to tarry with us 
 that night, entertaining him with hospitable
 
 138 Of the Coining of the Earl of Derby, 
 
 cheer, and the best lodging in the Castle he 
 could provide. 
 
 So that evening, when his hunger was ap- 
 peased, we three sat together by a bright fire, 
 and the monk being comfortably placed in the 
 chimney-corner, recounted to us how he had 
 come on business of the Abbey of Furness to 
 their brethren of Melrose, and of all that had 
 befallen him by the way. And he brought 
 tidings of our friends in those parts, telling me 
 of the health of my father, and of the doings of 
 many of our neighbours, and how the bishop, 
 going his own way and scorning to think of 
 other men's likings, was at war with his enemies 
 on every side ; yea, and had received many a 
 hard blow himself, even the sentence of excom- 
 munication from our Holy Father the Pope, be- 
 cause he was come in debt to him ; the which 
 indeed was no matter of blame to him, seeing that 
 the ravages of the Scots had so impoverished 
 the land that he had not wherewith to pay. And 
 he had many tales to tell of quarrels and dissen- 
 sions in those parts, and of much fault-finding 
 and discontent. "In Carlisle," said he, " there is 
 much talk that the Eastern marches are ill kept,
 
 and of the Preparation for the Jousting. 139 
 
 and the men of Northumbria sore remiss in their 
 guard ; but methinks it was thy words, squire, 
 that are the cause of this. Mindest thou not 
 how thou, in thy thoughtless haste, did cast 
 words of reproach on young John Clifford ? 
 They rankle yet in his heart, and he ever 
 seeketh for vengeance upon thee." 
 
 And at that John Copeland laughed greatly, 
 saying, " The youth must be tender of skin. I 
 had forgot him long since." 
 
 Now as I sat listening, the sound of the good 
 father's voice carried me back in thought to the 
 hall at Ashton, and to the time when he brought 
 us news of the countryside, or wiled away the 
 long evenings with tales of evil spirits and the 
 saints who overcame them. Therefore I began 
 in haste to ask of the welfare of the Dame 
 de Coucy and my master, Sir William. But 
 immediately the monk's face grew downcast, 
 and a look of trouble came into his countenance 
 as he made sign to me to speak softly. But 
 when he told me that they were his fellow- 
 travellers, and were even now abiding at 
 Melrose, I could not hold my peace, but cried 
 aloud with joy and surprise. Then he entreated
 
 140 Of the Coming of the Earl of Derby, 
 
 me with earnestness to be silent, saying, " As 
 for me, I sought every way to escape from 
 their company, deeming it less dangerous to 
 ride alone than in their train. Yea, I counselled 
 them to abide at home ; and the lady, mistrust- 
 ing sore the purpose of Sir William in the 
 journey, looked on him ever with doubting 
 eyes, and would fain have tarried behind. But 
 his heart, he said, was set on making a 
 pilgrimage to Melrose, trusting to be healed 
 thus of his sickness, which indeed had grown 
 strong upon him of late, so that we scarce 
 thought he would have been yet in this world. 
 And I, knowing well what our learned Jocelinus 
 hath written of the marvellous miracles wrought 
 at the tomb of the holy Waltheof, durst not 
 weaken his faith, and only bade him listen to 
 his lady, who besought him with tears to tarry 
 till the winter was past. But he, like other 
 sick men, could not endure to be crossed in his 
 fancies, and grew but the more earnest to depart 
 the more he was counselled against it. Yet 
 hath the journey been too hard for him, and he 
 lieth now much overwrought." 
 
 " But I pray thee, holy father," said the
 
 and of the Preparation for the Jousting. 1 4 1 
 
 squire, " tell me wherefore thou dislikest to 
 travel with them. Is it not the part of ghostly- 
 men to tend those that are sick and nigh unto 
 death ? " 
 
 Then did the monk look about him as fear- 
 ful that there might be some eavesdroppers 
 near, and after a little he said, whispering 
 softly, " Thou knowest there are many of his 
 kindred in the army of the French King, and 
 there are those who say that the young David 
 Bruce is returning to his land." 
 
 And de Copeland, hearing him, frowned and 
 muttered, "Treachery! treachery!" But the 
 monk sat silent a space, shaking his head, as 
 it were, at his own thoughts. Then he said, 
 slowly, "Alas for men of divided hearts, how 
 should one that is an alien be a loyal servant to 
 the King ? Yet, if I read him aright, he is not 
 fully purposed to betray him. But he was ever 
 uncertain of purpose and unstable, and I fear that 
 dangerous men have come about him. I mind 
 me of the high hopes that all had of him when 
 he first came into our parts, and the King gave 
 him the lands that had been his grandmother's. 
 Ruddy and of a fair countenance and goodly
 
 142 Of the Coming of the Earl of Derby, 
 
 to look to like a young David was he then, 
 and the fair damsel Joan thought to see him a 
 famous knight, as was fitting to one of his race. 
 And in truth now and again would a spirit of 
 valour shine forth, like the sun breaking through 
 the clouds. But too soon did they close up 
 again, and his constancy failed him, for he 
 loved ease and sloth better than toil and hard- 
 ship. Yet, perchance, was it feebleness of 
 body that made him shrink back from labour. 
 Methinks yet in his heart he desireth greatly to 
 make himself a name, so it be done at little 
 cost of labour ; and for this cause, as I fear, he 
 cometh hither to hold intercourse with the 
 knights of Scotland. Therefore, I desire not 
 to be counted of his train, for I am a man 
 of peace and would have no part in such 
 matters. 
 
 " Knowest thou how in the ancient times, 
 when the birds were seeking to themselves a 
 king to reign over them, there burnt in the 
 heart of the little wren as fierce a desire for 
 honour and power as in the greatest of the 
 fowls ; but forasmuch as he knew himself to be 
 feeble and unable by his strength to surpass in
 
 and of the Preparation for the Jousting. 143 
 
 the height of his flight, he made use of craft 
 and subtlety, and as indeed is the part of true 
 wisdom, forced that which was his weakness to 
 be of service to him. For, profiting by the 
 smallness of his stature and his little weight, he 
 concealed himself in the plumage of the eagle ; 
 and when that mighty fowl, unconscious of the 
 burden that he bore, rose into the heavens, and 
 quickly passing all his rivals, proclaimed him- 
 self king and lord, up started quickly the little 
 bird, and hopping lightly on to the royal head 
 took the honour to himself, whence he is named 
 in the Latin tongue regulus. Even so me- 
 thinketh it runneth in Sir William's mind, 
 seeing how the King's thoughts are wholly 
 given to the obtaining of the crown of France, 
 that within a little space the hardy knights of 
 Scotland will again set upon the throne David 
 the Bruce ; and he concealeth himself among 
 them, that when the right time shall have come, 
 he may come forth with them and claim with 
 them the glory." 
 
 Thus did he speak of Sir William de Coucy, 
 and on this account did the squire command 
 me strictly that I should not ride to Melrose,
 
 144 Of the Coming of the Earl of Derby. 
 
 neither hold any communication therewith ; 
 moreover, when he heard me asking of them 
 that went to and fro tidings of the sick knight 
 who had journeyed thither on pilgrimage, he 
 did reprove me sharply, bidding me not 
 defile my lips with a traitor's name. Never- 
 theless, after a little he added, "Yet, per- 
 chance, is it but a cobweb spun by his 
 monkish fears. Father Adam seeth danger 
 on every hand and evil spirits lurking in every 
 bush, yea, and he hath a ready tongue to prove 
 them there, lest men should call him coward."
 
 H5 
 
 Chapter XV. 
 
 Of the Riding to Berwick Town, and of the 
 Coming of the Scottish Knights. 
 
 My master's commands did for awhile anger me 
 sore, begetting in me but the greater desire to 
 see my mistress, so that I sought opportunity 
 to escape from him. But the time being now 
 come to ride to the jousting at Berwick town, 
 I forgot my hot displeasure, and set forth with 
 the company from Roxburgh Castle with a glad 
 heart. And as we came near the end of our 
 journey, the ways were thronged thick with 
 people, hastening in from all the country round 
 to see the great spectacle, or to make their 
 profit out of the strangers coming to the town. 
 There came out also many from the town to 
 meet the knights who were to combat there : 
 prentice boys and ignorant fellows who could 
 by no means have aided a knight to arm him- 
 
 L
 
 146 Of the Riding to Berwick Town, 
 
 self, and yet forebore not to pass judgment on 
 those that passed by, and filled their mouths 
 with bitter jests to cast at them as they rode. 
 They moved me much to anger, so that I would 
 fain have stopped their words with blows ; 
 but de Copeland heeded them not, nay, he 
 answered jest with jest, and they nicknamed 
 him the merry squire. And as we rode our 
 company grew larger, being joined by knights 
 and squires with whom we had acquaintance, 
 and who were riding thither also. I had much 
 discourse with the other pages concerning the 
 armour and horses of the new comers, especially 
 concerning two of them whom we found water- 
 ing their horses in a stream by the wayside, for 
 they, as men are wont to do at such sports, 
 had attired themselves in the guise of King 
 Arthur's knights. And when we had passed 
 in at the gates the crowd grew thicker, and 
 the noise and shouting louder, so that it was 
 uneasy work to guide and control the horses. 
 And the streets were gay with tapestry and 
 with the banners of the knights set up before 
 their lodgings, and at the windows were many 
 fair ladies and the citizens watching the arrival
 
 and of the Coming of the Scottish Knights. 147 
 
 of the combatants. But I could gaze little 
 upon them, being wholly taken up with holding 
 in control my frightened horse, and fearing 
 greatly lest I should make sport for the lads of 
 the town. And as I rode thus seeing nought, 
 suddenly my cheek was smitten with a flower 
 of the gorse cast upon me from a balcony above 
 my head, and so hard was it thrown that the 
 thorns thereof pierced the skin and made the 
 blood to flow, and looking quickly up, lo ! I be- 
 held above me my little playmate Margery de 
 Haverington, laughing, and yet fearful at that 
 which she had done. But when she saw the 
 red streaks on my face she turned back with a 
 cry, and would have fled into the house, but at 
 that moment there came forth from the window 
 my sweet mistress, Dame Joan de Coucy, all clad 
 in green, and the sun lighted up her hair that 
 it looked like the glory round about the head of 
 a saint, and she came out on to the balcony and 
 stood looking down upon us. And turning 
 I beheld the Squire de Copeland, and he sat 
 upon his horse as one turned to stone, and a 
 great silence was fallen upon him. But the 
 crowd swept us away and we passed on and 
 
 l 2
 
 148 Of the Riding to Berwick Town, 
 
 came to our lodging and spake no word of that 
 
 which had befallen us. 
 
 » 
 
 And alas ! the gorse flower did prove to me 
 a true presage ; but I understood not then how 
 evil was the omen. And my master being 
 much occupied with preparing for the jousting 
 (for having acquaintance both with the Ramsay 
 and other Scottish knights, and also of the 
 town of Berwick and the people of it, the 
 Earl of Derby did call him to give him counsel) 
 I was able oft to avoid out of his presence, and 
 betake myself to the house where Sir William 
 lodged. But forasmuch as for the most part 
 he lay sick upon his bed, I saw but seldom 
 my mistress, but with her damsel the little 
 Margery I passed many merry hours. She 
 contended ever indeed that she knew me not 
 as I rode through the streets, and did cast the 
 flower upon me by chance, desiring not at all 
 that I should know of her coming with the 
 Dame de Coucy. Yet was she ever ready to 
 sport and play with me as if we were yet chil- 
 dren in the fields about Carlisle. Perchance 
 she sought to put away from her the clouds 
 of sorrow and sickness that hung over the
 
 and of the Coming of the Scottish Knights. 149 
 
 house, for she would often murmur that her 
 mistress was ever grave and sad and loved not 
 pleasure. " She desired not at all," she would 
 say, "to come hither to see the jousting, but 
 prayed her lord to tarry rather at Melrose that 
 she might wear out herself in prayers of fasting 
 for his health. But in truth Sir William loveth 
 to be sick ; he loveth to lie on soft couches and 
 be tended in low tones and gentle whispers. 
 But whensoever he will, is he blithe and gay, 
 and thou wilt see him loudest among the spec- 
 tators at the jousting, yea, he talketh of bearing 
 a lance there. Verily, it wearieth me greatly 
 to hear men talk of his sickness, and ever be 
 forced to wear a sad countenance and shake 
 the head mournfully when my mistress telleth 
 how ill he hath rested on the bygone night, and 
 how feeble he lieth this morn, yea, betimes 
 bewailing himself like a weakly babe." 
 
 And then would she draw me to the window 
 and bid me tell her the names of those who 
 passed along the street, and whence they came, 
 and what they had done ; and the chamber 
 resounded with our mirth and laughter, and we 
 thought in the gaiety of our hearts that we were 
 clad in armour of proof and no weapon of sorrow
 
 150 Of the Riding to Berwick Town, 
 
 could touch us. Yet, alas ! it hath befallen me 
 as it befalleth many a bold knight riding to the 
 battle boasting of his good harness and his 
 trusty sword, to find them fail him in the 
 hour of need. I speak now of the great 
 strokes of affliction with which I myself have 
 been smitten, and not of the sorrow which 
 befell the household of de Coucy ; but con- 
 cerning Sir William, though I sought to 
 blind myself as did the little maid Margery, 
 yet could I not hide from myself how the 
 monks and friars were gathering about his 
 bedside, as the vultures gather together from 
 all the country round to the spot where the 
 body lieth. 
 
 Now, though I found much joy in the com- 
 pany of the little maid, and did tarry at her 
 side more than either my master or her mistress 
 were aware, yet did I not fail to go forth at 
 the coming: of the Scottish knights. The 
 
 o o 
 
 Douglas was not of the company, being per- 
 chance occupied in matters of more moment. 
 There wanted not men of joyless hearts and 
 sour demeanour who would fain have bidden 
 the jousting cease. They were ever ready to 
 discourse with all who had an ear to listen, and
 
 and of the Coming of the Scottish Knights. 1 5 1 
 
 their mouths were filled with weighty reasons 
 against the jousting ; as that a time of evil was 
 at hand, a war would begin within a little space 
 such as had not been seen by any living man ; 
 and that it became us not to sport and trifle with 
 vain shows ; that they knew that the Scots did 
 but seek to amuse us and turn away our thoughts 
 from the coming of David the Bruce, and from 
 the great preparations that they were making to 
 overthrow and overwhelm us. Nevertheless, 
 though these ceased not to mutter and croak 
 like ravens and birds of ill-omen, few listened 
 to them, and all men gazed upon the comers and 
 spoke of the knights who were to joust. There 
 was Sir Alexander the Ramsay, with whom the 
 squire was knit in friendship, a very perfect 
 knight, and in truth a peer of the Douglas, who, 
 as all men know, for very envy afterward foully 
 compassed his death — and with him came Sir 
 William the Ramsay. And there was the brave 
 Sir William of the Towers, and stout John the 
 Hay, and many more bold of mien and strong 
 of limb. Sir Patrick Graham came not until 
 the second day of the jousting, being come from 
 beyond the sea. 
 
 The Earl of Derby, that mirror of chivalry,
 
 152 Of the Riding to Berwick Town. 
 
 received them with all courtesy, striving how 
 he might show them honour, and demeaning 
 himself towards them with so much meekness 
 and gentleness that they all spake with marvel 
 and astonishment of his gracious demeanour. 
 Neither was he less astonished on his part, 
 together with those knights of his company 
 who were not well acquainted with the Scots, at 
 the bold courage of the knights who followed 
 the Ramsay. For they would fain have fought 
 all unarmed and with bare visage, saying they 
 were come for a joust of war, and not to sport 
 like children where there was neither danger nor 
 honour to be won. The Earl commended greatly 
 their stout hearts, yet would he not suffer men 
 thus to cast away their lives. I myself 
 have often thus been smitten with wonder at 
 the marvellous endurance of Scottish men, 
 esteeming them in their great hardihood to re- 
 semble rocks of granite that cannot be shaken ; 
 yea, and perchance at times have I thought 
 them to be like the granite stone — hard, and 
 without sense of pity or mercy.
 
 Chapter XVI. 
 Of the Jousts at Berwick Town. 
 
 Now I would fain write of the jousting 
 worthily, and tell of the deeds done there in 
 words befitting the greatness of the subject — 
 the valour of the knights and the beauty of the 
 ladies. Methinks old age must be coming fast 
 upon me when the sound of the horses' hoofs, 
 breaking as it were upon the ears of my 
 memory, doth not kindle me into eloquence 
 of speech. Truly in the days of my youth 
 the tales of jousting and of tournaments were 
 to me a fountain of delight, of which I ever
 
 154 Of the Jousts at Berwick Town. 
 
 loved to drink ; and the knights and squires 
 at Berwick bore themselves worthily, so that I 
 fear not to compare them with the knights of 
 King Arthur ; yet, forasmuch as many years 
 have passed away since then, and I might 
 perchance fall into some error, I will recount 
 only such things as concern my tale. Yet well 
 do I recall the joy and gladness of my heart 
 that morning, the bright shining of the sun, the 
 shouting of the people (for all men kept holiday 
 that day), the braying of the trumpets and the 
 cries of the heralds, and above all can I see and 
 hear the two companies of knights and j ousters 
 riding proudly on their mailed horses and 
 entering within the lists. Neither was it alone 
 the gay spectacle that filled my heart. My 
 soul was athirst for glory, and full earnestly did 
 I pray St. George at the hearing of the mass, 
 that I might grow up like him a noble knight 
 and fill the world with my fame. 
 
 Yet ever and anon did the sight of my sweet 
 mistress check my thoughts, and trouble me 
 awhile. For I, seeking to be near Margery and 
 speaking ever with her, beheld the demeanour 
 of the Dame de Coucy and marvelled at it. I
 
 Of the Jousts at Berwick Town. 1 5 5 
 
 bethought me how in days gone by, when I had 
 sat at her feet and read of the knights tilting for 
 glory, her eyes would glisten and the colour rise 
 in her cheek, and, lo ! now she sat as though her 
 thoughts were far away, and she saw not that 
 on which her eyes gazed, save when she did 
 wake as from a dream to smile on the maid 
 Margery in her mirth and glee. Sometimes 
 methought she sought as it were to hide her- 
 self, desiring to avoid observation ; and Sir 
 William also, who had been borne thither in 
 a litter, sat for awhile in silence as without 
 strength to speak. Yet it was but at times 
 that these things troubled me, coming as a cloud 
 over the face of the sun. For the most part I 
 did feast my eyes on the noble spectacle, and 
 shouted to the praise of the knights until my 
 voice was wearied out, though I could not find 
 it in my heart to rejoice fully at the gallant 
 deeds of the Scots, being then as it were but a 
 child, and unable to admire as was due those 
 whom I counted as enemies. Yet was it the 
 will of the Earl that all enmity should be 
 forgotten, and that valour and skill alone 
 should be praised, and false dealing and
 
 [56 Of the Jousts at Berwick Town. 
 
 cowardice contemned. He himself won all 
 men's praise for the grace with which he handled 
 the lance and rode his fiery steed, bearing him- 
 self also right nobly against his adversary, and 
 yielding him no advantage in the contest. 
 
 At the beginning of the day fortune favoured 
 the English knights, many of the Scots being 
 overthrown and their riding less commended ; 
 but the Ramsay did as it were turn the scale, 
 more than one knight falling before him. And 
 I, becoming again attentive to the sick knight, 
 who was watching in the balcony, marked a 
 smile upon his lips. And from that time he 
 did rouse himself to interest, and the colour 
 came back brightly to his cheek. He began 
 also to cry aloud to encourage those that were 
 fighting, and, forgetting his weakness, became 
 the most eager of all the observers. Then did 
 the hot glow rise also in my face, and a fierce 
 anger began to burn in my heart, for his cry 
 was ever for St. Andrew and the Ramsay ; and 
 for the English knights he had nought but 
 scorn and reproach. And so loud and fierce 
 were his words, that many turned to see who it 
 was that shouted so loud, and I marvelled no
 
 Of the Jousts at Berwick Town. 157 
 
 more wherefore his lady sat silent gazing upon 
 him sadly. 
 
 But the day wore on, and the field was strewn 
 with splintered lances and harness and tattered 
 raiment and pennons, yea, and in more than 
 one spot marked with blood. And the pavil- 
 ions and balconies were dimmed with dust, and 
 many a knight was stained with mire, and his 
 gay trappings torn and dishevelled. And it 
 seemed to me that the fight grew more fierce 
 and deadly, and among the spectators also a 
 strife of words began ; those of the Scottish 
 party crying against the English, and they on 
 their part as fiercely against the Scots. At that 
 time did the Earl's knight, Sir John Twyford, 
 ride against Sir John the Hay, and their meet- 
 ing was like the rushing together of two fierce 
 lions of the desert, the clash of their arms was 
 terrible, and the very horses did contend 
 together furiously, biting one another and 
 giving forth horrid cries as if an evil spirit 
 possessed them. And for a space the cloud of 
 dust did hide them from our view, but when it 
 was rolled away Sir John Twyford was seen 
 prostrate on the earth, and the blood flowed
 
 158 Of the Jousts at Berwick Town. 
 
 fast from the shoulder of his adversary. But 
 when Sir William saw that Sir John the Hay 
 sat yet in his saddle, he raised a cry of exul- 
 tation as though his worst enemy were fallen ; 
 at which one standing near, as hot for the 
 
 English part, drew his sword and made ready 
 to assail him ; and though this man and that 
 rose hastily, crying " Peace ! " yet so fierce was 
 the contest, that ere it was appeased, men had 
 borne away the fallen knight, and other jousters
 
 Of the Jousts at Berwick Town. 159 
 
 had taken their places and prepared for the 
 encounter. 
 
 I knew not till afterward that Sir John 
 Twyford had been slain, supposing him only 
 struck senseless by the violence of the shock ; 
 but had I known I had scarce bestowed a lamen- 
 tation upon him, for he who now fought on the 
 English part was my master, and he was about 
 to receive his lance from his varlet's hand, and 
 against him was to ride Sir William the Ramsay. 
 And the little maid Margery whispered into my 
 ear, taunting me and saying that my master 
 would not have me to wait upon him, counting 
 me a child, and asking whether I were of 
 strength sufficient to lift a spear and place it in 
 his hand. But I had no ear for her words, my 
 soul being gone forth from my body and riding 
 with him in the lists. So I gazed upon them 
 while they rode, and at the first course they 
 encountered not, both alike failing in their aim ; 
 therefore they rode back to their places chafed 
 somewhat in spirit. Some of them who stood 
 by, speaking concerning the combatants, said 
 that de Copeland rode in the fashion of a 
 Scottish knight rather than of the followers of
 
 160 Of tlie Jousts at Berwick Town. 
 
 the Earl, as it were over boldly and lacking- 
 somewhat in grace. But I looking upon him 
 as he spurred his horse fiercely for the second 
 course, marked again his massive power and 
 strength of limb, and marvelled that any could 
 stand before him. So they met, and the shock 
 was fierce, and Sir William's lance was shattered 
 on the squire's shield ; but de Copeland's struck 
 the Ramsay's helm, and ere it broke, passed 
 through the casque, for the lacing of the helmet 
 yielded not, and with the mighty stroke Sir 
 William fell to the ground with the truncheon 
 sticking in his head. Then did his squires run 
 to his aid, and Sir Alexander Ramsay with 
 them ; the Earl also descended into the lists ; but 
 of the dauntless spirit of the fallen knight there 
 is no need for me to write here, for who is there 
 that has not heard how Sir William the Ramsay 
 was shriven in his helm lying still upon the field, 
 and how afterward Sir Alexander set his foot 
 upon the helm, and with mighty strength drew 
 forth the broken lance, and how Sir William 
 rose up swearing he ailed nothing, and departed 
 to his lodging, the Earl marvelling at his stout 
 heart ?
 
 Of the Jousts at Berwick Town. 1 6 1 
 
 Rather will I write of that which I myself 
 beheld, for the crowds hid those things from 
 my sight, and ere they were accomplished 
 darkness began to fall, and the spectators 
 dispersing returned towards the town. And I, 
 with my heart full of my master's glory, sought 
 to join myself to him. But in vain, for knights 
 and squires and citizens and common people 
 were all mingled together, and at the last I was 
 forced to fall into the stream and pass on with 
 them. But because I tarried at times, looking 
 back lest my master should be yet behind me, 
 the most part passed on before me. 
 
 And walking thus slowly, as it were, in the 
 rear of the host, there broke suddenly upon my 
 ear the sounds of strife, angry words, and fierce 
 shouts, mingled with cries of terror. So I ran 
 quickly to the spot whence the sound came, 
 and, lo ! there was a company of men making 
 fierce assault upon another company, and these 
 knowing themselves to be the weaker part, 
 sought to shelter themselves behind some trees 
 a little off the road ; yet were they sore pressed 
 by their adversaries, who assailed them for the 
 
 M
 
 1 62 Of the Jousts at Berwick Town. 
 
 most part with staves, crying, " Down with the 
 Scotch traitor ! " And when I heard those 
 words, a great fear arose in my heart, and I 
 pushed my way through them and saw the 
 company of Sir William de Coucy, and the 
 bearers had set down the litter, and they and 
 his squires and varlets sought to defend him to 
 the utmost. Also I saw the pale face of Dame 
 Joan and the little Margery, with eyes of terror 
 as I had seen her at first on the hill-side by 
 Carlisle, and another damsel also crying aloud. 
 And the sick knight himself was risen out of 
 his litter and stood with his sword drawn, and 
 his eyes were bright and his cheeks red with a 
 fierce courage, and he cried aloud to encourage 
 his men ; neither did he cease from taunting his 
 assailants, heaping upon them words of insult 
 and scorn. And when I saw these things I 
 feared greatly, for their enemies were many ; 
 and I raised my voice aloud and cried "St. 
 George to the rescue ! " and joined myself to 
 them and fought with the courage of despair, 
 for it seemed that there was no deliverance. 
 But suddenly the ranks of the assailants were
 
 Of the Jousts at Berwick Town. 16 
 
 j 
 
 broken, and I saw them falling on each side as 
 the stalks of corn fall before a wild boar, and 
 my master with his men charged them and 
 overthrew them and trampled on them, and 
 ceased not until they were wholly overcome. 
 And it came to pass that when Sir William 
 saw that they were discomfited and fled, he 
 lifted up his voice and shouted with exultation 
 and triumph, and as he cried, lo ! the blood 
 began to stream fast from his mouth, and he 
 would have fallen to the earth, but the squire 
 caught him in his arms and laid him down 
 gently in his litter. And my mistress knelt 
 beside him tending him, and the little Margery 
 began to weep, and we all stood in silence, 
 supposing that his last hour had come. But 
 after a little the blood staunched and he lay 
 still and white, yet breathing. 
 
 Now at a little space from the spot where 
 this befell, there stood a mill, and the King had 
 bestowed it on the Squire de Copeland, reward- 
 ing him for his faithful services ; and against 
 it were buildings in which the miller dwelt. 
 Therefore the squire bade them take up the 
 sick knight and carry him thither, for it was 
 
 M 2
 
 164 Of the Jousts at Berwick Town. 
 
 far to carry him to his lodging. And the 
 Dame de Coucy yielded to his will and 
 followed in silence, recking little whither she 
 went. 

 
 i65 
 
 Chapter XVII. 
 
 How we Rode back to Roxburgh Castle. 
 
 From that time all delight in the jousting 
 died within me, and though I went thither 
 when the morning rose I wearied soon of the 
 sight, and departing from it went and lingered 
 about the mill, speaking to those who went in 
 and came out. Yea, though I heard from time 
 to time from men of the city of the deeds that 
 were done in the lists, and in especial how Sir 
 Patrick Graham had overthrown the Talbot, 
 and would in truth have slain him but that he 
 was armed with double armour, contrary to the 
 laws of jousting, there arose no desire in my 
 heart to witness it. But I sat beside the mill 
 waiting till Death should enter there, and me- 
 thought he came more terribly in silence and 
 after long waiting than on the field of battle 
 amid the shouts of victory. And for a space
 
 1 66 How we Rode back to Roxburgh Castle. 
 
 the little Margery came and sat beside me, and 
 I sought to speak words of comfort to her, 
 mingling with them many words of love, yet 
 could I bring no smile to her lips, for she was 
 tender of heart. And as we sat there on the 
 hill-side, and the day began to fall, I gazed out 
 over the river as in a trance, looking to see the 
 great Enemy arise from its waters, and come up 
 to enter within the house where the knight lay ; 
 and I wondered whether he would come as an 
 evil spirit, clad in darkness and horror, or as a 
 shining angel, glorious and bright. And once 
 more I wondered whether it had not been 
 better for me to follow the call of St. William, 
 for when the Angel of Death shakes his wings 
 above our heads, the glories of earth grow pale 
 and dull and cease to charm us. And while I 
 thus mused, lo ! the Angel came and passed by 
 and entered in, and none could stay him. 
 
 But all that night I lingered about the mill, 
 and when the day came I fled from the sight of 
 men and went away into the lonely parts of the 
 country side, pondering over the things of Life 
 and Death, and fearing to come near the field 
 of tourney, as though such delights were a
 
 How we Rode back to Roxbtirgh Castle. 167 
 
 mortal sin. Yet that day did the Angel of 
 Death visit also the jousting-place, and an 
 English knight perished by the lance of the 
 doughty Sir Patrick Graham. 
 
 And when the shadows fell, and the clash of 
 arms had ceased, I returned again to the mill, 
 and, behold, they were bearing forth the body 
 of Sir William de Coucy to lie within the walls 
 of the convent of the Grey Friars. And foras- 
 much as men had begun to talk much one to 
 another touching his purposes of treason, it was 
 thought good that he should be buried secretly 
 in the hours of darkness, and his death also 
 concealed for a while. And I, seeking to enter 
 into the mill, that I might speak with Margery, 
 and perchance also with the Lady Joan, they 
 told me that they were already departed, having 
 betaken themselves to the convent of Halystane, 
 which King Edward had newly rebuilt, for it 
 had been overthrown at the battle of Halidon 
 Hill. And when I heard that they were de- 
 parted a great sense of loneliness fell upon 
 me, and it seemed to me that I was forsaken, 
 so, sadly departing from the place, I came again 
 to the town, and to my master's lodging.
 
 1 68 How we Rode back to Roxburgh Castle. 
 
 And there it was told me how the Scots had 
 adjudged the prize to my master, in this matter 
 also not agreeing with the English. For the 
 English, passing over the Scottish knight Sir 
 Patrick, who had won himself the greatest 
 name, adjudged the prize to one who had run 
 three courses well and injured none ; but the 
 Scots, because it was a joust of war, gave it to 
 him who, fighting lawfully, had done to his 
 adversary the greatest harm. But when I 
 heard thereof it kindled within my heart but 
 little joy, and that which but a few days before 
 I had greatly longed for was now become to me 
 but vanity and vexation of spirit. 
 
 So the jousting and the feasting being at an 
 end, we departed from Berwick town and rode 
 on our way to return to the castle of Roxburgh. 
 And I, riding ever in silence with downcast 
 countenance and heavy heart, became after a 
 while aware that my master also was troubled 
 and perplexed, and a great sadness was fallen 
 upon him. It doth seem to me a marvellous 
 thing that we who had seen so often bloody 
 quarrels and battles, and men slain on the field 
 or defending the wall, should now tremble and
 
 Funeral oj Sir William de Coucy.
 
 How we Rode back to Roxburgh Castle, t 69 
 
 fear at the death of one who had long tarried 
 on the edge of the grave. Yet as we rode 
 along we talked together much concerning it, 
 and the squire questioned me in many words 
 touching my former purpose of becoming a 
 monk, and what Father Adam and the holy 
 bishop had said to me concerning it ; neither 
 could we resolve certainly in our minds whether 
 it were well done in me to take up the sword 
 again, being much perplexed concerning the 
 guilt of blood shed in battle. 
 
 "Yet," said I, "St. George was a knight of 
 prowess, and there is the holy St. Michael, and 
 St. Sebastian, and St. Martin " 
 
 " But when the rage of war fills my heart, I 
 fear I am no holy saint," said the squire. " I 
 would the foul fiend himself or his evil angels 
 would give me battle, for how to lay aside the 
 sword I know not, so greatly do I delight in 
 the fierce tumult. Perchance it were well that 
 I should journey to Palestine and fight against 
 the unbelievers. 'Twere better to shed their 
 blood than the Ramsay's, for, as the father 
 Adam saith, we and the Scots are brethren." 
 
 And the thought pleased me much, and ere
 
 1 70 How we Rode back to Roxburgh Castle. 
 
 we came to Roxburgh we were almost wholly 
 determined to go against the infidel. But the 
 state of the land being at this time much dis- 
 turbed, we could not depart for awhile. For 
 in all the land of Scotland there was no place 
 held for the English but Roxburgh only, and 
 many said that David Bruce was already set 
 forth from France to come to his own land 
 again ; neither understood we well whether the 
 truce held still or not, some saying yea, and 
 others nay. But William Felton was at that 
 time in England, and had committed the care 
 of the castle to a lieutenant. So we returned 
 thither and kept watch and ward as aforetime. 
 Yet methought often that the squire continued 
 sad, not observing as before that which passed 
 around him, but occupied with his own thoughts, 
 and as Passion Tide came on he was so zealous 
 in the duties of religion that men scoffed at 
 him. 
 
 And when Good Friday was past, Hood, of 
 whom I have spoken before, — he who was once 
 of the squire's company, but was marked with 
 the guilt of blood, having slain his brother in 
 arms, and yet by his valour had caused himself
 
 How we Rode back to Roxburgh Castle. 1 7 1 
 
 to be much set by in the castle, — went over the 
 river to the town of Kelso to gather together 
 food and wine and good cheer, that we might 
 keep the feast of Easter worthily. And return- 
 ing late in the night of Saturday, he bore with 
 him letters from Thomas de Hassynden, the 
 warden of the abbey of Kelso, written to the 
 Squire John de Copeland, praying him in 
 earnest words to come to his protection, for 
 being as it were but a stranger there, having 
 been set over the abbey by King Edward when 
 the old abbot of the Scottish party was gone 
 over the seas with David the Bruce, he had 
 many enemies in the town. And it had been 
 told him that on the morrow morn, certain evil- 
 disposed persons would make an assault on the 
 abbey, purposing not only to lay violent hands 
 on the holy father himself, but also to spoil the 
 place and carry away the holy vessels and 
 treasures thereof. Therefore he prayed the 
 squire, because he knew him to be a devout 
 man, to take the trustiest and most valiant men 
 that were in the castle, and to come quickly and 
 tarry with him till the danger were past. 
 
 So the squire took the letters and read them,
 
 1 72 How we Rode back to Roxburgh Castle. 
 
 and was sore troubled at that which was written 
 therein ; " for I," saith he, " am sworn to keep 
 the castle, and it is not fitting for me to leave 
 the guarding of it." Nevertheless, he carried 
 them to the knight whom William Felton had 
 made captain in his stead, and laid them before 
 him. Now it chanced that the knight was 
 much bounden to the warden of Kelso, for that 
 he had bestowed on him more than once a cask 
 of very goodly wine. So when he had read 
 the letters, he laughed lightly at the peril where- 
 in the warden stood, saying, " 'Tis but the 
 threats of a few hungry villains, and little harm 
 will come of it. Yet, because I would fain not 
 displease the warden, I would have thee go to 
 his aid ; but thou must go alone, or take with 
 thee the lad whom thou holdest so dear. One 
 mailed man is guard enough against such an 
 assault." 
 
 Therefore the squire put on his armour and 
 departed from the castle, yet somewhat unwill- 
 ingly, and I went with him ; and as we passed out 
 of the orate, Hood stood beside it, and he looked 
 
 o 
 
 upon us strangely and said, "Guard the abbey 
 closely, squire, and leave it not, for the danger
 
 How we Rode back to Roxburgh Castle. 1 73 
 
 is greater than thou wottest of." Nevertheless, 
 we understood not his words, and believed not 
 that any man would be so bold as to despise 
 the Holy Feast of the Resurrection, and to 
 profane it with treachery and bloodshed.
 
 174 
 
 Chapter XVIII. 
 
 Of the Taking of Roxbiirgh Castle. 
 
 Now though it is but a little way to go to 
 Kelso, yet because the hour was late and the 
 night dark, it was long ere we could come by a 
 boat and pass over the river ; therefore the 
 night was far advanced ere we came to the 
 abbey. And when we were come Thomas de 
 Hassynden received us joyfully, and poured 
 forth into our ears all the tale of his fears. But 
 when we had examined the matter, lo ! it was 
 Hood himself who had given warning to the 
 holy father of his peril. And when we heard 
 that, the squire and I looked the one upon the 
 other, and a horrible dread took hold of us, for 
 we knew him to be a crafty and dangerous man. 
 And the squire would fain have returned im- 
 mediately to the castle, but the warden would 
 in no wise consent ; yea, methinks he would 
 have shut the doors fast and held us both
 
 Of the Taking of Roxburgh Castle. 175 
 
 prisoners, had the squire insisted on depart- 
 ing. 
 
 But forasmuch as he knew not where the 
 danger lay, he agreed to tarry until the morning. 
 And going up into the tower of the church, we 
 gazed out into the night, and through the dark- 
 ness there came to us from a distance many a 
 strange unwonted sound, but about us all was 
 peace. 
 
 And at break of day, ere the sun was risen, 
 John de Copeland rose up and went forth, 
 promising to return in little space, and leaving 
 me, as it were, as an hostage. Yet I was sore 
 unwilling to be left, and tarried for his return 
 with a heavy heart. And the minutes seemed 
 long to me, and I was filled with forebodings of 
 evil. But as soon as day was come, and men 
 began to go forth to their work, it was in all 
 men's mouths that the castle of Roxburgh was 
 fallen into the hands of the Ramsay, and all 
 within were slain or taken. I know not who 
 first brought the tidings. It was as if the 
 winds of heaven had borne it to us. Yea, and 
 we soon needed none to confirm the tidings to 
 us, for the Scots rode about the streets of the
 
 i J 6 Of the Taking of Roxburgh Castle. 
 
 town and required all to come to the Scottish 
 peace. And my desire was to go forth hastily 
 and see the truth for myself. Also my heart 
 ached with longing to know what had befallen 
 my master. But the warden gave no heed to 
 my prayers and would not suffer me to depart, 
 for he pitied my youth ; therefore he made me 
 in truth a prisoner and shut the doors upon me. 
 And of that long day of sorrow I will tell 
 nothing, for it was as if the waves were gone 
 over my head, for the glory was departed from 
 my people, and the enemy had triumphed, and 
 I had drawn no sword against them, and my 
 master also, methought, lay dead. 
 
 But when the shades of evening fell, and my 
 heart seemed like to burst, there came a monk 
 to me and said that there was one below asking 
 for me, and going hastily down to the porter's 
 lodge, I saw standing before me the traitor, 
 the Judas himself, to wit Hood, and on his 
 brow was written shame, but about his mouth 
 triumph and exultation. And I started back and 
 would have fled from him, as one flees from a 
 deadly serpent, but he cried to me scornfully, 
 " Nay, thou needst not fear me, and thou shalt
 
 Of the Taking of Roxburgh Castle. 177 
 
 not contemn me. I come not to thee for evil, 
 but rather to save thee from the hands of the 
 Scots, and thy master too, perchance, if so be 
 he die not first." 
 
 Then, when he spake of my master, I could 
 not forbear to listen, yet my heart smote me as 
 though it were sin to be with him and hold 
 converse with him ; but he, making a show of 
 great haste, answered nothing to my questions, 
 but bade me conceal my armour beneath the 
 garments of a husbandman which he had brought 
 with him, and follow him quickly. And the 
 brethren, seeing he was of the Scottish party, 
 durst not gainsay him, and permitted me to go 
 forth. So he passed on with mighty strides 
 through the streets and down to the waterside, 
 and there we entered into a boat and passed 
 over ; and as he rowed he did at times laugh 
 low and mutter to himself, speaking of "broad 
 lands and riches," and once he did turn fiercely 
 to me and asked, saying, " Knowest thou I am 
 become a mighty lord ? " but I answered not, 
 for he seemed to me as one distraught and that 
 knew not what he said. And when we landed 
 and I looked up and beheld the Scottish flag upon 
 
 N
 
 1 78 Of the Taking of Roxburgh Castle. 
 
 the battlements, I smote my hands together 
 and could scarce refrain from wailing aloud. 
 Then, turning aside from the castle, he led me 
 to the back side of the houses that have gathered 
 about the foot of the hill, and entering into one 
 from whence the inhabitants were fled, he passed 
 through to the yard. And I, following, with 
 my heart filled with a new hope, beheld under 
 the shelter of a barn roof my master lying. 
 And Hood stood at a distance as if he feared 
 to come near, yet I marked that the squire lay 
 as one who had been carefully tended, for the 
 straw had been shaken out thick and soft, and 
 his wounds had been washed and bound up as 
 with a tender hand. Then Hood said to me, 
 " Go near and see if he liveth yet." 
 
 And I answered, " Yea, he liveth and 
 sleepeth softly. Where didst thou find him ? 
 Tell me how it befell." 
 
 And he answered, speaking with a thick 
 voice, "His wounds are of his own choosing. 
 Thou knowest I gave him warning, and bade 
 him tarry in Kelso. What madness possessed 
 him to come hither ? Could he hope to win 
 back the castle by himself alone, when all 

 
 Of the Taking of Roxburgh Castle. 1 79 
 
 within were overcome ? But hearken to me, 
 lad ; here can he not rest in safety. I found 
 him lying by the roadside and hid him here, 
 but when the morning cometh he will be 
 found." 
 
 Then I said, " But how is it possible that he 
 should depart hence ? " 
 
 And he led me to a gate and showed me 
 how there stood there a cart ready laden with 
 hay and said, " We will lay him thereon, and 
 thou shalt drive and go to the grange that be- 
 longeth to Kelso, near to Redden. There will 
 they receive him, for he is well known to them, 
 and will tend him till he be healed." 
 
 So we lifted him from the ground and laid 
 him thereon ; yet did it almost pass our powers, 
 for he was of great stature and heavy, and I 
 marvelled that he woke not, though he groaned 
 deeply in his sleep. And Hood had made 
 ready in the cart a store of provision for the 
 road, and he covered the sick man with his own 
 cloak. And he took hold of the horse s rein 
 and led him forth to the road, and we set forth. 
 But when we were past all the houses and 
 were come into a lonely part, he loosed his hold 
 
 N 2
 
 1 80 Of the Taking of Roxburgh Castle. 
 
 on the rein, and came back and looked once 
 more sadly on him who once had been his 
 master, and then turned and went back to the 
 castle. 
 
 And though I knew him to be a foul traitor, 
 and unworthy to be the comrade of honest 
 men, yet when he was departed I did almost 
 sink into despair, and my heart died within me. 
 Nevertheless, after a while, I plucked up courage 
 again and went on my journey ; but the way 
 was long, and I was sore weary ere I came to 
 the grange. Neither did we find there the rest 
 we looked for, because the country was full of 
 the bands of the Scots, and the keeper of the 
 grange feared to shelter us. Nevertheless we 
 tarried there two days, and he gave us all that 
 we needed and conveyed us safely and with all 
 care to Berwick town.
 
 jSi 
 
 Chapter XIX. 
 
 How the Father Adam told the Squire a 
 Tale of a Vision. 
 
 So we came again to the place where but a 
 little before we had entered so gay at heart. 
 And the squire, having many friends in the 
 town, was well tended and cared for ; but he lay 
 many weeks sore sick and nigh unto death, for 
 the cold night air and cold journey aggravated 
 his wounds and made them hard to heal. Also 
 a slow fever preyed upon him and took away 
 his strength. And as he lay thus upon his bed, 
 his thoughts dwelt much on those questionings 
 which had troubled his mind when he returned 
 to Roxburgh. And at times he did almost 
 resolve to take upon him the habit of a monk, 
 and pass the rest of his life in prayer and fast- 
 ing, that he might do away the sins of his 
 youth. " And yet, lad," he would say, smiling
 
 182 How the Father Adam told the Squire 
 
 upon me, "methinks I should soon repent me 
 of my vow as thou didst." Also, though he 
 spake not of it, the image of the fair Joan de 
 Coucy dwelt ever in his mind. 
 
 And one day, when he spake thereof to me, 
 I asked him wherefore he took not counsel of 
 some holy men concerning the matter. And 
 he answered me, " K no west thou where the 
 father Adam tarrieth, for I have oft desired to 
 ask him wherefore he discouraged thee ? " And 
 seeing that his heart was set upon it, I inquired 
 of all my acquaintance concerning the father, 
 and of every one whom I met, asking whether 
 he tarried yet at Melrose. And at the last one 
 told me that he being about to return to Furness, 
 the Dame de Coucy had sent to him, praying 
 him to journey with her, for she purposed also 
 to depart from Berwick and go back to her own 
 country. He came therefore to the town, and 
 I, making no delay, found him and brought him 
 to the sick squire. And at the first Copeland 
 spake not of his doubt, but because he found 
 pleasure in the monk's company, the father 
 Adam came often while he tarried in the town, 
 and sat beside him and gave him comfort, being,
 
 a Tale of a Vision. 183 
 
 as I have noted before, a man ready of speech, 
 and apt at exhortation. So at the last he opened 
 all his heart to him. Yea, methinks he even 
 spake of his love, for it chanced that the Dame 
 de Coucy, hearing from the father of his sick- 
 ness, had bidden him carry from her a message 
 of pity and kindness. And the father, to calm 
 his spirit and lay at rest his doubts, recounted 
 to him the history of a marvellous vision which 
 he himself had once beheld, sitting in the 
 scriptorium of the abbey of St. Mary. And 
 because it seemeth to me exceeding strange and 
 wondrous, I will write it here as he related it. 
 For I also sat in the squire's chamber that 
 day by the open window in idleness, the heat 
 being very great, and listened while he spake. 
 Now the squire had asked him touching the 
 guilt of blood shed in battle, and had told him 
 how it lay like a stone on his heart, so that 
 it seemed to him it could only be taken away 
 by a life of prayer and almsdeeds. He had 
 spoken also of the great delight he took in 
 deeds of arms and in the rush of the battle 
 and the overthrow of the enemy. 
 
 Then the monk answered, " Concerning this
 
 1 84 How the Father Adam told the Squire 
 
 thing also I am able to give thee good counsel, 
 for I have pondered much thereupon. But 
 listen to me, and I will tell thee a tale of a 
 thing which once befell me. For I, Brother 
 Adam of Wath, on the eve of the feast of 
 St. Michael six years past, was sitting before 
 my book and resting my eyes thereupon, but 
 the thoughts of my head would by no means 
 dwell there ; for though with my bodily sight 
 I perceived dimly the written words, amid the 
 glad colours and fair designs with which the 
 limner had bedecked it, the eyes of my spirit 
 beheld other sights and things, strange and 
 marvellous to my apprehension. And though 
 none can say how the mind of man is turned 
 about, for that it often chanceth that thoughts 
 arise there without cause, or of which the cause 
 would be far to seek, yet would I have it known 
 that my spirit at that time was sore perplexed, 
 yea, tossed to and fro like the restless sea ; and 
 the cause of my trouble was certain strange 
 questionings and evil suggestions poured into 
 my mind by a brother but newly come to the 
 abbey, one Brother John of Egglescliff. Now 
 he, being as it were by nature an uneasy spirit,
 
 a Tale of a Vision. 185 
 
 and sore tried by unquiet and vehement passions, 
 had of late been so tormented by them that he 
 gave vent to them in groans and sighs, yea, 
 even betimes in loud roarings, so that the 
 brethren looked askance on him, fearing that he 
 were possessed of an evil spirit ; neither would 
 they speak with him, and each one feared to be 
 alone with him. 
 
 Nevertheless I deemed these to be vain fears, 
 for when the fit was strongest upon him he 
 would cast himself before the altar, and there 
 pour forth his griefs with such tears and lamenta- 
 tions that my own eyes could scarce refrain from 
 weeping. And on this same day, the said vigil 
 of St. Michael, I tarried long beside him, seated 
 upon the tomb of the Crusader, the noble baron 
 of Kendal, seeking to assuage his grief and 
 calm his disturbed spirit. So I prayed him to 
 tell me his trouble, seeing perchance I might 
 lighten it ; nevertheless long time he lay 
 prostrate, shaken by his mighty sobs, and not 
 at all hearkening to my words. But when I 
 ceased not from urging him and praying him 
 instantly, he raised himself from the pavement, 
 and in a lamentable voice he cried, "How
 
 1 86 How the Father Adam told the Squire 
 
 should I be aught but miserable, seeing I fled 
 hither from my evil self, and now find, alas ! that 
 I have fled hither in vain ? " 
 
 Then I urged him further that he should tell 
 me wherefore he had come hither, and also of 
 his life before his coming ; for though he had 
 now dwelt some time with us, yet because of 
 his melancholy humours we had spoken but 
 little together. He was loath to tell of that 
 which had befallen him, but when I pressed 
 him with many questions he yielded to my 
 desire and spake, saying, " My father was near 
 akin to the Multons of Gillesland and held land 
 of them, and he was also much beloved by the 
 noble Lord Dacre, who carried away the heiress 
 of Gillesland while she was still in wardship. 
 He would often ride with him to the defence of 
 the lands of Gillesland, whither the Scots came, 
 wasting and destroying with fire and sword so 
 often that the whole land lay desolate ; but 
 because our house was built in a hidden spot, 
 for many years we dwelt safely, though in the 
 midst of danger ; and growing bold, we swore 
 to defend our home to the death, and to yield 
 to the Scots neither sheep nor ox. But the
 
 a Tale of a Vision. 1 8 7 
 
 Scots, having come again into the land, sought 
 to find out new fields to plunder, for there was 
 nought left for them to spoil. And they came 
 to the place where we dwelt, and the old man, 
 my father, being bound by his oath, fought for 
 his land and was slain ; but me they took, and 
 binding me with chains of iron, drove me with 
 many others, both men and women, into their 
 own country. And there I tarried long in the 
 excommunicate land, for I had none to redeem 
 me ; but at last I escaped by night. And 
 coming to my home and finding it desolate and 
 an abode of dragons, I vowed a great vow that 
 I would avenge my father's blood. So I joined 
 myself to the company of the bishop John 
 of Carlisle, and went with him and Lord Dacre 
 of Gillesland into the land where I had been 
 a captive, to waste it and destroy it. Neither 
 had I any rest in my spirit, save when I fought, 
 and all my pleasure was in destroying. I fought 
 not, as did many others, for wealth and spoil, 
 neither did any find mercy at my hands. But 
 after many years I repented myself, and the 
 blood that I had shed rose up before my 
 eyes, and I trembled with fear. Therefore I
 
 1 88 How the Father Adam told the Squire 
 
 determined to cast away my sword and to give 
 myself to prayer. So I came hither. But 
 forasmuch as William Bard, the slayer of my 
 father, liveth yet, the hunger of my soul is not 
 appeased, and my spirit crieth out to go again 
 against my foes, and to pour out their blood 
 like water. What availeth it, then, to be called 
 a man of peace while my soul longeth for war ? 
 to wear these holy garments and dwell within 
 these walls while my spirit is far away, seeking 
 for revenge ! " 
 
 And as he spake these things I trembled at 
 his words, for he was, as it were, carried away 
 by his wrath, and spake not as became a holy 
 man. But I considered within myself that I 
 had dwelt in peace my whole life long, and that 
 though the waves of tribulation had overflowed 
 this land, I had felt it not ; yea, even when the 
 cruel enemy came nigh us, as in 1322, we were 
 kept in safety. Also I considered that the 
 enemies against whom he raged fiercely were 
 excommunicate and under the curse, and I 
 sought with these things to comfort him. But 
 he shook his head, saying, " Nay, seek not thus 
 to comfort me. I am, as it were, an evil beast, an
 
 a Tale of a Vision. 189 
 
 unclean bird, loving only to tear in pieces and 
 devour." And I answered him again and said, 
 " Thou art but as thy name denoteth. Thou 
 art of Egglescliff, and rightly art thou called 
 John. Forasmuch, therefore, as the holy saint 
 is figured by an eagle, wherefore mournest thou 
 because thou possessest the spirit and nature 
 of an eagle ? There are still enemies of the 
 Church for thee to tear in pieces, and it becometh 
 thee well to rise high as the eagle doth, and to 
 fix thine eye upon the sun." But all my words 
 availed not ; he still mourned and wept, saying, 
 " I had thought to have left my fierce passions 
 without ; and how agreeth it with the properties 
 of an eagle to be shut up within walls ? "
 
 Chapter XX. 
 
 Of the Monies Tale. 
 
 Therefore I left him and returned to read 
 in the book ; nevertheless, as I have said, my 
 spirit came not with me, but tarried about 
 Brother John. For two matters in especial 
 perplexed me ; first, I thought how many sage 
 philosophers have taught that we have all the 
 nature and resemblance of one of the lower 
 creatures ; and also I wondered greatly what 
 hath led many monks to take upon them the 
 habit, wherefore Brother Hugh of Lancaster 
 and Brother Geoffrey of Bolton had quitted the 
 world and come hither, for in my poor judgment 
 they had better have tarried at home than come 
 hither to cause disputes and dissension ; nay, it 
 would have been better for the good fame of 
 the holy abbey if Father Hugh of Dal ton also 
 had never taken the vows, rather than have
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 191 
 
 brought down upon himself excommunication 
 and deposition by his unseemly conduct. For 
 these causes, therefore, was my spirit perplexed ; 
 neither could I put these thoughts aside, but 
 continued revolving them in my mind, and as 
 it were discoursing with myself concerning the 
 causes which govern the actions of men seek- 
 ing perchance to see further than is permitted 
 to the human understanding. And as I pon- 
 dered thereupon, a change passed over my 
 spirit, and it seemed to me that I sat yet beside 
 Brother John,., yet not as beforetime in the 
 church, but that all the brotherhood was met 
 together in Chapter. And the reading of the 
 rules being concluded, there came many pray- 
 ing to be received into our holy society, not 
 one alone, neither by twos and threes, but in 
 great companies, following one another without 
 pause, so that there seemed no end to them. 
 Yet I marvelled not ; neither did it appear 
 strange and marvellous to me that they came 
 not in their usual form and with their human 
 appearance, but as it were clothed in the like- 
 ness of diverse beasts, wild beasts of the forest, 
 and such also as the hand of man hath tamed,
 
 192 
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 
 
 or of the fowls of the air ; yea, there were 
 among them noisome reptiles and insects, and 
 creatures also of other lands, which I knew 
 only from the teachings of the philosophers. 
 
 Nevertheless, though their outward shape 
 was altered, yet were they all well known to 
 me, for they were all brothers dwelling in 
 the abbey. Moreover, when they had cast 
 themselves prostrate before the abbot, and he 
 had bidden them speak out their desires, they 
 answered not as the custom is, but each one, 
 speaking from his heart, told what had befallen 
 him, and how he had been moved to pray for 
 admission. And methought I turned me about 
 to see if Brother John attended to their words, 
 and lo ! he wore the semblance of an eagle, and
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 193 
 
 his wings were wide outspread, as one that 
 would fain flee away afar off. Then I turned 
 my eyes upon myself, thinking to see what 
 manner of monk I was, and behold I was 
 changed into a loquacious pie, and I said sighing, 
 "Yea, forsooth, my tongue hath brought many 
 a trouble upon me, neither could I number to 
 myself the penances I have endured through 
 the ill-doings thereof. Nevertheless it is but 
 a venial sin, and I will not afflict myself greatly 
 on this account. For it is well for a man, yea, 
 even for a monk, to be ready of speech, and 
 many a one has been lost for the want of a 
 word. Hath not history recorded the case of 
 many who have attained to great honour 
 through their pleasant discourse ? Yet I seek 
 not honours and dignities. Little lust I after 
 such things. Nay, I fear me I love comfort 
 and ease too well, and the pie denoteth me too 
 truly in this also, in that he builds his nest with 
 two holes, the one for entrance and the other 
 for exit, lest he should injure his tail." 
 
 Then Brother John prayed me to keep 
 silence (and methought there was fierceness in 
 his manner of speech), for he would hear what 
 
 o
 
 194 
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 
 
 the supplicants said. So I turned me again to 
 them, and lo ! Brother Nicholas of Kirkby was 
 praying to be received ; and Brother John said, 
 "Wherefore desireth he to enter here? I 
 warrant he has committed no mortal sin ! " 
 Now he was the latest come to the abbey, and 
 he appeared to us now as a frightened hare ; 
 but he had ever a look of terror, and would 
 
 turn to gaze behind him as if he were in danger. 
 So he, kneeling before the reverend father, told 
 him how he had dwelt in a little hamlet among 
 his friends and kinsfolk, and thither had come 
 a grievous sickness, cutting short the lives of 
 many. And he told how he had been smitten 
 with it, and was like to die, and when the fear 
 of death was strong upon him, he vowed a vow
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 195 
 
 that if the blessed Virgin would spare his life, 
 he would give himself to her worship and 
 service. Nevertheless he thought in his heart, 
 when the sickness departed from him and he 
 was made whole again, he would fail in the per- 
 formance of it. But on every side of him men 
 and women were struck down with the cruel 
 disease, and ere he was fully recovered all his 
 kinsfolk were perished, and his home was silent 
 and desolate, and he only was left alive. Then 
 he fled in terror from the place, and prayed us 
 earnestly to take him in, for he feared to dwell 
 alone. 
 
 And after him came Brother Adam of 
 Egremont, and Thomas Upton, and many 
 others, some who have taken the vows of 
 late years, and others who came long ago, and 
 they bore the semblance of oxen and sheep, 
 and prayed us earnestly to receive them, because 
 for many years there had been no rest in the 
 land, since the Scots began to ride through it 
 and waste it. For when the harvest was ready, 
 they would come in to carry it away, or to burn 
 it. And these men desired to dwell at ease and 
 in plenty, and that none should make them 
 
 o 2
 
 196 Of the Monk's Tale. 
 
 afraid. Therefore they offered us all that they 
 had, if we would shelter them from danger and 
 want. And among them came Brother Michael 
 of Beaumont, in the form of a proud war-horse, 
 for he had lost all his wealth at the hands of 
 the Scots, and disdained to live by the labour 
 of his hands. And seeing the land was so 
 wasted that there were no oxen left to work 
 in the fields, and over all the country side they 
 were forced to put the horses to the plough, he 
 feared that he might fall into like straits, and 
 chose rather to take upon him the vows of our 
 order, that he might yet be held in honour and 
 reverence among men. 
 
 And while I was pondering within myself 
 whether it were well to receive those who 
 came to us through the motion of such de- 
 sires, suddenly there appeared a brave young 
 cockerel, who in a clear, sweet voice cried out 
 to be received. And I knew him to be young 
 Nicholas Haukenshaw, and I saw him again, 
 not as now, old and grey and wrinkled with age 
 and care, but as I saw him first, bright with 
 youth and gladness of heart. And he spake as 
 a well-instructed orator, and told us how oft he
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 
 
 197 
 
 had sat by the red pillar in the church, and how 
 his soul had longed to join in the sweet singing. 
 And he had thought within himself that his 
 voice should rise high and clear above the 
 voices of the other monks, and men would 
 come from all the country side to hear him. 
 Yea, and also he would stand in the pulpit 
 to exhort the 
 people, and his 
 burning words 
 should stir them 
 up to zeal and 
 ardour as none 
 before had done. 
 " Receive me, 
 fathers, "he cried, 
 "ye are old, and 
 have grown dull 
 and lifeless ; your words are without fire or 
 force, and move not the hearts of men. But I 
 will speak so that men shall hang on my lips, 
 and mourn when I cease my preaching, and 
 hasten at my bidding to pour their wealth at your 
 feet. I will bring you honour and glory, and will 
 spread your name abroad through all the world,
 
 198 Of the Monk's Tale. 
 
 and revive the fame of the Cistercians as the 
 blessed Saint Bernard did in days gone by." 
 Then said Brother John to me, " Is he such a 
 one as should be received ? " And seeing that 
 he doubted thereof because of the form in 
 which he showed himself, I answered quickly, 
 " Nay, hath not the cock ever betokened a 
 doctor of the Church ? Doth he not ever call 
 his brood together and feed them with pure 
 grain ? Doth he not awaken them from 
 slumber at the dawn of day, and cry to them to 
 cast off sloth ? Doth he not first stir up him- 
 self, beating himself with his wings before he 
 singeth. See his crest and his weapons to do 
 battle with our foes, and how strong and ready 
 he is for the fight ! Surely it were well to open 
 wide our arms to him." 
 
 And after him came Brother Michael, of 
 whom all men judged, from the soberness of 
 his demeanour and the gravity of his conversa- 
 tion, that it was meet and right that he should 
 dwell within the cloisters. And he bore the 
 semblance of a raven, wearing that most 
 excellent of all colours the black hue, and 
 speaking with the authority of one whom all
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 199 
 
 held to be a prophet, for he had made his nest 
 on high and dwelt above the world. " Yet," 
 said John of EgglesclifT, " the raven leaving 
 the ark would not return thither again, and 
 wherefore ? Because he loved that which was 
 foul and corrupt." 
 
 Then there came some bringing, as it were, 
 a young kitten to be received, and this was 
 Brother Geoffrey of Bolton, and he was too 
 young to be received lawfully ; nevertheless, 
 forasmuch as great gifts were made to the 
 abbey, we refused him not. And because of 
 the power that worked upon all men in my 
 dream and made them utter all their minds, 
 they laid bare before us their reasons for bring- 
 ing him to us. And these were that he came 
 of a savage race, and seeing they had done 
 him great ill they feared to let him grow up 
 among them, and sought rather to shut him up 
 while he was young and tender. And with 
 him came a great fowl called an ostrich, a bird 
 which, although it hath wings, cannot fly, because 
 of its heavy body. Moreover, it feedeth even 
 on iron, being of mighty digestion. And I 
 knew this to be his uncle Thomas, who should
 
 200 Of the Monk's Tale. 
 
 have guarded him and his wealth, but instead 
 thereof leaving him, as the ostrich doth her 
 eggs, to the mercy of all who pass by, feigned 
 to be wholly given up to heavenly contempla- 
 tion. 
 
 Then came one whom all the brethren re- 
 ceived with joy ; yet was he not of our land nor 
 of our people, but had his birth in a country 
 of the East, and his name was Peter Sarrasin. 
 He appeared as a bird of the air, in form like a 
 falcon, with curved beak of marvellous strength, 
 but in hue a glad bright green, with a ring of 
 red round his neck. Men call them popinjays, 
 and love them much, for they are better for 
 making mirth than all the singers and players 
 in the world. Solinus saith they dwell only in 
 the Indies, but many say they love the moun- 
 tains of Gilboa, where there is neither dew nor 
 rain. So the brethren welcomed him gladly, 
 and required not from him many prayers ; but 
 his tongue being made for speech, he entertained 
 us long with the cause of his coming to us, 
 telling us of the many lands and people he had 
 seen and tarried amongst : " Yet," saith he, for 
 he was cunning in flattery, " I found in no land
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 201 
 
 that which my heart longed after until I came 
 into this Vale of the Deadly Nightshade, which 
 ye have made green with every sweet and 
 profitable herb. For I had lingered at Lan- 
 caster, thinking there to find a resting-place 
 after the weary wanderings of my life, and I 
 surveyed the abode of the Black Monks and 
 the house of the Preaching Friars, but my heart 
 misgave me that my home was not there. So 
 I rested not long, but betook myself to my 
 journeying once more, and went across the 
 sands at low tide, and when I stood again on 
 firm ground I climbed the hills and saw below 
 me the priory of Black Canons standing in the 
 plain, and the houses of Cartmell clustered 
 about it, and as the sun sank behind the hill, 
 the valley appeared to my sight so peaceful 
 that I craved to dwell there ; but turning me 
 about I saw at my left hand the treacherous 
 sea and the lonely sands which I had traversed 
 with a quaking heart, for the country folk had 
 told of many who had been lost there, and I 
 desired no longer to dwell in sight of them. So 
 I came down the hill again and stood awhile by 
 the graves of those who had been swallowed up,
 
 202 
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 
 
 and then, ere my courage was altogether ebbed 
 away, I passed on to the sands again and came 
 to the island, where the holy monk prayeth con- 
 tinually for wayfarers and for the souls of those 
 whom the sea devoureth, and thence I came to 
 Ulverston and passed on to Dalton. And I 
 wearied sore to find an abode of peace, and 
 asked of all men whom I met where I should 
 find a place in which to end my days without 
 trouble and sorrow ; but when my eyes rested 
 upon this holy dwelling, filling the little valley to 
 the foot of the hills, clad with oak and ash, and 
 glorious with its stately arches, like a ruby set in 
 emeralds, then I knew my journey was ended, 
 and I had found all that heart could wish."
 
 2 Cn 
 
 Chapter XXI. 
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 
 
 Now whether it be that Brother John prayed 
 me to depart out of the chapter-house at this 
 time, or that my mind, which indeed groweth 
 weak with age, retaineth not the memory of 
 those that came after, I know not. For though 
 I can as it were see before me a great multitude 
 of diverse forms and hear the voices of many 
 birds and beasts, yet can I not recall their words. 
 But after a short space it seemeth to me that 
 I passed with Brother John to the cloisters, 
 and thence to the open court. And as we 
 went, Brother John gave forth many piercing 
 cries and lamentations, and the sum of what 
 he said was this, " Among false brethren ! In 
 perils among false brethren ! " But when I 
 could endure his indignation and wrath no 
 longer, I besought him to have patience, and
 
 204 Of the Montis Tale. 
 
 reasoned with him thus, saying, " Thou judgest 
 all men harshly, and not thyself alone. But 
 bethink thee a little space how evil the times 
 have been these many years. And evil times 
 bring not forth good men ! The Scottish 
 wolves have wasted all these parts these fifty 
 years, and though many have arisen to defend 
 us and to return upon their own heads that 
 which they had done to us, yet is the saying of 
 the Psalmist true, "The good man is perished 
 out of the land." But if this land dwell once 
 more, as I trust it will, in liberty and peace, 
 we shall see virtue and goodness again spring 
 up among us. Nevertheless, when evil is 
 abroad in the world, why dost thou think it 
 sinful that men should hide from the storm ? 
 Is it sinful to love quiet and to shun peril and 
 suffering ? " 
 
 But Brother John refused to hear me, saying, 
 " Thou, also, art corrupted and hast fallen back 
 into the ways of the world which thou hast 
 forsaken." 
 
 Therefore I said again, " Moreover, thou 
 hast overlooked many, and those to whom 
 we listened were but few of the brethren.
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 
 
 205 
 
 Doubtless, hadst thou heard them all, thou 
 wouldst have approved many. Also thou hast 
 forgotten that he who becometh a monk is said 
 to become a new man. Let us now consider 
 our brethren, and see how good it is to enter 
 these holy walls, remembering that which they 
 would have been had they tarried without." 
 
 So we wandered beneath the trees and in the 
 shadow of the cloister, and marked well the 
 words and doings of those who dwelt there. 
 And coming to a certain secluded spot, which 
 the trees, clustering thick, hid from the view of 
 the unobserving, lo ! there was lying in a ditch 
 the body of a fox. So still he lay that it seemed
 
 206 Of the Monk's Tale. 
 
 to our eyes that the breath had departed from 
 him, and the birds of the air also were gathering 
 about him. Yea, a crow came with stealthy- 
 tread and plucked hard at his fur. And I, 
 when I beheld him, cried aloud for wonder ; 
 but Brother John knew him not, and asked, 
 saying, "Who and whence is he?" Then 
 quoth I, " This is he who once ruled this holy 
 abbey, Hugh of Dalton by name, but he was 
 deposed from his office, and they filled up his 
 seat with another." And Brother John prayed 
 me, saying, "Tell me the cause of his fall, for 
 though I have heard many speak thereof, yet 
 know I not wherefore he was deposed." But 
 I answered, "In vain dost thou urge me, for 
 of this matter it is not good to speak. Never- 
 theless, as the fox will deal with these silly 
 fowls, so dealt Abbot Hugh with those that 
 dwelt nigh him." And even as I spake the fox 
 leapt lightly to his feet, and as he ran quickly 
 into the thicket we beheld that he bore away 
 between his teeth the over-bold crow. 
 
 Then saith Brother John, " Such as he are 
 an evil disease, of which the infection spreadeth 
 widely. Ye are all tainted therewith ; " but as
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 207 
 
 he spake, lo! there broke forth from the branches 
 of the thick trees the sound of a plaintive cooing, 
 and I, glad at heart to have wherewith I might 
 answer his reproaches, led him forth to a place 
 where he might behold Brother Robert of 
 Holme clad in the soft plumage of a turtle- 
 dove, white as the driven snow, and pouring 
 forth the longing of his heart for Him who is 
 passed into the heavens. And Brother John 
 gazed long at the sight, and sighed and spake 
 softly to himself, saying, " There are not many 
 like him." " Like him ? " quoth I. " Nay, such 
 birds have ever been rare. In good sooth, thou 
 thyself art in all things most contrary to him, 
 and yet I warrant thou art honest according to 
 thy nature, yea, and noble in deed and word. 
 Hast thou never dealt with thy weaker foes 
 as they say the sparrow-hawk dealeth with the 
 bat, which it seizeth of a cold evening, holding 
 it to his breast the livelong night for the warmth 
 which it imparteth, and letting it go in the 
 morning for recompense without damage ? " 
 " Speak not of me," he saith, " but find me 
 rather more brethren like Brother Robert." 
 So we turned again to the courtyard ; and as
 
 208 
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 
 
 we went we passed Brother John, the sub-prior, 
 standing like a crane keeping watch lest any 
 should approach to do a mischief to the flock, 
 and as he stood perched on one leg, he held in 
 the other foot a stone. For he thought within 
 himself, " Perchance in my weakness I shall fall 
 asleep : then will the stone fall from my grasp, 
 and awaken me : thus shall I ever be ready, 
 
 when the enemy cometh, to lift up my voice 
 like a trumpet and give warning of his ap- 
 proach." And above his head, on the branch 
 of a tree, sat Brother Peter Sarrasin, and would 
 fain hold discourse with him, but he, being 
 wholly occupied with his duty, paid him no heed. 
 Then it seemed to me that Brother Peter was 
 full glad of our coming, having great desire to
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 209 
 
 hold converse with some one, and he detained 
 us, asking wherefore Brother John looked so 
 sad and downcast. And because he answered 
 him nought, I spake for him, saying, "He 
 mistrusteth all the brethren, and bewaileth sore 
 that he dwelleth among ravening beasts." 
 
 " Nay, brother," cried Peter, " thou knowest 
 not what thou sayest. Not alone in this holy 
 abbey, but throughout this whole land, all is 
 peace and goodness in comparison with those 
 countries where I have sojourned. Hear but a 
 little of that which I can tell thee, and thou wilt 
 rejoice in that which thou hast. Tarry here a 
 while with me, rest thyself upon this rock, and 
 thou, Brother Adam, perch beside me on the 
 tree, and listen to me for a short space while I 
 tell thee of the lands in the East." 
 
 And seeing he had prevailed with us, and that 
 we disposed ourselves to hearken to him, he 
 ruffled up his feathers, and drawing nearer to 
 me, looking upon us with one of his eyes, he 
 began, "Ye have heard, doubtless, much of the 
 wonders of the East : ye have seen the silk 
 cloth that merchants bring from those lands, fit 
 raiment for princes and emperors, gay with 
 
 P
 
 2 1 o Of the Monk's Tale. 
 
 every various hue, the precious stones, beryls, 
 carbuncles and adamants, together with the 
 abundance of sweet-smelling herbs which distil 
 incense and gum by which sick men are healed 
 and venom is expelled. It may be, ye have 
 read of the hills of gold, and of the marvellous 
 fertility of the land that bringeth forth corn twice 
 in the year. Yea, I myself have seen there a tree 
 so huge and widespread that many companies 
 of men may sit beneath it. Many marvels are 
 to be seen there so great that ye would scarce 
 credit my words if I were to speak of them. 
 
 But in those lands also there is death ever 
 at hand. The sun smiteth thee with his 
 rays ; the sky terrifieth thee with thunder and 
 lightnings ; cold and heat alike bring thy life 
 suddenly to an end ; thou fearest to drink water, 
 or to smell an evil smell, lest sickness come 
 quickly upon thee. There also aboundeth every 
 fierce and horrible beast. There dwelleth the 
 lynx whose sight can pierce through nine walls, 
 the tio-er swift as the waters of the river which 
 is called by his name, the unicorn which cannot 
 be tamed, the elephant which hath a trumpet for 
 a nose through which he swalloweth his food ;
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 
 
 21 I 
 
 yea, and some are so mighty of stature that 
 they can swallow a man. There also is the 
 great foe of the elephant, the fire-breathing 
 dragon, which ever seeketh to cool his burning 
 heat with the blood of the elephant, leaping upon 
 him from the bough of a tree. Then he sucketh 
 his blood till he sroweth intoxicated there- 
 
 with, and when the elephant falleth from feeble- 
 ness, he falleth with him and is crushed. He 
 flieth ever with his mouth open, seeking to cool 
 himself, and out of his mouth cometh venom 
 which appeareth like smoke, but if any one is 
 touched by it he is scorched and burnt. There 
 also dwelleth every poisonous asp and viper, 
 
 p 2
 
 212 
 
 Of the Monk's Talc. 
 
 and in especial the basilisk, which groweth some- 
 times to be as thick as a tree, and hath eighteen 
 feet in leneth. On his head he beareth a crest 
 in form like a crown, and all who meet the 
 glance of his eye are slain by it ; yea, even the 
 little birds who fly over his head fall to the 
 earth dead. There also ye may meet the 
 gluttonous crocodile, who liveth both on land 
 and in the water. He, if he can find a man, 
 
 will seize and devour him, shedding tears of 
 false pity the while. To him is the serpent a 
 deadly enemy, and when he lieth sleeping with 
 his mouth open, the serpent will enter into his 
 throat and destroy him, devouring his entrails. 
 
 I will say nought of the venomous scorpion, 
 which devoureth all her young save one, by 
 which in her turn she dieth, for, climbing on her
 
 Of the Monies Tale. 
 
 21 
 
 head, he slayeth her ; neither of the salamander, 
 which, passing through the fire, extinguished it 
 with the cold of his body, and poisoneth the tree 
 on which he climbeth, so that it brino-eth forth 
 deadly fruit ; for these are found also in other 
 lands. But remember ye not the hissing veno- 
 mous serpents and horrid monsters of which 
 the great Alexander wrote, birds with men's 
 
 faces, white lions, bats with great teeth, griffons, 
 whose wings when outspread would touch the 
 houses on both sides as they passed down a street, 
 and who seized men with their mighty claws 
 and strangled them, dragons with ram's horns, 
 and the horrible beast odontotyrannus, bigger 
 and mightier than an elephant, with a great black 
 head and three sharp horns in his forehead ? "
 
 2 1 4 Of the Monk's Tale. 
 
 Now I, Adam Wath, have ever had especial 
 delight in hearing of the marvellous things that 
 Nature produceth, and do continually seek to 
 gather from the lips of travellers the history of 
 that which they have beheld, as bees gather 
 the honey which falleth from the air at the time 
 of the rising of the stars, or when the rainbow 
 is spread over the earth. Nevertheless, seeing 
 that Brother John grew wearied with his tedious 
 tales, and also secretly fearing that he spake 
 not of that only which he himself had seen, I 
 sought to interrupt him. 
 
 Therefore I spake, saying, "Thou tellest 
 us, Brother Peter, of the perils of the East, 
 but of the perils of this land thou knowest 
 nought. For thou art come hither in a time 
 of peace, when the enemy is humbled, and 
 forced to dwell quietly. But in days past 
 it was not so. Then, when the harvest was 
 ripe, there would come out of the north bands 
 of armed men to reap it, or to trample it 
 down beneath their horses' feet. And they 
 came like companies of hungry wolves, killing 
 men and women, old and young, orphans and 
 widows, burning and destroying everywhere,
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 2 1 5 
 
 sparing neither churches nor graveyards, and 
 carrying away our flocks and herds, yea, and 
 crowds also of miserable captives. The land 
 then was desolate, and the fields were oft left 
 uncultivated through the sore oppression where- 
 with the Scots oppressed us. For they were 
 lifted up with pride and said among themselves, 
 " Come, and let us destroy the English, that 
 their name may be no more remembered." 
 Many a time did they lay siege to the city of 
 Carlisle, and burnt the lands and palace of the 
 holy bishop ; and here also were we oft aroused 
 by the warning beacon, and were forced to hide 
 our treasures in the strong castle on the sand." 
 But, all this time, Brother John sat as one 
 chafed in his mind, ever and anon breaking 
 forth into cries. Ere, therefore, my words were 
 ended, he spread his wings for flight, and stand- 
 ing up on the rock, flapping them on either side 
 with great vehemence, as if our words angered 
 him much, he broke forth into bitter reproaches, 
 saying, ''Your thoughts and desires are set 
 only on peace and comfort, neither have ye any 
 longing for higher things. Of what importance 
 is it to know whether the lands of the East or
 
 2 1 6 Of the Monk's Tale. 
 
 the West are better to dwell in ? Should the 
 spirit of a holy man be troubled because he 
 liveth in the midst of peril and danger ? What 
 mattereth it to him if the air be laden with 
 noxious vapours, and death walk on every 
 hand ? Camest thou hither to seek health and 
 ease for thy body, forsaking only the troubles 
 of the world, and not its delights ! " 
 
 And he would have forsaken me and gone 
 his way alone, but I followed close behind 
 him, and together we wandered through the 
 cloisters and into the chambers of the abbey, 
 and wheresoever the brethren were, either 
 at work or in idleness, to observe them, and 
 judge whether their coming thither had pro- 
 fited them. And the sum of our observa- 
 tions was that those who had come to us, 
 like sheep and oxen from lands desolate and 
 wasted, had prospered and flourished among 
 us, and often had been not only blessed them- 
 selves, but also had blessed others greatly. 
 Yea, and there were some also, creatures of 
 strange natures, who, coming among us, had 
 laid aside their evil customs, and had put on 
 the habits of civilized men. But of the
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 2 1 7 
 
 others, Geoffrey of Bolton, the cat of savage 
 race, could by no means be tamed, but dwelt 
 among us ever as an enemy, a peril to all 
 the brethren and a torment to himself. Neither 
 did young Nicholas Haukenshaw find that 
 which he had hoped, for his ambitious desires 
 had been crushed and his voice silenced, and 
 now was he sore at heart, with fallen crest and 
 drooping feathers. 
 
 Then said Brother John sadly, " There be 
 some with whom it agreeth well to live under 
 rule ; but it changeth not our nature. Such as 
 we are when we take the vows, such do we re- 
 main." And as he spake, it seemed to me that 
 we were once more within the church, and the 
 brethren were assembling for 
 matins, and there entered in pro- 
 cession all of those whom in the 
 confusion of my thoughts I had 
 summoned up before my mind's 
 eye, of days present and days 
 gone by, and so they passed on 
 in their strange semblances, and 
 the abbot was John Cockerham, 
 and he appeared in the form of one of those
 
 218 
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 
 
 mighty ants of which the learned doctor Pliny 
 telleth us, who gather gold from the caverns 
 of the earth, and are of the colour of cats, and 
 as big as the wolves of Egypt. And as they 
 took each one his place, it appeared to me 
 that the sun rose up above the hill and darted 
 his rays through the great east window, and 
 
 they fell upon me. Then I awoke, and, lo ! 
 the sun was setting, and I was sitting yet 
 before my book, whose pages were adorned 
 with curious forms of living creatures. And 
 for awhile I sat amazed, wondering greatly 
 at that which I had seen. Yet it seemeth to me 
 my dream needeth no interpreter, but is clear 
 to the understanding of all. For that there are
 
 Of the Monies Tale. 2 1 9 
 
 many who take upon them the habit of a monk, 
 and are not true at heart, none will deny. 
 Neither do such vows aid a man in any degree. 
 Nevertheless there are many things to be ob- 
 served around us which teach that the nature 
 may be changed. See we not continually 
 the caterpillar crawling and creeping without 
 raising his eyes from that whereon he feedeth ; 
 yet is he changed into the brightly painted 
 butterfly, flitting whithersoever he will ? Doth 
 
 not the adder, having fasted many days, seek 
 for a hole in a stone, and creeping through it 
 leave behind him his old skin and come out, as 
 it were, to a new life ? Yea, and yet more, have 
 not all philosophers taught concerning the eagle, 
 that when his limbs grow unwieldy, and his 
 beak worn, and his flight feeble, and his eyes 
 dim, he seeketh a fountain and soareth up 
 above it through the seven heavens till he
 
 220 Of the Monies Tale. 
 
 attaineth to the sun ? There he hovereth, 
 gazing thereupon until his eyes grow bright 
 and his feathers are burnt off him, and he 
 falleth for the heat down into the fountain be- 
 neath, and cometh forth thence wholly renewed. 
 If a man, therefore, go to the great Sun and 
 bathe himself in the pure Fountain, shall not 
 he also come forth all new ? 
 
 Such lessons should we learn from the beasts 
 
 and birds. Yea, and from the insects and 
 creeping things also. 
 
 With such words as these did I comfort 
 and strengthen Brother John of Egglescliff, 
 and methinketh thou also, Squire John, mayest 
 be instructed by them. For though I would 
 not speak evil of the life of the holy monk, 
 yet are there many who, not being able to 
 endure the hardships thereof, do but bring
 
 Of the Monk's Tale. 2 2 1 
 
 upon it scorn and reproach. And also I would 
 have thee consider that this land needeth 
 greatly men to defend it. For David the 
 Bruce is returned to his kingdom, and he 
 hath been a son of Belial from his childhood 
 to this day. Therefore gird up thy loins like 
 a man, and strengthen thine heart, that thou 
 mayest keep this land in peace and safety by 
 the might of thy right hand.
 
 222 Hozu the Scots began again 
 
 Chapter XXII. 
 
 Huw the Scots began again to come into 
 England. 
 
 The squire therefore listened to the monk's 
 tale, and, considering it well, his heart was 
 strengthened, and his countenance was no more 
 sad. And when the Dame de Coucy at her 
 departing passed down the street, I riding with 
 her company to see them on their way until 
 they were out of the town, he arose from his 
 bed and put his head forth from his window to 
 look upon her, and she sent by me a message 
 of greeting to him. 
 
 At that time came tidings to the town which 
 grieved him to the heart, and indeed made all 
 the country stand aghast for very horror and 
 shame that such things could be. I speak but 
 of that which all men know, how the noble 
 Ramsay, he who had led the Scots at the jousts
 
 to come into England. 22, 
 
 by Berwick town, he by whose hand the castle 
 of Roxburgh had fallen, because he had been 
 rewarded by his master the Bruce, and made 
 sheriff of Teviotdale and governor of the castle, 
 had been foully slain by the Douglas from cruel 
 envy and jealousy. Alas ! that a knight of 
 such renown could so stain his honour, and with 
 bold insolence and pitiless cruelty seize him by 
 whose side he had so often fought, even as he 
 sat upon the judgment seat, and bearing him to 
 his own castle leave him there to perish with 
 hunger. All men lamented him, for he was a 
 worthy knight, but the squire, as I have said, 
 loved him well and grieved for him in truth. 
 
 But, as Father Adam said truly, this was no 
 time for idleness, for with the return of David 
 the Bruce began mischief for the borderlands. 
 Perchance, being brought back to the throne 
 by the swords of others, he desired to win 
 some honour for himself ; for though he was, in 
 truth, a man little to be commended, yet had he 
 valour and loved fighting. Thus at his first 
 coming he rode often over the border, wastino- 
 and destroying, leaving us indeed little rest, 
 though he returned not always with a full hand.
 
 224 How the Scots began again 
 
 But of this time I will say little, saving that 
 de Copeland increased ever in honour and 
 renown, being made by the King a warden of 
 the Eastern Marches with Umfraville and the 
 Percy and Lord Nevill, and being ever ready 
 for the defence of the land. And, indeed, 
 when he was risen up from his sick bed, he 
 was, as it were, a new man, for all the clouds 
 were passed away from his brow, and he would 
 ride forth day by day, as if the sun shone ever 
 upon him, singing with a loud voice — 
 
 " Till thou hast worthily won thy name, 
 And art become a knight of fame." 
 
 Now it fell out that but a little while after 
 the coming of David the Bruce, the time 
 came round for the fair that was wont to be 
 held without the walls of Berwick ; and 
 because for many weeks no deed of violence 
 had been committed in our parts, all men 
 held that we were in a time of truce ; and 
 the merchants made ready their stalls the 
 more diligently, expecting and desiring that 
 many of their Scottish neighbours would 
 come thither to buy of them. Nevertheless, 
 they that were in authority, knowing well
 
 to come into England. 225 
 
 that the people were as touchwood, and that 
 it would need but a spark to set them all 
 afire, hastily called together certain knights 
 with their men to strengthen the defence of 
 the place. Thither, therefore, went the Lord 
 Ralph de Nevill ; and John de Copeland, 
 because he had lands and tenements in the 
 town, betook himself thither also. 
 
 Among those that assembled themselves 
 together was that Walter de Selby who in 
 his youth had been of the company of the 
 robber and outlaw, Gilbert de Middleton, 
 and with him had ridden over the lands of 
 Durham and Northumberland, spoiling all 
 who fell into their hands. For when that 
 bold knight had suffered the punishment of 
 his deeds, Walter de Selby left his old 
 haunts, and, going to the border lands, turned 
 his arms against the enemies of his country, 
 and became as valiant a defender of the land 
 as he had before been a waster of it ; albeit 
 there were some who shook their heads at 
 the mention of his name, not counting him 
 an honest man. Yet men loved him well, 
 and sought his company much, for he was a 
 
 Q
 
 226 How the Scots bemn again 
 
 & 
 
 great lover of mirth and jollity, and could at 
 all times make sport as well as the best 
 minstrel or juggler in the land. And though 
 he had, as I have said, forsaken his old 
 courses, and obtained the King's pardon 
 therefore, yet he delighted much in recount- 
 ing the history of his doings, and especially 
 did he love to tell how they had surrounded 
 and seized a goodly prize but a few miles 
 from the city of St. Cuthbert, even the 
 bishop elect himself, Louis de Beaumont, 
 riding to his consecration, and with him two 
 holy cardinals and a great company of priests. 
 I remember well how he told over to us the 
 list of the booty which they took, very rich 
 and precious, and how he depicted to us the 
 bearing of the cardinals when they permitted 
 them to ride away on two sorry nags, spoiled 
 and poor as any beggar in the country ; but 
 the bishop and his brother they carried away 
 captive and shut them up till they paid a 
 ransom. 
 
 This man, therefore, as well as many of 
 the younger knights and squires, came to the 
 town readily, hoping that the sword would
 
 to come into England. 227 
 
 be drawn and occasion of strife arise. And 
 indeed some sought earnestly to sow the 
 seeds of discord beforehand, whispering in 
 the ears of the people of the town, and of 
 the merchants, that the Scots were grown 
 rich of late with the spoil of our lands, and 
 that it were but just to spoil them in return, 
 and draw forth out of their pockets by craft 
 and cunning riches so ill-gotten. Neverthe- 
 less their words prevailed not, and at the 
 beginning of the fair all was good fellowship 
 and brotherly kindness. 
 
 But as the first day began to draw to a 
 close, and the hearts of the governor and the 
 captains grew lighter because peace had been 
 preserved, there was brought before them a 
 young Scot, whom the men of Sir Walter 
 de Selby had taken while he was busied in 
 spying the land ; and he being closely ques- 
 tioned, made confession that he had been sent 
 thither by a company of Scottish knights, 
 who were assembled but a few miles distant, 
 and who purposed on the next day, while 
 all men were at the fair, to steal into the 
 town and possess themselves of the castle. 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 How the Scots began again 
 
 Then Sir Walter, hearing that, rose hastily, 
 and gave counsel that the English should be 
 beforehand with them, praying leave to go 
 out that night and fall on them in the dark- 
 ness ere they were come to the town ; and 
 there was much disputing among the leaders, 
 but at the last Sir Walter had his will, and 
 a great number of the knights gathered 
 after him gladly, and de Copeland's men 
 joined him and myself with them ; but the 
 squire himself went not, because Sir Walter 
 was the captain. 
 
 So we set forth merrily, riding along the 
 road that leadeth to Edinburgh Castle, 
 whence, as the spy had said, the enemy 
 came. And we rode under cover of the dark- 
 ness, but Sir Weaker and his own men, as 
 well as many of the knights who followed 
 him, rode as though they went to a merry- 
 making, laughing and jesting loudly, and 
 singing songs in tones that awoke the echoes 
 in every hill around; and we, that understood 
 not the matter, were greatly troubled in 
 mind thereat, supposing that our comrades 
 were excited with wine and knew not what
 
 to come into England. 229 
 
 they did, and expecting every moment that, 
 riding thus unwarily, we should fall into the 
 hands of the enemy against whom we were 
 gone forth. But when we were ridden 
 already so great a distance that our horses 
 began to show signs of weariness, and yet 
 we saw not any tokens of the enemy's 
 presence, some began to call for a halt, pur- 
 posing to return on their steps. Then did 
 Sir Walter stand forth boldly and declare 
 all the matter to us, namely, that he, being 
 weary of idleness, and desiring greatly 
 adventure of some sort, had gone forth 
 among the strangers at the fair, and per- 
 ceiving the young Scot gliding hither and 
 thither, had prevailed on him, by a gift of 
 money, to declare himself a spy ; and he 
 prayed us all that, having ridden thus far 
 with him, we would follow him still and not 
 return empty-handed ; for he had certain 
 information concerning the wealth of the 
 Scots, and would lead us where it would be 
 profitable for us to go. 
 
 And they all assented willingly, and 
 shouted aloud to be led forward, being filled
 
 230 How the Scots began again 
 
 with great admiration for the ready wit and 
 daring boldness of their captain. So he left 
 the highway, and like a hound with unerring 
 scent, led us by by-ways and sheep-tracks 
 to farmyards rich in cattle, and to villages 
 and hamlets where the peasants had dwelt 
 awhile in prosperity and had gathered some 
 little store of wealth, and to the house of a 
 knight who had followed King David over 
 the border, and returned to hang his walls 
 with trophies ; and we, when we came to a 
 place, shouted aloud to wake the inhabitants 
 thereof, and bade them open their doors and 
 bring forth all that they had, and if they 
 yielded not, we broke in by force and took 
 it from them, heeding not tears and lamen- 
 tations, but spoiling without pity. Yea, and 
 many a cruel blow was struck, for we were 
 seized as it were with a mad lust of spoil, 
 and made haste to enrich ourselves, tram- 
 pling down women and children if they sought 
 to hinder us, and rode away exulting in our 
 triumph. And, indeed, if we had not been 
 blinded by our evil passions, methinks we 
 could not have failed to be astonished at the
 
 to come into England. 231 
 
 weakness of the defence that was made, and 
 to note that scarce a man came forth against 
 us. 
 
 Nevertheless we marked it not, and when 
 the day came we turned our steps home- 
 wards and rode towards Berwick town, laden 
 with spoil ; but because we had taken great 
 booty of cattle, we returned but slowly, 
 though we urged them cruelly. Thus at the 
 last we approached the town, but somewhat 
 quietly, for we were sore wearied. And, lo ! 
 where the stalls should yet have been stand- 
 ing:, and the crowds assembled about them 
 buying and selling, all was silence and deso- 
 lation ; and on every hand we could per- 
 ceive tokens of conflict, for the field was 
 strewn with fragments of merchandise, and 
 the stalls were overthrown, and rich garments, 
 torn and spoiled, lay in confusion among 
 broken casks of butter and cheese, or in 
 pools of milk and wine. Yea, and we could 
 see where the ground was torn by the feet 
 of fighting men, and more than one dead 
 body lay silent in the grass. 
 
 And when we saw this we stood still, and
 
 232 How the Scots began again 
 
 descended from our horses and tarried, look- 
 ing one upon another. For we perceived 
 that which had befallen, and feared to enter 
 the town ; but, as we lingered, men began to 
 come forth from the gates, at the first but 
 few, and afterwards in greater numbers, and 
 they, though we durst not make enquiry, 
 recounted to us that which had happened. 
 For the Scottish spy, taking Sir Walter's 
 money, had deceived him by telling the 
 truth ; and when the chief part of the 
 garrison and defenders of the place were 
 gone forth, the Scottish knights arose from 
 their hiding-place, and came down upon the 
 crowd and spoiled all the stalls, taking great 
 treasure, and overcame the resistance of the 
 few knights that were left, driving them back 
 into the town, but carrying the Lord Ralph 
 de Nevill prisoner into Scotland ; and when 
 we heard this we parted one from another, 
 and stole back into the town like men 
 ashamed. But because, when the matter was 
 heard, the chief blame thereof was laid upon 
 Sir Walter de Selby, he was forced to leave 
 those parts, and went into the western
 
 to come into England. 
 
 marches, where the Earl of Northampton 
 committed to his care the Castle of Loch- 
 maben ; and when the Scots came against it 
 and besieged it, he defended it so bravely, 
 with the aid of the Bishop of Carlisle and 
 de Lucy, that his faults were forgotten, and 
 his valour only commended. 
 
 But, after a while, King David being troubled 
 by the rebellion of the Lord of the Isles and 
 the northern barons, made a truce with us. 
 For indeed, as Father Adam saith, the Scottish 
 lords and knights would fain have no lord over 
 them, loving not obedience, and fighting rather 
 because they desire to be their own masters 
 than from loyalty to the King whom they have 
 chosen. Neither did the Douglas serve him 
 truly, being willing to join the English party if 
 so be he could break the yoke from off his 
 neck. Therefore was there a truce made for 
 two years, yet the Scots observed it but little, 
 and the keepers of the marches must needs 
 labour as much to keep the peace as to defend 
 their lands in time of war. 
 
 And the English leaders seeing this, as- 
 sembled together at the city of Carlisle that
 
 234 How the Scots began again 
 
 they might take counsel one of another and 
 determine what they should do. But foras- 
 much as I was not admitted to their counsels 
 I cannot speak thereof, save that the King 
 sent Edward the Balliol to be captain in our 
 parts, and the men of the counties were put 
 in array. Nevertheless, I rejoiced greatly to 
 return into those western marches and see 
 again those who had once been my friends. 
 And I rode forth to Rose and saw the castle 
 rising again, and as it were putting forth leaves 
 and blossoms. I talked with Thomas Gate- 
 scale and others of the household whom I 
 had known. The bishop also was gracious 
 to me, and jested with me much, calling me 
 at times St. William, and at times St. George. 
 Yea, he recounted to me much of his own 
 doings, and of his encounters with the Scots, in 
 which he took great pride ; and, in truth, as he 
 said to me, had I tarried with him I had had 
 my fill of fighting. 
 
 Afterward I rode to the house of my father, 
 and the squire accompanied me thither, and 
 we tarried there the space of a week, for Sir 
 Ralph loved greatly the company of worthy
 
 to come into England. 235 
 
 men, and the squire's converse was very grate- 
 ful to him. There, also, we found the Father 
 Adam travelling to visit the Dame de Coucy, 
 who looked to him greatly for counsel, and 
 he prayed my master and me to ride with him ; 
 and as we rode along the way, the monk was 
 filled with the spirit of prophecy and testified 
 to us in many words of that which should 
 befall the land. And he told us of many signs 
 which had been seen by divers persons, of 
 the flocks assailed at night by strange beasts 
 such as had never been seen before in the land, 
 of wondrous sights in the sky, and tempests 
 and whirlwinds, but chiefly he spake of a 
 vision of an angel which had appeared to 
 himself as he knelt in the church at prime, a 
 mighty angel blowing with a trumpet and 
 calling down fire from heaven to burn up the 
 earth and all that is therein. "And by this I 
 know of a surety," saith he, " that there cometh 
 upon the people of this land great affliction 
 such as hath not been seen heretofore, the 
 sword to slay, and the fire to burn, and the 
 pestilence that walketh in darkness. There- 
 fore I would have all that hear me this day to
 
 236 How the Scots began again 
 
 break off their sins by righteousness, and 
 their iniquities by showing mercy to the poor, 
 if it may be a lengthening of their tran- 
 quillity." 
 
 And with such words as these did he testify- 
 to us, being as it were so rapt in spirit that he 
 knew not to whom he spake, but supposed 
 himself to be in the pulpit and a multitude on 
 this side and on that. Neither when we were 
 come into the gentle lady's presence did he 
 cease from his dreadful prognostications, though 
 my master sought to interrupt his speech, 
 thinking it not well done to speak of danger in 
 the hearing of defenceless women. But she, 
 showing herself in no wise terrified thereby, 
 entered into large discourse with the squire 
 concerning the state of the borders, and the 
 purposes of the Scottish King, and listened with 
 eyes growing bright and the colour springing 
 up in her pale cheek, while he told of deeds 
 of arms done of late, as of old she had listened 
 to me when I read the tales of the knights of 
 King Arthur. So when we had talked awhile, 
 and had refreshed ourselves with meat and 
 drink, we took our leave of her and of the
 

 
 to come into England. 237 
 
 father Adam and of the maid Margery, and 
 rode again to my father's house. And as 
 we departed I remarked that my master held 
 in his hand a fair white ribbon knotted to- 
 gether. 
 
 It was but a little while ere the father 
 Adam's prophecy began to be fulfilled and the 
 first mutterings of the tempest were heard. And 
 the storm broke first in the parts of Cumber- 
 land, whither the Douglas entered with a great 
 host, destroying all the country about Carlisle, 
 and wasting even to the town of Penrith, which 
 he burnt. And this took place before we were 
 returned to the eastern marches, for Sir Antony 
 de Lucy being now dead, a company of North- 
 umbrians tarried in the west a little space to 
 aid in its defence. Yet, as all men will under- 
 stand, it was not possible with a few companies 
 of men to oppose openly the invading army, 
 and we were forced to content ourselves with 
 harassing them by night as we had done when 
 I rode with Thomas Gatescale in Sir Antony's 
 company, and the Castle of Rose was burnt to 
 the ground. 
 
 Nevertheless, because the bishop, John de
 
 238 How the Scots began again 
 
 Kirkby, was not shut up within walls but rode 
 with us, we did perform deeds that surprised 
 even ourselves ; for his valour was of a kind 
 that did move John de Copeland at times to 
 inextinguishable laughter, yet not the laughter 
 of contempt but rather of admiration. Know- 
 ing not the art of war, he supposed that there 
 was nothing that might not be accomplished by 
 valour, and would cast himself into 
 the midst of his enemies as though 
 they were disobedient scholars or 
 refractory monks who might be 
 quelled by a haughty bearing and 
 loud reproof. Methinks he under- 
 stood not at all wherefore we did 
 not set our forces in array, and go 
 boldly in the full light of day to give battle 
 to the enemy. In truth he esteemed all our 
 caution to be only cowardice on the part of 
 our captains, and would gladly have led us 
 himself against them. 
 
 Nevertheless, as I have said, his example 
 did move us greatly, and one night it befell that, 
 riding along a narrow road at the entrance of 
 a hamlet, we came suddenly upon the Scots.
 
 to come into England. 239 
 
 Whereupon the bishop, without a word spoken, 
 struck spur into his horse's flank, and rode 
 straight into the midst of them, and we, not 
 to be behind him in valour, drew our swords 
 and followed hard after him. And as good 
 luck would have it, it was but a detached com- 
 pany under Sir Alexander Strachan. Yet 
 they received us boldly, and, fighting hand to 
 hand, the bishop went down in the milde and 
 rolled on the ground. Many of us indeed 
 thought he had died a warrior's death ; yet we 
 rode in to the rescue, and within a little he was 
 again upon his feet, and, climbing into his 
 saddle, poured forth upon his enemies such a 
 torrent of fierce threats, mingled with random 
 blows and thrusts, as availed no little to com- 
 plete the overthrow of the enemy. For he 
 was not a little angered by his fall, supposing 
 his adversaries desired to do him an insult ; and 
 in truth, when the morning dawned, he had 
 little the appearance of a holy bishop. Yet, 
 though all joined in giving to the bishop the 
 praise of the victory, Sir Thomas Lucy 
 showed himself a brave knight, and the 
 enemy's leader, Sir Alexander Strachan, was
 
 240 How the Scots again came into England. 
 
 run through the body by the Northumbrian, 
 Sir Robert Ogle. 
 
 This encounter took place when the Scots 
 were returning to their own land, whither, 
 indeed, they were driven rather by famine than 
 by our swords.
 
 241 
 
 Chapter XXIII. 
 
 How David the Bruce assembled a Mighty Host 
 to enter England, and the Archbishop col- 
 lected an Army to oppose him. 
 
 But though for a while the Scots were driven 
 over the border, nevertheless, all men knew well 
 in their hearts that the respite was but short, and 
 stood still, as it were waiting. And the King 
 was gone to the kingdom of France, and we 
 knew that there was no help from him. And 
 we knew also that King Philip urged David 
 the Bruce vehemently, and prayed him as he 
 loved him and was grateful to him, to attack his 
 enemy King Edward in the rear. So when the 
 year returned, the floodgates were opened and 
 calamity came upon us. And it was as with 
 the rising of the tide that shall overwhelm, for 
 at the first there came, as it were, a great wave 
 of Scots in the month of July, which returned 
 again into their own land. Yet they left behind 
 
 R
 
 242 How David the Bruce assembled 
 
 them, as the sea doth, the tokens of their pass- 
 ing, and men's faces gathered blackness at the 
 tale of their doings. For, in truth, an evil 
 spirit had taken possession of the young King's 
 heart. Yea, and a deceiving spirit also, leading 
 him like Ahab to destruction. And being 
 puffed up with pride and furious hate, he 
 gathered together from every part of his king- 
 dom all that could bear arms, thinking to de- 
 stroy the whole people of England, and to wipe 
 out their name from the earth. And because 
 he was blinded by the enemy of mankind, 
 neither sign nor warning availed to hinder him, 
 neither discord in his host, nor arms stained 
 with the blood of treacherous murder, caused 
 him to hesitate in his purpose. But, indeed, a 
 man who despiseth and laugheth to scorn the 
 menaces and commandments of the holy Saint 
 Cuthbert himself, visiting him in the visions of 
 the night — what shall avail to save such an one 
 from ruin ? 
 
 It was a little after the feast of St. Michael 
 that the tidings reached us in the eastern 
 marches of the coming of the mighty host, and 
 hard upon the heels of the first messengers
 
 a Host to enter England. 243 
 
 came hour by hour news of fresh evil, until 
 there seemed to rise up to heaven a wail of 
 lamentation and mourning and woe. And for 
 a space it seemed as though counsel failed us, 
 for the weak-hearted thought only how to flee 
 ere the danger came upon them, and the 
 boldest knew that their power availed not to 
 withstand so great a host. Yet the squire and 
 Sir Robert Bertram, and Sir Robert Ogle, and 
 many other of the knights of Northumberland 
 gathered together all the armed men whom 
 they could muster, and betook themselves to 
 the Lord Percy to hold counsel with him touch- 
 ing what should be done. Then in this time 
 of perplexity, when the need was sorest for one 
 to lead the people, there rose up in the gap the 
 shepherd of the sheep, the holy Archbishop 
 William de la Zouche, and bade all men come 
 to him. And gathering about him the captains 
 and leaders, he besought them not to forsake 
 the people, but to fight for their homes and 
 their children against the impious invaders. 
 And he sent into all parts to assemble those 
 who could fight, and no sooner did the mes- 
 sengers come into Northumberland than we 
 
 R 2
 
 244 How David the B7 r uce assembled 
 
 rose up with glad hearts and revived courage 
 to obey his call. 
 
 So we made haste to join ourselves to him, 
 and I, riding behind my master, marked his 
 countenance and beheld that it was full of 
 marvellous content ; and methought his bearing 
 was as the bearing of Sir Godfrey de Bouillon 
 riding to the war with the unbelievers. And 
 in truth, forasmuch as the Scottish King made 
 war upon the saints, and despoiled and burnt 
 and utterly destroyed the holy places, sparing 
 neither clerk nor monk, and pouring out the 
 blood of the innocent like water, he should be 
 counted as an infidel. And as we rode, came 
 tidings to us of the taking of the Peel of Lydel ; 
 and how the Bruce had cut off the head of 
 the captain, Walter de Selby, granting him 
 no mercy nor time to confess his sins ; and of 
 the spoiling of Lanercost and of the Priory of 
 Hexham, and how he rode haughtily as though 
 there were none to oppose, boasting that in a 
 little space he would see London. And as 
 men heard these things, each man would lay his 
 hand upon his sword, but none spake ought to 
 his neighbour.
 
 a Host to enter England. 245 
 
 And we began with our hearts to long 
 earnestly for the fight, so that the way seemed 
 long ; but at the last, a little before the feast 
 of St. Luke, we came into the parts about 
 Barnard Castle at the fall of the day, and 
 found the Archbishop with his men tarrying 
 for us. And he gave thanks at the sight of 
 us, and bade us all cry mightily to the holy 
 St. Cuthbert that he would rise up and de- 
 stroy him who had so impiously ravaged his 
 lands. And all the night through came to us 
 fresh companies of men arriving from many 
 parts, and, being unable to rest, the squire rose 
 at early dawn, and went in and out among the 
 host to mark who was there, and I followed 
 him. And falling among those who were 
 ridden thither from Westmoreland and Lan- 
 cashire, lo ! among them was my father, Sir 
 Ralph de Bethome, and with him Sir Thomas 
 de Ros, kinsman of my first master, Sir 
 William de Coucy. And we stood long dis- 
 coursing and strengthening one another's 
 hearts for the battle, and as we spake together 
 the squire recalled to mind the vision that 
 Father Adam had seen of the angel calling
 
 246 How David the Bruce assembled 
 
 down fire from heaven ; saying, " It is marvel- 
 lously fulfilled, as the flames of many burning 
 churches do testify. What thinketh he will be 
 the end of it ? " 
 
 And Sir Ralph answered, " He bade me 
 depart to the war, yea, he was urgent with me 
 to draw my sword in defence of the land. ' Yet,' 
 said he, ' the sword availeth nothing ; but vic- 
 tory cometh through the prayers of holy men.' ' 
 
 "And by the strokes of their good swords 
 also," said the voice of one who passed by, 
 and, turning, we beheld the valiant Bishop 
 of Carlisle. Then, laying his hand upon my 
 shoulder, he said, "Ha! St. William, thou 
 shalt see a priest play the man this time ! I 
 think to make the Scots do penance hard, ere 
 I give them absolution," and so he passed on 
 his way. 
 
 But as we returned to our company, speaking 
 together of Father Adam's words, my master 
 said, " Boy, there is ever before my eyes a 
 vision of a holy saint, and she kneeleth upon her 
 knees, and her lips move in prayer ! " and as I 
 aided him to put on his armour, he took from 
 me his helmet and bound upon the crest
 
 
 a Host to enter England. 247 
 
 thereof a knot of fair white ribbon, and so he 
 rode to the fight. 
 
 Then, when the day was fully come, the 
 army was put in array, company by company, 
 with their leaders and captains, and a goodly 
 sight it was in my eyes. For there were 
 the men of Lancashire, and of the counties 
 of Cumberland and Westmoreland, follow- 
 ing Sir Thomas Lucy and the stout Bishop 
 Kirkby ; neither did the men of Lincoln nor of 
 York fail at the call of their great captain, 
 Bishop de la Zouche, and Sir Thomas Rokeby 
 was with them. There, also, were the men of 
 Durham, and among them the Haliwerkfolk, 
 bound by their oath to fight for their master, 
 the holy Saint Cuthbert. There, also, waved 
 the banners of the noble Lord Ralph de Nevill, 
 and Sir Henry de Scrope, and Sir John Mow- 
 bray, and many more than I can name, men of 
 such valour and renown that my heart was 
 lifted up within me, and it seemed to my 
 thoughts impossible that any could withstand 
 us. Yet not thus seemed it to the eyes that 
 had seen other armies in array and other fields 
 of battle. In their eyes we seemed but as a
 
 248 How David the Bruce assembled 
 
 little company riding against a host of whom 
 none knew the numbers. Yet, with dauntless 
 hearts they swore to follow to the death the 
 holy sign of salvation which was set up in our 
 midst. 
 
 So they bore aloft the cross and went for- 
 ward, and we, the men of Northumbria, fol- 
 lowed leading the van ; and with us rode the 
 brave Lord Percy, and Umfreville the noble 
 Count of Angus. And we went in battle 
 array knowing not fully where lay the enemy. 
 They, indeed, knew not of our coming, suppos- 
 ing rather that the whole chivalry of England 
 was then in France, gathered about the walls 
 of Calais town, and none left in England but 
 husbandmen : therefore they lay at rest, secure, 
 keeping neither watch nor ward, but burning 
 and slaying and spoiling, as seemed good in 
 their own eyes. And that night we came to 
 the town of Auckland, and set up our tents 
 within the park of the Bishop of Durham, 
 among the trees of a wood beside the river, and 
 lest we should be near to the Scots, they bade 
 us keep silence. And because I was yet young 
 in war I gat no sleep, but lay watching the
 
 a Host to enter England. 249 
 
 stars shining in the sky or reflected in the 
 waters, and thinking upon valour and glory, 
 yea, and upon love also, for my master sat near 
 me, and when I looked upon him my thoughts 
 went with his, and dwelt with the maid Mar- 
 gery. 
 
 And in the deepest hours of the night it fell 
 out (and it was to my mind as it were a mar- 
 
 vellous prognostication), that all being rapt in 
 silence, and nothing at all being heard but the 
 rustling of the leaves, and at times the darting 
 of a fish in the waters, suddenly there swooped 
 down upon us, with wide-flapping wings, a 
 great night-owl, and the bird was of wondrous 
 size, such as are but seldom seen ; and the
 
 250 How David the Bruce assembled 
 
 sound of his wings and the fierceness of his 
 cries arousing us from our meditations, we 
 followed him with our eyes, and, lo ! he sought 
 to lay hold upon one of a litter of young 
 squirrels, wandering a little space from the 
 nest on a branch of the tree. But ere he could 
 secure his prey, the parents thereof came forth 
 and assailed him, seeking to defend their 
 young. Wherefore the squire, moved at their 
 distress, cast a stone at the great bird and 
 brought him to the ground. But when he had 
 taken him up, the bird was yet alive ; so he 
 bound a cord about his foot, and put him in his 
 tent, giving him into the charge of one of his 
 men, that he might no more go forth slaying 
 and devouring. 
 
 And, returning to his place, he talked awhile 
 of the parent squirrels, marvelling at the 
 courage with which they had fought. " In 
 truth," said he, "as Father Adam saith, there 
 is but little diversity between man and the 
 beasts and birds. For there are indeed many 
 like the owl, who fight fiercely out of their very 
 savageness, and there are those who will gladly 
 shed their heart's blood for their homes and their
 
 a Host to enter England. 251 
 
 little ones. And we, boy, who strive for glory, 
 are like the cock, who fighteth that he may be 
 the first in his poultry-yard, and, indeed, 'twere 
 well to keep before thy eyes such a pattern of 
 valour, to incite thee to constancy." Then did 
 he tell me, seeking to pass away the time, many 
 tales of endurance and patient watching, and 
 faithful constancy even unto death ; and even 
 as he spake there was a stir in the camp, and 
 in the faint light of the early dawn we beheld 
 the cross lifted on high. And the squire broke 
 off his tale, and gazing devoutly upon it, said 
 in a low voice, " Nay, lad, what need of other 
 pattern ? " So we arose to follow it.
 
 2^2 
 
 Chapter XXIV. 
 
 Of the Battle of Durham. 
 
 Then was the banner of the Lord Percy un- 
 furled, and the men of Northumberland gathered 
 about it and set forward, and the whole army 
 followed after. And we climbed the hill-side 
 and came to the parts about Merrington, and the 
 light began to spread abroad over the sky, but 
 over the river that flowed beneath us brooded a 
 thick mist. And the squire and Sir Robert Ogle, 
 when they came where they could see the fields 
 stretched out northward before them, stayed 
 their horses and spoke together awhile, and we 
 of their company halted near them. And look- 
 ing earnestly at the spot on which their eyes 
 were fixed, I saw first the towers of the city 
 of Durham rising, as out of a sea of mist, and 
 then it was to my eyes as if a veil were with- 
 drawn, and but a little to the westward of the
 
 Of the Battle of Durham. 253 
 
 city appeared the Scottish tents, some clustered 
 thickly together, and some half hidden among 
 the trees. Then did my heart give a sudden 
 leap, and I would fain have shouted loud, but 
 looking about me I perceived that all held 
 their breath and gazed in silence ; therefore I 
 restrained myself. And the squire and Sir 
 Robert breaking off their discourse looked 
 around, considering the land on which we 
 stood, for the position was good ; but when 
 they would have spoken thereof to the Lord 
 Percy, one told them that he who carried the 
 cross was gone forward down the hill, and Sir 
 Robert Bertram and his company also. And 
 upon that they set spurs to their horses and 
 made haste to overtake them, and we followed 
 quickly, desiring to be ever in front, but sus- 
 pecting nothing, when suddenly there broke 
 upon our ears the clash of arms, and ere we 
 were aware we found ourselves riding in the 
 midst of the Scots, and the men of Sir 
 Robert Bertram's company contesting fiercely 
 with them around the cross. On this side and 
 that I beheld their helmets piercing, as it were, 
 the mist, so that they seemed to be legion.
 
 254 Of M ie Battle of Durham. 
 
 Then arose loud shouts of defiance, some cry- 
 ing their battle-cry, and others calling on St. 
 Cuthbert for aid, and every lance was laid in 
 rest, and every sword was drawn. The knights 
 met in fierce shock, and the wounded and the 
 dying fell groaning under the horses' feet. 
 But the saint heard our cry, and quickly the 
 mist was rolled away, and we looked, and, lo ! 
 our enemies were but a little company, and they 
 were dispersed hither and thither without order 
 or array. For in truth they were come out but 
 to forage, knowing not of our coming, and 
 the mist having hid us from their sight they 
 were taken wholly unawares. Then we, per- 
 ceiving they could not withstand us, charged 
 them boldly and chased them down the hill to 
 the river and over the bridge ; neither did Sir 
 Robert Ogle stay his horse until it could go no 
 further. And the wounded of them fell down 
 on every side, and the rays of the rising sun 
 shone upon their leader and we beheld the arms 
 of the Douglas. 
 
 So we stayed our pursuit and put ourselves 
 again in battle array, waiting for the host to 
 come up with us, and as we tarried I called to
 
 Of the Battle of Durham. 255 
 
 mind how the squire had likened us to fierce 
 fighting-cocks, and methought how the victor 
 would have risen up on tiptoe and stretched 
 his neck, and beating his sides with his wings, 
 would have given forth his voice till the yard 
 echoed with his loud crowing ; and I would fain 
 have done the like in the gladness of my heart, 
 so much doth man resemble the fowls. Yet, in 
 truth, I knew that the battle was scarce begun. 
 When, therefore, the others were come up, 
 we set forth again, and leaving the River 
 Wear behind us, passed on over the little river 
 and began to ascend again to the high ground, 
 but marching with great caution and watchful- 
 ness, and keeping ever close together lest we 
 should be assailed. And when we were come 
 to the summit, our leaders took counsel to- 
 gether how they should order us. For they, 
 supposing the enemy to be of mighty force, 
 thought it well to oppose him with all prudence 
 and subtilty of wisdom, and would fain have 
 set us in array according to the laws of war 
 and the judgment of the skilful. Nevertheless, 
 their counsel was overruled, for the people, 
 being more attentive to the* guidance of the
 
 256 Of the Battle of Durham. 
 
 holy cross than to the words of their captains, 
 followed the bearer thereof to the place which 
 was ordained for us. Yet was nought done in 
 haste, but the archers were put in the fore 
 front, and the men-at-arms arrayed, and the 
 knights and squires made themselves ready, 
 and thus we waited for the attack. 
 
 Neither in truth did we tarry long, for ere I 
 had thought it possible, came the helmets of 
 armed men, rising above the red sandy hillocks, 
 and in a moment the whole moorland seemed 
 alive, and they came riding in fiery haste like 
 packs of hungry wolves innumerable. But for 
 a little their course was checked, for from our 
 archers went forth a cloud of sharp arrows, 
 and they flew with unerring aim, and before 
 them went down many a brave knight pierced 
 to the heart, and the horses, smarting with 
 their wounds, reared and plunged and broke 
 the ranks, and spread dismay around them. 
 Thus for a little they stopped, and from the 
 ranks came forth a knight with his followers, 
 thinking to drive before him the archers and 
 stay the sharp hail of their darts ; but ere he 
 could fall upon them, his men were laid low
 
 Of the Battle of Durham. 257 
 
 and his horse slain, and the knight scarce 
 escaped in safety. And when we saw that, we 
 shouted aloud in triumph, but the Scots recover- 
 ing came upon us without staying to order 
 themselves, and our archers were driven back, 
 and the battle joined. 
 
 I speak but of that which befell in the Lord 
 Percy's battle. Many brave deeds were done 
 in the other parts of the field of which men 
 speak to this day, but these things I saw not. 
 Nor, in truth, can I rightly tell of that which 
 passed around me, for I was as a man upon a 
 rock in the midst of the sea upon which the 
 waves dash furiously, making him blind and 
 deaf to all beside. So did the Scots madly fall 
 upon us, and they broke themselves to pieces 
 against us in vain. And they fought for the 
 most, part with battle-axes, and the tumult was 
 as the raging of the wind and waves. 
 
 In the fiercest of the assault they did for a 
 little space break through our ranks, and our 
 men fell before them. Then did the squire 
 raise his battle-cry and made haste to their aid, 
 and his mighty blows laid many low. And I 
 rode hard by his side, and a fierce knight, think- 
 
 s
 
 258 Of the Battle of Durham. 
 
 ing to slay him, spurred upon us with lance laid 
 in rest, and before it I went down like a blade 
 of grass before a scythe. But the squire, turn- 
 ing him about in the saddle, smote him as he 
 passed with the sword upon the neck between 
 the joints of his harness, and he fell and spoke 
 not again. So I arose from the ground, yet 
 with some difficulty, for the shock had been 
 rude and my left arm was sore hurt, and the 
 men about me helped me again to mount my 
 horse. But for awhile I was as a man dazed, 
 and could not return to the fight, and while I 
 sought to recover my strength, my eyes wan- 
 dered as by chance to a hill a little removed, 
 and there were a company of monks kneeling 
 upon their knees, and in the midst of them they 
 bore aloft the banner of St. Cuthbert. And 
 the sight did marvellously strengthen me, and I 
 bethought me how the father Adam had said 
 that the victory should come by the prayers of 
 holy men. And the dimness passed from my 
 sight and the weakness from my limbs, and 
 seeking out my master I made haste to join 
 myself to him again. 
 
 But the battle in that part was ended, for the
 
 Of the Battle of Durham. 259 
 
 Stewart and the Earl Patrick, taking counsel 
 together, drew away their men, and, forsaking 
 their King, departed from the field and made 
 haste to return into their own country. In 
 truth, David, guided by his blind passion and 
 furious madness, had cast himself already into 
 destruction, and it was vain to hope to save 
 him, yet this Earl Patrick was the same who 
 had sworn to King Edward and betrayed him. 
 
 And when we saw that our adversaries were 
 departed, we set ourselves again in array and 
 turned our strength against the King's battle. 
 And as we rode, one told me that Sir William 
 Douglas had been taken even at the beginning 
 of the fight. And I should have rejoiced 
 greatly, but I feared to believe it ; nevertheless 
 he told me truly, for, as I heard after, the knight, 
 stung with the taunts of the King, who mocked 
 him for his fears because he gave counsel to 
 retire, flung himself first into the battle, and 
 being wounded in the eye was forced to sur- 
 render to Sir William Deyncourt. 
 
 Now by this time fortune had declared her- 
 self wholly for us, and the Red Hills were 
 grown redder with the blood of the Scots, for 
 
 s 2
 
 260 Of the Battle of Durham. 
 
 the slaughter was great among them. The 
 ground was rough and uneven, and broken with 
 many ditches, so that they could not assail us in 
 large bodies, but were forced to attack us in 
 twos or threes, or at best in small companies, 
 and were quickly cut down or taken. Thus 
 they fell altogether into disarray, and could no 
 longer be called an army, save that about the 
 King were gathered all the flower of their 
 knights that yet remained, fighting with the 
 courage of despair. And for a long space yet 
 they resisted our attacks and held his banner on 
 high ; indeed, the young King himself fought 
 like a wild beast in the midst of the hunters 
 and laid many low. Nevertheless, about the 
 hour of noon, they began to give way, and my 
 master, perceiving this, prepared himself for a 
 mighty struggle, and lifting up his sword he cut 
 for himself a path through his enemies, as one 
 cleaveth wood. He swerved neither to the 
 right hand nor to the left : none could stay his 
 course; sword and axe smote him in vain, glanc- 
 ing aside and doino- him no hurt, and I followed 
 after, like Jonathan's armour-bearer, till the 
 shadow of the King's standard fell upon us and
 
 Of the Battle of Durham. 261 
 
 there was none to save him from our hand. 
 And de Copeland lifted up his voice and cried 
 to him to yield himself a prisoner. But he, in 
 a mad frenzy of rage, being sore wounded, and 
 having neither sword nor dagger to defend 
 himself with, flew upon the squire and seized 
 him by the throat, striking him in the face 
 with his iron gauntlet, and did him much hurt. 
 Nevertheless the struggle was but short, for de 
 Copeland did soon overcome him and took him 
 by force and carried him out of the battle. 
 And the squire's men gathering close about 
 him, we made haste to escape out of the press. 
 But ere we had gone far, the King was so over- 
 come by his wounds, that we were forced to rest 
 awhile, and to take off his armour and bathe 
 his limbs. Then was there found upon him 
 the Holy Rood, marvellously wrought in silver, 
 and bearing on the one side Our Lady, and on 
 the other the holy St. John. And forasmuch 
 as he had obtained it by a miracle, he trusted 
 the wearing of it would bring him prosperity. 
 But when a man impiously defieth the saints 
 and sacrilegiously wageth war on holy places, 
 he must not look for such protection.
 
 262 Of the Battle of Durham. 
 
 And while we stood thus attending upon him, 
 the pain of my own wounds grew so sharp that 
 I was forced to cast myself upon the ground, 
 for in the press I had been sore buffeted more 
 than once or twice, though then I heeded it not. 
 My master, therefore, seeing I was not able to 
 ride after him, bade me go into the city and 
 tarry there till I was healed. Also, because he 
 loved me much, he left one with me to see me 
 in safety. And he put into my keeping the 
 Holy Rood, and charged me to offer it at the 
 shrine of the holy confessor St. Cuthbert. 
 
 Then when the King David the Bruce was 
 somewhat revived, they set him on a horse, 
 and, themselves mounting, rode away ; but I 
 tarried on the field. 
 
 When, therefore, they were departed and the 
 sound of their horses' hoofs had died away in 
 the distance, I lay awhile half-swooning on the 
 ground. And as in a dream came to me the 
 clash of arms and other sounds of the lingering 
 conflict, for there were yet little bands fighting 
 together over the field, and at times I heard 
 more clearly the cry of one who had fled towards 
 me, and was pursued closely, or the hoarse
 
 
 Disarming David Bruce.
 
 Of the Battle of Durham. 263 
 
 sounds of men's voices disputing over their 
 prey. But the prayer for mercy, and the shout 
 of triumph, and the oaths and curses, were all 
 mingled together confusedly, neither did I 
 rightly understand where I was. But as I lay 
 thus alone, for he who was to have watched me 
 forsook me soon and departed, there broke upon 
 my ears a sweeter sound, even as it seemed to 
 me the sweet singing of the angels ; and I raised 
 myself upon my arm and listened, and there 
 came floating on the wind the song of holy 
 triumph, " Te Deum laudamus." And as I 
 listened I was strengthened and rose to my feet, 
 and went with feeble steps and slow towards 
 the tower of the cathedral whence the sweet 
 music came, as if drawn thitherward by a mighty 
 power. And I went on, walking as in a trance, 
 and left the field, and mingled with the crowd, 
 yet scarce seeing them, or knowing what I did 
 or whither I went, and so passed over the 
 bridge with them and entered into the city. 
 And the people shouted all around, and there 
 was a great tumult, but I heeded it not ; only 
 the sweet music was yet in my ears, and thus I 
 followed those that bore the captured banners,
 
 264 Of the Battle of Durham. 
 
 and went in with them to the cathedral ; and 
 when they presented them before the altar, I 
 laid down also the Holy Rood of the Bruce, 
 as my master had charged me. Then a great 
 darkness fell upon me, and I remember no 
 more.
 
 265 
 
 Chapter XXV. 
 
 How Sir John Copeland married the Dame 
 de Coucy, and lived in Honour and great 
 Renown. 
 
 Now of the sickness that befell me in Durham 
 city I will not write, for it concerneth none to 
 hear thereof. But because the father Adam 
 hath counselled me to write that which will 
 tend to profit, I would fain tell of the misery 
 which the coming of the Scots had wrought in 
 the land. For this would profit in two ways, 
 seeing it is not well that men should forget 
 how sorely they were scourged for their sins, 
 and how, when they made humble supplication 
 to Heaven, they were marvellously delivered ; 
 and also they would be more watchful to defend 
 the land, if they had before their eyes that 
 which I beheld at that time. Yet I know that 
 no words of mine can truly pourtray it to
 
 266 
 
 How Sir John Copeland 
 
 them, for as the holy Prior of Durham, John 
 Fossour, said oft in my hearing, lamenting 
 and bewailing that he should be called to rule 
 at such a time, " The land was as the garden of 
 Eden before them, and behind them 
 a desolate wilderness." They were 
 strangers to mercy or pity, and 
 spared nought that fell in their path. 
 Men spake with horror in their faces 
 of that which had been wrought by 
 David while he lay at Beaurepaire, 
 for all were fully persuaded in their 
 minds, that in him dwelt an evil 
 spirit ruling him altogether accord- 
 ing to its own will. Therefore he 
 wasted and destroyed St. Cuthbert's 
 land in wanton mischief, cutting 
 down the fruit trees and burning the 
 hay in the barns, while the park was 
 strewn with the bodies of slain cattle. 
 Yea, and when there went forth to 
 him two of the monks of Durham to pray 
 for mercy for the lands of St. Cuthbert, and to 
 offer him a ransom for them, he would by no 
 means listen to them, but fell into a mighty
 
 married the Dame de Coacy. 267 
 
 passion of wrath, and raging furiously, in very 
 madness called upon his servants hastily to cut 
 off their heads. And in truth it had been 
 done, but that at that moment came the 
 Douglas crying aloud that the English were 
 upon them, and the King going forth to fight, 
 in the tumult they escaped, and St. Cuthbert 
 took up their cause and avenged his insulted 
 priests. And this tale I heard from the mouths of 
 the two monks 
 themselves, one 
 ot whom, from 
 very fear, lay 
 sick for many 
 weeks, being as 
 sore wounded by 
 
 the sights which he beheld in the Bruce's army 
 as I was in the battle. And this was not to be 
 wondered at, for, as he said, they going into the 
 park of Beaurepaire a little before dawn, found 
 it full of hobgoblins and spirits of darkness. 
 On every side were hideous shapes and things 
 of terror, threatening them with insult and death, 
 and mocking at their holy garb, so that they were 
 many times fain to turn back. And when they
 
 268 How Sir John Copeland 
 
 were brought before the King something more 
 dreadful appeared to them, but what it was I 
 know not, for when the monk would have 
 spoken thereof he was seized with so great a 
 trembling and horror that the cold sweat stood 
 upon his brow and he was forced to desist from 
 his tale. 
 
 Of such things I heard men speak daily 
 while I was being healed of my wounds, but, 
 as I have said, I will not speak of my sickness. 
 Neither will I tell of that which befell my 
 master at this time, because I was not with 
 him, and desire not to write of that of which I 
 know nought, repeating only idle reports. In 
 truth so great was the company of noble barons 
 and knights that had fallen into our hands, 
 besides those that lay dead upon the field, that 
 we were, as it were, wholly confounded at our 
 own success. The King's counsellors also feared 
 greatly lest there should be among us traitors 
 who, for the love of money, would set free the 
 enemies of our land. And in especial did they 
 fear this touching David the Bruce, who lay so 
 grievously sick that many times John Copeland 
 feared he would die. For besides a wound
 
 married the Dame de Coucy. 269 
 
 above his knee, an arrow had entered his fore- 
 head, and the head thereof could no leech 
 remove. Nevertheless, after a while he 
 revived, and the squire delivered him to the 
 Lord Nevill, and he gave him up to Sir 
 Thomas Rokeby, by whom he was conducted 
 to London. 
 
 Neither is there need that I should tell how 
 the King rewarded my master, making him 
 a knight banneret and giving him lands and 
 riches, yea, and yet more, putting him ever in 
 the post of honour in those parts which lay in 
 the forefront of the peril and needed most to 
 have brave men to keep them. 
 
 Then, when Sir John de Copeland saw that 
 
 " He had worthily won a name, 
 And was become a knight of fame," 
 
 he took horse and rode quickly, making no 
 delay until he came to the house where his 
 lady dwelt. And at her feet he laid a knot of 
 white ribbon, and it was marvellously rent and 
 cut, yea, and sprinkled also with blood. And 
 she looked upon him, and his countenance was 
 scarred with a grievous wound, and the beauty 
 thereof destroyed — and she loved him and be-
 
 270 How Sir John Cop el and 
 
 came his wife. And at their wedding was great 
 feasting and rejoicing, and many lords and 
 barons and noble knights, with fair ladies, came 
 from all the country round to do him honour, 
 for he was greatly beloved. And thither came 
 the brave Bishop of Carlisle, claiming to be 
 seated among the most valiant of the warriors 
 for the deeds that he had wrought at Durham, 
 and disputing loudly with the Lord Percy con- 
 cerning the most skilful manner of drawing up 
 an army. And there was also the father Adam, 
 ready with wise counsel for small and great, and 
 seeking peace with all men. Then I, observing 
 that there was trouble in his face though he 
 sought to conceal it, drew him a little aside, 
 and spake with him of the angel calling down 
 fire from heaven. And he, looking upon me 
 with a terrified gaze, brake forth suddenly in a 
 loud voice, saying, " And thinkest thou that all 
 hath been fulfilled ? I tell thee nay. There 
 come yet worse things upon the land." And 
 as he spake the maid Margery, standing with 
 her hand in mine, caught it quickly from me, 
 being afraid at the sound of his voice. 
 
 And when the feast was over and the guests
 
 married the Dame de Coucy. 271 
 
 departed, Sir John made me his squire, and I 
 rode with him and my sweet mistress to Rox- 
 burgh Castle, for the King had made him the 
 governor of it. But the little Margery re- 
 turned to her father's house. And I trusted in 
 a few years to come thither again and woo her 
 for my bride. But there came upon the land 
 that of which Father Adam had spoken, and the 
 Black Death walked abroad in the land, and I 
 saw her on earth no more. Yet in my heart 
 she dwelleth ever bright and fair. 
 
 And Sir John, though he had won fame, 
 rested not from his labours, but dwelt ever 
 where peril was greatest, and the enemy boldest, 
 and to him gathered a company of valiant men, 
 who served him gladly and followed him truly. 
 Many a bold deed was wrought by them, and 
 when men came in any danger they sent hastily 
 for the aid of Sir John de Copeland. His lady 
 also rejoiced to be with him and dwell in the 
 midst of danger, loving rather hardship and toil 
 than slothful ease, until the fatal day when the 
 knight fell upon Bolton Moor by the treacherous 
 hands of John Clifford. Neither did she let the 
 memory of him ever fade away from her heart,
 
 272 How Sir John married Dame de Coucy. 
 
 passing all the rest of her days in almsgiving 
 and good works, ever bountiful to the poor and 
 needy, and ministering ofttimes to those that 
 were sick and like to die. 
 
 Woodfall & Kinder, Printers, Milford Lane, Strand, London, W.C.
 
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