Half an hour later, Adam Armstrong came out of the cottage where his
son was lying. His mood had changed. He had gathered hope from Meg
Margetson's confident assurances that there was ground for it.
"Now, let us talk of what had best be done, Oswald," he said, as he led
the way into the next cottage, where the woman at once turned her
children out, and cleared a room for him.
"What force could you gather, Uncle?"
"In my grandfather's time," he said, "two hundred Armstrongs, and their
followers, could gather in case of need; but the family was grievously
thinned, in the days when Edward carried fire and sword through
Scotland; and for the last fifty years Roxburgh and these parts have
been mostly under English rule, and in that time we have never gathered
as a family. Still, all my kin would, I know, take up this quarrel; and
I should say that, in twelve hours, we could gather fifty or sixty
stout fighting men.
"But the Bairds would be expecting us, and can put, with the families
allied to them and their retainers, nigh three hundred men under arms.
Their hold is so strong a one that it took fifteen hundred Englishmen,
under Umfraville, three weeks to capture it. It was destroyed then, but
it is stronger now than ever.
"Could we get aid from Roxburgh, think you?"
"I fear not, Uncle. I know that the governor has strict orders not to
give Douglas any pretext for invading us, and to hold his garrison
together; since the earl may, at any moment, endeavour to capture the
town before help could arrive. And even were he to send four or five
hundred men, the Bairds could hold out for a fortnight, at least; and
long before this Douglas would be down, with an army, to his rescue.
"I have been talking it over with my trusty companion, here, and he
agrees with me that, unless a body of men-at-arms that would avail to
capture the fortalice by a sudden assault can be raised, we must trust
to guile rather than force; and I propose that he and I shall, at once,
start for the hold and see how matters stand, and where the prisoners
are confined, and what hope there is of getting them free. I propose to
send my other man to Yardhope, to tell my father what has happened, and
to ask him to warn his friends to be ready to cross the border, and to
join any force you can gather for an attack on the Bairds. It is true
that stringent orders have been issued that there is to be no raiding
in Scotland, but my father would not heed that for a moment. The attack
that has been made upon you, the killing of his wife's sister, the
wounding of Allan, and carrying off of his nieces would be deemed, by
him, a grievance sufficient to justify his disregarding all orders.
Besides which, he has the old grievance against the Bairds, which is
all the more bitter since they led the Scots to attack Yardhope. I can
guarantee that, when he gets word from you as to the day and place, he
will meet you there with at least a hundred spears. It is true that,
with this force and that which you can bring, he could not hope to
capture the Bairds' hold; but together you could carry sword and fire
through his district, before he could gather a force to meet you in the
field."
"I fear that would not do, Oswald. William Baird would be capable of
hanging the girls from the battlements, when the first fire was lit."
Oswald was silent. From the tales he had heard of the ferocity of these
dreaded marauders, he felt that it was more than probable that his
uncle was right.
"It seems to me," he said, after a pause, "that it were best for you to
send two men to Parton; which is, as I have heard, though I have never
been there, ten miles south of the Bairds'. Let them give the name of
Johnstone; and, at the tavern where they put up, say they expect a
relative of the same name. As soon as I can find out how the affair had
best be managed, I will give them instructions as to the plans I
propose. One will carry them to you, and the other to my father. Will
Parton be a good place for you to join forces?"
"As well as any other, Oswald. Your plan seems to me a good one. At any
rate, I can think of nothing better. My brain is deadened by this
terrible misfortune. Had I my own will, I would ride straight to the
Bairds' hold and challenge him and his brothers and sons to meet me,
one after another, in fair combat; and should be well contented if I
could slay one or two of them, before being myself killed."
"I can quite understand that, Uncle. But your death would be, in no
way, an advantage to the girls; nay, would rather render them more
helpless, therefore I pray you to let me carry things out as I have
planned."
His uncle nodded.
"I shall send out a dozen runners to my friends," he said, "and beg
them to be here tomorrow morning, early. Then, when I have talked
matters over with them, I shall ride to Roxburgh and lay the matter
before the governor. I know that I shall get no help from him; but at
least, when he hears of a gathering here, he will know that 'tis with
no evil intention against the English."
Ten minutes later, Oswald's messenger started for Yardhope, with a full
account of the step he was taking, and of the arrangements that had
been made. This done, he had a long talk with Roger.
"Now, Roger," he said, "this will be the most dangerous business in
which we have been concerned; and I should not venture to undertake it,
did I not know that I could rely, absolutely, upon you."
"I will do my best, master, and will adventure my life all the more
willingly, since it is in the service of Allan and Janet Armstrong.
They were always pleasant and friendly with me, at Yardhope, and I like
them for themselves, as well as because they are your cousins. Now,
master, what is to be done?"
"Have you your gown with you, Roger?"
"No, master. I know you always told me to take it with me, thinking
that it might come in useful, and I carried it under my saddle all the
time we were in Wales; but, seeing that this was but a ride to Jedburgh
and back, I thought that there would be no occasion for it."
"That is unfortunate, Roger, for it is upon this that we must depend to
get an entry into the Bairds' hold."
"Well, master, I can doubtless get some rough cloth of the colour, at
Jedburgh; and indeed, there is a small monastery about three miles
hence on the road, and it may be that, if Adam Armstrong will go with
us and say wherefore it is wanted, the prior will let him have one."
"I will see him at once. No time must be lost. While he is away, you
must shave your head again."
Roger's face fell.
"'Tis hard, master, after it has grown so well to match the rest.
Still, for so good a purpose I must even give in."
On hearing what was wanted, Armstrong mounted and rode off at once and,
while he was away, one of the villagers shaved the top of Roger's head
again. In an hour, Armstrong brought back a monk's gown.
"He was loath to let me have it even, for such a purpose, though I told
him that you were once a monk of the order. Finally he said that his
conscience would not allow him to lend it, but that he would sell it to
me for six pennies, which I gladly gave him."
"It is dark now," Oswald said, "and I know not the road. Can you give
me some man to put me on the way? We will not make straight for the
Bairds', but will strike the road from Glasgow, some ten or twelve
miles north of his place, so that we can come down from that direction.
Then our guide, after taking us on to the road, had best take charge of
the horses and lead them to Parton, there to remain with them until
your messenger, and the one from Yardhope, arrive. It would be as well
to have the horses there, for we cannot know what need we may have of
them."
"That I will arrange at once, Oswald. Is there aught else?"
"Yes, Uncle, I must leave my armour and clothes here, and borrow others
that will pass as a disguise."
"How would you go, Oswald?"
"In truth, it is a difficult matter. That of a minstrel would be the
best passport, but I know nought of harp or other instrument. I might
go as a vendor of philters and charms, a sort of half-witted chap,
whose mother concocted such things."
"They would never let you into the Bairds' castle, Oswald."
"Then I must be a rough man-at-arms, one who had been in the service of
the Earl of March; and who, when he turned traitor and went over to the
English, found himself without employment; and asked nothing better
than to enter the service of someone who will give him bread and meat,
in return for any services that he can render, whether in hunting up
any cattle among the hills, or striking a shrewd blow in the service of
his employer, if needs be."
"That must do, if we can think of nothing better, Oswald. I will
speedily bring you the things you require, as they will be found in
every house in the village; and some, alas! will be needed no more by
those who wore them."
"They must be of good size, Uncle."
"Ay, ay, lad. There must have been some tall fellows, among those they
slew today."
Half an hour later, Roger and Oswald mounted. His uncle sent two of his
men with them, saying that it would look strange were one man to come,
with two horses, to Parton; but that two, saying that their masters
would follow, would seem a more probable tale.
"They will, if they can, find some quiet farmhouse a mile out of the
village, and there get lodgings for themselves and beasts. You can
arrange with them to take up their station on the road, so that you
can, if needs be, find them."
It was with a sigh that Roger flung himself into the saddle. It was not
the horse on which he had ridden there, but a strong, shaggy pony.
"He does not look much," one of the men said, "but there is no better
horse, of the sort, in the country. He has both speed and bottom, and
can carry you up or down hill, and is as sure-footed as a goat."
Roger had assented to the change, for his own horse was as unlike one
that a monk would have bestrode as could be well imagined. He had
obtained a stout staff, to which the village smith had added two or
three iron rings at each end, rendering it a formidable weapon, indeed,
in such hands.
"It reminds me of our start for Dunbar, master," he said. "One might
have a worse weapon than this;" and he swung it round his head, in
quarterstaff fashion; "still, I prefer a mace."
"That staff will do just as well, Roger. A man would need a hard skull,
indeed, to require more than one blow from such a weapon."
Now that Adam Armstrong had done all that there was to do, he went
again to the cottage where Allan lay. He had paid several visits there,
in the afternoon; but there was nought for him to do, and no comfort to
be gained from the white face of the insensible lad. Meg assured him,
however, that he was going on as well as could be expected.
"He is in a torpor, at present," she said; "and may so lie for two or
three days; but so long as there is no fever he will, I hope, know you
when he opens his eyes. There is nought to do but to keep wet cloths
round his head, and to put on a fresh poultice over the wound, every
hour."
Now Armstrong took his place by his son's pallet. For a time, the work
of making preparations for Oswald's departure, and of sending off
messages to his friends, had prevented his thoughts from dwelling upon
his loss. Throughout the night, the picture of his home, as he had left
it when he rode out that morning; and the thought that it was now an
empty shell, his wife dead, his daughters carried off, and his son
lying between life and death, came to him with full force, and well
nigh broke him down.
In the meantime, the little party were making across the hills, and
before morning they came upon the northern road, fifteen miles from the
Bairds' hold. Here Oswald and Roger dismounted. It was arranged that
the men should return with the horses into the hills, and should there
rest until late in the afternoon, and then mount and ride for Parton.
One or other of them was to come down, at seven o'clock each evening,
to the road half a mile from the village; and was there to watch till
nine. If no one came along, they were then to return to their lodging.
"I feel stiff in the legs, master," Roger said; "a fifty-mile ride, up
and down the hills, is no joke after a hard day's work."
"They will soon come right again, Roger. I feel stiff, myself, though
pretty well accustomed to horse exercise. However, when we present
ourselves at the hold, dusty and footsore, we shall look our characters
thoroughly."
Neither were sorry when they arrived at a small village, a quarter of a
mile from the Bairds' hold. They went in together to the little ale
house, and vigorously attacked the rough fare set before them.
"Hast thou travelled far?" their host asked, as he watched them eating.
"Indifferently far," the monk said: "'tis five-and-twenty miles hence
to Moffat, and it would have seemed farther to me, had not this good
fellow overtaken me, and fell in with my pace. He is good company,
though monkish gowns have but little in common with steel pot and
broadsword; but his talk, and his songs, lightened the way."
"Whither are you going, father?"
"I am making my way to Carlisle," he said. "I have a brother who is
prior in a small monastery, there, and it is long since I have seen
him. Who lives at the stronghold I saw on the hills, but a short
distance away?"
"It is the hold of William Baird, the head of that family; of whom,
doubtless, you may have heard."
"I have heard his name, as that of a noted raider across the border,"
the monk said; "a fierce man, and a bold one. Has he regard for the
church? If so, I would gladly take up my abode there, for a day or two;
for in truth I am wearied out, it being some years since my feet have
carried me so long a journey."
"As to that, I say nothing," the host said. "It would depend on his
humour whether he took you in, or shut the gates in your face without
ceremony; but methinks, at present, the latter were more likely than
the former; for his hold is full of armed men, and I should say it were
wisest to leave him alone, even if you had but the bare moor to sleep
upon."
"Nevertheless, I can but try," the monk said. "He may be in one of
those good tempers you spoke of. And I suppose he has also a priest, in
his fortalice?"
"Ay, the Bairds are not--but I would rather not talk of them. They are
near neighbours, and among my very best customers."
As he spoke, four armed men came in at the door.
"Good day, Wilson! Whom have you here? An ill-assorted couple, surely.
A monk, though a somewhat rough one, and a man-at-arms."
"Fellow travellers of a day," Roger said calmly. "We met on the road,
and as I love not solitude, having enough and to spare of it, I
accosted him. He turned out a good companion."
"You are a man of sinew yourself, monk, and methinks that you would
have made a better soldier than a shaveling."
"I thought so sometime, myself," the monk said; "but my parents thought
otherwise, and it is too late to take up another vocation, now."
"Is that staff yours?" the soldier asked, taking it up, and handling
it.
"Yes, my son. In these days even a quiet religious man, like myself,
may meet with rough fellows by the way; and while that staff gives
support to my feet, it is an aid to command decent behaviour from those
I fall in with. I have not much to lose, having with me but sufficient
to buy me victuals for my journey to Carlisle; where, as I have just
told our host, I am journeying to see a brother, who is prior at a
convent there."
"This fellow--where did you fall in with him?"
"He overtook me some twenty miles north, on the road to Glasgow."
"And are you travelling to Carlisle, too?" the man said to Oswald.
"Nay," he said, "I purpose not going beyond the border. I have lost my
employment, and have tried, in vain, to find another as much to my
liking. I have come south to seek service, with one who will welcome a
strong arm to wield a sword."
"Hast tried the Douglas?"
"No," he said, "the Douglas has men enough of his own, and methinks I
should not care to be mewed up in one of his castles. I have had enough
of that already, seeing that I was a man-at-arms with George Dunbar,
till he turned traitor and went over to the English."
"You look a likely fellow; but, you know, we do not pay men, here, to
do our fighting for us. 'Tis all very well for great nobles, like
Dunbar and Douglas, to keep men always in arms, and ready to ride, at a
moment's notice, to carry fire and sword where they will. War is not
our business, save when there is trouble in the air, or mayhap we run
short of cattle or horses, and have to go and fetch them from across
the border. It is true that there are always a score or two of us up
there, for somehow the Bairds have enemies, but most of the followers
of the house live on their holdings, raise cattle and mountain sheep,
grow oats, and live as best they can."
"For myself, I would rather live with others," Oswald said. "I am used
to it, and to live in a hut on the moors would in no way be to my
fancy; and if I cannot get a place where I have comrades to talk to,
and crack a joke with, I would rather cross the seas, take service with
an Irish chieftain, or travel to Wales, where I hear men say there is
fighting."
"You need not go very far, if it is fighting that you want," the man
said. "Those who ride with the Bairds have their share, and more, of
it. If you like to stop here a day or two, I will take an opportunity
to talk to William Baird, or to one of his sons, if I find a chance;
but I cannot take you up there, now. At the best of times they are not
fond of visitors, and would be less so than usual, now."
Other armed men had come in, while the conversation was going on. No
further attention was paid to the travellers. The others, sitting down
at a table across the room, talked among themselves.
"I care not for the work," one said presently, raising his voice to a
higher pitch than that in which the others had spoken. "Across the
border, I am as ready for work as another; but when it comes to Scot
against Scot, I like it not."
"Why, man," another said, "what qualms are these? Isn't Scot always
fighting against Scot? Ay, and has been so, as far back as one has ever
heard. It does not take much for a Douglas or a Dunbar to get to
loggerheads; and as to the wild clans of the north, they are always
fighting among themselves."
"Yes, that is all very well," the other said, "and there is no reason
why neighbours should not quarrel, here; but I would rather that they
each summoned their friends, and met in fair fight and had it out, than
that one should pounce upon the other when not expected, and slay and
burn unopposed."
"Ay, ay," two or three others of the men agreed. "It were doubtless
better so, when it is Scot against Scot."
"'Tis border fashion," another put in. "There is no law on the border,
and we fight in our own fashion. Today it is our turn, tomorrow it may
be someone else's. We follow our chiefs, just as the northern clansmen
do; and whether it is a Musgrave or a Baird, a Fenwick or an Armstrong,
he is chief in his own hold, and cares neither for king nor earl, but
fights out his quarrel as it may please him. I am one of William
Baird's men, and his quarrel is mine; and whether we ride against the
King of Scotland or the King of England, against a Douglas or a Percy,
an Armstrong or a Musgrave, it matters not the value of a stoup of
ale."
"That is so, Nigel, and so say we all. But methinks that one may have a
preference for one sort of fighting over another; and I, myself, would
rather fight a matter out, man against man, than fall suddenly on a
hold, where none are ready to encounter us."
Roger, during a pause in the conversation at the other table, got up
from his seat and stretched himself.
"Well, friend," he said to Oswald, "I will go up and see if they will
make me welcome, at the hold. If they do, I may see you no more. If
not, I shall return here to sleep. Therefore I bid you good day, and
hope that you may find such service as will suit you. Benedicite!"
And, paying for his refreshment, Roger took his staff from the corner,
and went out.
"A hearty fellow, and a stalwart one," the man who had spoken to him
said. "I should not care to have a crack over the crown, with that
staff of his. You met him coming down from the north, comrade?"
"Yes, some twenty miles away. It was near Moffat that I overtook him. I
would rather drink with him than fight with him. Seldom have I seen a
stronger-looking man."
"I am of your opinion, comrade; and some of these monks are not bad
fighters, either. There have been bishops who have led the monks to
battle, before now, and they proved themselves stout men-at-arms."
After the others had gone out, Oswald strolled through the village, and
then mounted an eminence whence he could take a view across the valley,
and of some of the hilltops to the northeast. On one of these, two
miles away, he could make out a man standing by a horse. He watched him
for some little time, but beyond taking a few steps backwards and
forwards, the man did not move.
"He is a lookout," he said to himself, "and is no doubt watching some
road from Kelso and Jedburgh. Baird will hardly think that the
Armstrongs can have so soon gathered a force sufficient to attack him,
but he may have thought it as well to place one of his men on the
watch.
"I wonder how Roger is getting on! I think they must have taken him in,
or he would have been back before this."
Roger had walked quietly up the hill on which the Bairds' hold was
perched. A man stepped forward from the gate, as he neared it.
"None enter here," he said, "without permission from the master."
"Will you tell him that a poor monk, of the order of Saint Benedict, on
his way from his convent at Dunbar to one near Carlisle, of which his
brother is prior, prays hospitality for a day or two, seeing that he is
worn out by long travel?"
The sentry spoke to a man behind him, and the latter took the message
to William Baird. The latter was in a good humour. He himself had not
taken part in the raid on the Armstrongs, which had been led by Thomas
Baird, a cousin; but the fact that the latter had been entirely
successful, and had burned down Armstrong's house, and brought back his
daughters, had given him the greatest satisfaction. There was a
long-standing feud between the two families, and the fact that the
Armstrongs were on good terms with their English neighbours, and still
more that one of them had married the sister-in-law of a Forster of
Yardhope, had greatly embittered the feeling, on his side. He had long
meditated striking a blow at them, and the present time had been
exceptionally favourable.
Douglas had his hands full. He was on ill terms with Rothesay, whose
conduct to his daughter had deeply offended him. The newly-acquired
land of the Earl of March gave him much trouble. He was jealous of the
great influence of Albany, at court; and was, moreover, making
preparations for a serious raid into England. It was not likely, then,
that he would pay any attention to the complaints the Armstrongs might
make, of any attack upon them; especially as their aid was of small use
to him, while the Bairds could, at any moment, join him, in an invasion
across the border, with three hundred good fighting men.
William Baird had not, as yet, even considered what he should do with
his captives. He might give them in marriage to some of the younger men
of his family, or he might hold them as hostages. As to injuring them
personally, he did not think of it. Slaughter in a raid was lightly
regarded, but to ill-treat female prisoners would arouse a general
feeling of dissatisfaction along the border. Reprisals might be made by
the Armstrongs and their friends, and in any case, there would be such
widespread reprobation excited, as William Baird, reckless as he was,
could hardly afford to despise.
Therefore, when Roger's request was brought to him, he said at once:
"Take him up to Father Kenelm. Tell him to look after the monk's
comfort. This evening he can bring him down to the hall, and I will
question him as to his journey."
Roger followed the man through the courtyard. He paid, apparently, no
attention to what was going on there, but a quick glance enabled him to
perceive that the hold was full of men. He followed his guide up a
winding stair, to a turret on the wall, the lower story of which was
inhabited by the priest.
The soldier knocked at the door, and on its being opened by the priest,
he gave Baird's message to him. He was a tall man, spare and bony. He
himself was a Baird, and report said that, in his youth, he had ridden
on many a foray in England. But fighting men were common in the family,
and it had been thought well that one should enter the church, as it
was always good to have a friend who could represent them there and,
should any complaint be made, explain matters, and show that the family
were in no wise to blame. And moreover, as it was necessary to have a
priest at the chief fortalice of the family, it was best that it should
be one who would not be too strict in his penances, and could be
conveniently silent as to the doings within its walls.
The priest had accepted the role not unwillingly. He was an ambitious
man, and saw that, as one of the fighting Bairds, there was but small
opportunity of rising to aught beyond the command of one of the holds.
Douglas regarded them with no friendly eye, for their breaches of the
truces brought upon him constant complaints from the English wardens,
who might, some day or other, lead a force to punish the family, which
had been one of the few exempted from the general pardon, at the last
truce. As a priest he would have better opportunities, for the Bairds
had much influence along the border; and might, some day or other,
exert it in his favour.
So far, no such opportunity had occurred. It had been a disappointment
to him that Henry, in his last invasion, had kept along the eastern
coast; and he hoped that the war, which assuredly would, ere long,
break out violently, would give him the chance he longed for; and he
might be sent by his uncle to Douglas, with offers of service, or might
even go north, and have an interview with Albany.
Once fairly away from Liddesdale, he was resolved that it would be a
long time, indeed, before he returned. He was now some thirty years of
age, with a hard, keen face.
"Well, brother," he said, "it is not often that any of your order
sojourn here. I am glad to have one with whom I can converse, of other
matters than arms and armour, forays and wars."
"These matters are, indeed, too much in men's mouths," Roger said;
"though I own that I, myself, in some degree am interested in them;
for, had I had the choice of a vocation, I would rather have been a
man-at-arms than a monk."
"I wonder not at that," the other said, "seeing that nature has been
bountiful to you, in the matter of height and strength; and I doubt not
that you could, in case of need, use that staff you carry with good
effect."
"Methinks that I might do so, but happily none have molested me on my
way, seeing perhaps that my wallet was not likely to be a full one; and
that, mayhap, it was hardly worthwhile to meddle with me, with so small
a prospect of plunder."
"But come in, and sit down," the priest said. "My uncle has consigned
you to my care. We shall sup in half an hour."
"I shall not be sorry," Roger replied, "for though I broke my fast on
black bread and small beer, down in the village, 'tis but poor
nourishment for a man who has travelled far, and who has a large frame
to support."
"But how come you to be here?"
Roger again repeated his story.
"It would have been shorter for you to have travelled down through
Berwick, brother."
"The difference was not great," Roger replied; "and I had to carry a
message to Edinburgh, and from there it was shorter to keep west of the
Pentlands, and come down to Lanark, and thence through Moffat."
"Yes, I suppose it is as short. And you had no trouble on your way?"
Roger shook his head.
"No; I generally join some traveller or other, and that makes the
journey pass all the quicker. I came down here today with a stout young
fellow, who overtook me this side of Moffat. He was somewhat out at
elbow, and I looked askance at him at first; but he turned out a blithe
companion, and we got on well together. He could troll a good song, and
my own voice is not wanting in power. It was curious that he also was
from Dunbar, though not immediately; having, it would seem, wandered
for some time, on the lookout for service."
"What was he, a cattle drover?"
"No, he had been a man-at-arms, of George of Dunbar--at least, so I
understood--and when the earl fled, and Douglas took possession of
Dunbar, he lost his living. He told me that he had made his way down
here in hopes of finding employment on the border, where blows were
common, and a good blade was of more use than it was farther north. I
said that he might have found employment under Albany, or under some
other great lord; but he said that he had seen the Earl of March a
fugitive, and that he cared not to enter the service of another noble,
who might, in turn, be ousted from his place and lose his life; but as
for Albany, he thought, from what he heard, that he would rather serve
him than any other master.
"I said, 'Why not Rothesay, who would be King of Scotland?'
"He laughed lightly, and said as Rothesay had managed to get upon ill
friendship, not only with the Earl of March but with Douglas, and, as
he heard, with Albany, he thought that his chances of becoming King of
Scotland were not worth considering."
"He must be a bold varlet, thus to speak irreverently of great ones."
"I think not that he was bold," Roger said, "but only a merry,
thoughtless young fellow, who in such company as mine let his tongue
loose, and said what first came into his head. As to the matter,
methought he spoke not without warrant."
"And he came from the north, now?"
"I know not whence he came last, but I think that he was at Edinburgh,
and had taken service there, when the English king sat down before it;
but, as you know, nought came of the siege."
At this moment a horn blew.
"There is supper," the priest said. "We will go down."
The meal was laid in the hall; which, however, was not large enough to
contain more than the ordinary retainers of the hold. These, and the
men who had come in at the summons of Baird, were provided for in the
courtyard, the table being occupied entirely by members of the Baird
family, and others who always acted with them. These had not yet taken
their seats, when the priest entered with his companion, whom he at
once took up to Sir William Baird.
"By Saint Andrew! Monk, I have seen no finer figure, for many a day. A
pity that a monk's gown should clothe such limbs as yours."
"That has always been mine own opinion," Roger said, with a heartiness
that raised a smile on the hard faces of the men standing round.
"You look as if you had carried arms."
"I did so, in my wild youth," Roger said, "and had no thought of ever
donning monk's hood; but I was grievously wounded, in a foray in
Northumberland, and when I reached my home at Lauder, I well nigh died
of the fever of the wound; and I swore that, if my life was saved, I
would become a monk. I got well, and I kept my vow; but methinks, had I
but known how dull the life was, I would rather have died of the
fever."
As this story was perfectly true, save the name of his birthplace,
Roger spoke so heartily that no one doubted his story.
"And your monastery is at Dunbar?
"You have been at Dunbar, Rotherglen. Ask him where the convent stood."
As Roger had stayed there, when with Oswald he was at Dunbar, he was
able to answer this, and other questions, satisfactorily. The party
then took their places at table, the priest and Roger sitting at the
bottom of it. The conversation at the upper end naturally turned on the
foray, and a general disbelief was expressed, as to the chance of the
Armstrongs retaliating.
"'Tis out of the question," one of the Bairds said, "they could not
raise fifty men. Doubtless they will send a complaint to Douglas, but
he has his hands well full; and is not likely to quarrel with us about
such a trifle, when he may want our aid, at any moment, either against
Albany or against the English."
"What do you intend to do with the girls?"
"I have not settled yet," William Baird said, shortly. "At any rate,
for the present I shall hold them as hostages. I don't think that
anything is likely to come of the affair; but if we should hear of any
force approaching, likely to give us trouble, we could send word to
them that, if an arrow is loosened at our walls, we will hang the girls
out as marks for their archers. I fancy that will send them trooping
off again, at once."
As soon as the meal was over, and the carousal began, the priest rose
and, accompanied by Roger, retired to his chamber.