The English Ambassador and the gallant Lindsay.
BY the time Mortimer Sang returned to the lists, he was disappointed to
find that he had no chance left of establishing his reputation that
night against a worthier antagonist. The Earl of Fife had already
dropped his white wand, and orders had been issued for the clearance of
the enclosure and shutting the barriers. The heralds had commanded the
banners to be furled, and all were now on the move.
The gay groups of chevaliers and ladies returned from the lists in
independent parties, some to the Castle, and others to their pavilions
on the field, to prepare for joining the general assemblage at the
banquet in the Hall of Randolph. The number of guests who met there at
the usual hour was much greater than on any of the former occasions,
many knights having arrived during the previous evening, or during that
day, that they might have their heraldic blazons and trophies put up in
the chapel of St. John the Baptist, to give them a right to tilt at the
tournament. The Countess of Moray resumed her place beside her lord, at
the head of the board. Sir Patrick Hepborne attended the party of the
Lady of Dirleton, who, with her lord, showed him an increase of
kindness each successive time they met; but when he addressed the Lady
Jane de Vaux, she seemed to have put on that frosty and chilling air
which had given him so much vexation in the Countess of Moray.
The conversation naturally turned on the exhibition of the day, and was
for some time confined to the various private dialogues in which it had
sprung up. Praise fell on some few names—Sang’s conduct, and his
amusing chase were talked of with commendation of him, and ridicule of
his opponent, the impostor Knight of Cheviot, of whose robbery of the
old woman’s purse all were now made aware. Some young knights were
mentioned with approbation, but the general feeling was, that the
exhibition had been poor, and much more was hoped for from to-morrow.
By degrees the hum of voices that prevailed around the festive board
began to subside beneath the interest that was gradually excited by a
conversation now arising between the Lord of Welles and some of his
English knights, on the one hand, and several of the Scottish
chevaliers on the other; and, at last, so deep was the silent attention
it produced, that every word of it was heard by all present.
“My Lord Earl of Moray,” said the Lord Welles, “I feel much beholden to
thee for having persuaded me hither from Scone; for, however tedious
and tiresome mought have been the journey, it hath given me an
opportunity of satisfying myself and my friends of the unbounded
liberality and magnificence of thy hospitality, the which can be
surpassed by nothing south of Tweed. But I hope thou wilt take no
offence at the plainness of speech and honesty which I use, when I tell
thee that had thy Scottish tilting been all the inducement thou hadst
to offer me, I mought have as well staid where I was, as I should most
assuredly have been but meagrely recompensed for the hardships and
deprivations of my long and wearisome pilgrimage through so large a
portion of your trackless Scottish forests and wastes.”
“Nay, my Lord Welles,” replied the Earl of Moray, “I care not what may
have occasioned me the honour of thy presence at Tarnawa, enow for me
is the satisfaction of its enjoyment, enhanced as it is by the gracious
reception of what hospitality I may offer thee. Yet of a truth it
erketh me to find that thou hast lacked that pleasure in the survey of
the exercises of this day’s jousting the which I had hoped to afford
thee. Thou knowest that such meetings of arms are but rare with us in
Scotland, and we may not look for that expertness the which doth
distinguish the tourneys of more southern climes; yet had I hoped that
thou mightest have been in some sort amused.”
“Nay, perdie, I said not that I was not amused,” cried the Lord Welles,
with a sarcastic leer—“I said not that I was not amused; for amused I
certainly was, and that exceedingly too; but amusement is not what I do
ever look for in beholding the exercise of the lists. When I do lack
amusement, I do hie me to view the tomblesteers, and those who do
practise jonglerie; and indeed I did of a truth see many to-day who
were very well fitted for shining among a corps of tumblers; and so I
could not choose but be amused, yea even unto laughter, as I did
witness the ingenious summersaults they performed. Yet looking, as I am
ever accustomed to do, for firm sitting and well-addressed lances in
the lists, depardieux, I could not but be disappointed that thou hadst
nothing better to show me in behalf of Scottish chivalry.”
“Thou knowest, my Lord Welles,” said the Earl calmly, “that these were
but the novices in arms, to whom the license of this day and to-morrow
is given to exercise themselves withal. Judge not too hastily, I
beseech thee, of our Scottish chivalry, of whom thou hast but as yet
seen the feeble efforts of the braunchers.”
“I should not wish to judge too hastily,” replied the Lord Welles; “but
if the young falcons show such poor courage of flight, parfay, I see
not great hope of their ever winging well up to the quarry. If thy
youthful knighthood of Scotland show no more bravely, depardieux, there
is but little chance of much shining metal or skill being displayed
among those who have grown tall under such awkward and unseemly
practice.”
“My most excellent Lord,” said Sir Piers Courtenay, following up the
speech of his principal, “my most sweet, excellent, and
highly-respected Earl of Moray, I must be permitted to add to those
remarks, the which it hath pleased the judicious and nicely-observant
Lord Welles to effunde, that I did, to my inexpressible astonishment
and dismay, yea, and almost to the doubting the accuracy of the
observation of mine eyes, perceive, and I hope thou wilt forgive me for
thus daring to divulge it, always believing that I do so without
meaning offence, and giving me credence for the entertainment of the
most perfect respect and consideration for your Lordship; I did verily
perceive, I say, several grievous outrages on the established rules for
the equipment of men and horses in those who did ride to-day. Three
spurs did I observe that were too high set on the heels, by the fourth
part of an inch at least; one did I notice of a vile fashion; one
bridle-bit was all courbed awry; one dagger was worn nearly, though not
quite, an inch too low; divers of the wreaths were ill adjusted on the
helmets (the ladies,” bowing round to them as he said so, “will pardon
me for adventuring on criticism so nearly affecting them); some of the
crests were an inch too high; and, to conclude, there were more than
one surcoat ill cut. Now, I do crave thy permission to remark, most
potent Earl, that he who doth neglect these highly essential, though
minute points of chivalry, cannot be expected to excel in the greater
and more obvious.”
“I do hope, my noble Earl of Moray,” said Sir William de Dalzell
roguishly—“I do hope that thou wilt exert thy power and thine influence
over the young and rising sprigs of Scottish chivalry, that they may
arm themselves more en regle; but, that they may strictly and correctly
do so, it doth behove thee to hunt out and catch that large ensample of
good and well-fashioned English knighthood the which did with such
brilliancy grace our Scottish lists this day—he of the Cheviot
mountains, I do mean, for I am credibly informed that he is of English
fabrication; but I trow it will puzzle thee sore to find a Scot,
whether knight, esquire, or page, who can run with him; yet ought he
natheless to be hunted out, caught, and exhibited for the amelioration
of our salvage nation; yea, and after his death he should be speedily
embowelled, embalmed, and stuffed, to be set up as a specimen of the
rigid and scrupulous accuracy of chivalric arming practised by English
knights, to the securing of the improvement of Scottish taste and the
establishment of a purer and more perfect description of it than hath
hitherto prevailed in such matters, to the latest generation.”
“Thou dost not call by the glorious name of knight that impostor who
assumed the character and name for some villainous purpose, and who had
the lion’s skin torn from his scoundrel carcase?” exclaimed the Lord
Welles, with a haughty and indignant air.
“It mattereth not whether he were knight or no,” replied Sir William de
Dalzell; “of one thing we are all certain, and that is, that he was ane
Englishman.”
“And are all Englishmen to be judged by the ensample of such a craven
as that? one, too, who was hatched on the very borders of Scotland?”
replied the Lord Welles, with a slight expression of anger.
“Nay” said Sir David Lindsay of Glenesk, “nay, my good Lord, not so;
but neither are the deeds of all Scottishmen to be judged by the
nerveless essays of a few untaught striplings. I do beseech thee to
suspend thy decision as to Scottish tilting until our tourney doth
commence, and I do give thee leave to call us gnoffes if thou wilt,
yea, tomblesteers, if so be thou dost then think we deserve any such
opprobrious epithets; but if I mistake not, thou shalt see enow to
satisfy thee that thou mayest meet with some in Scotland who may be an
overmatch for the best of thine English knights.”
“Parfay, thou goest far, Sir David Lindsay,” said the Lord Welles, with
a sneer; “meseems it thou knowest but little of the mettle of English
chivauncie, to talk of it so slightingly.”
“Nay, I went not farther than I did intend,” replied the Scottish
knight; “I trow I have seen good emptying of saddles in my day, and
have encountered knights of all nations, and I am bold to say that were
I to choose my champion it should not be from England he should be
taken, while we have Scotsmen left to afford me good picking. At
present, thanks be to God, we have whole armies of knights, any one of
whom, so far from provoking an Englishman’s mirth, will, by the very
mention of his name alone, make any southern chevalier look grave.”
“Nay, boast not, Lindsay,” said the gallant Douglas, “we can prove enow
by deeds to set us above vaunting.”
“I vaunt not, my Lord Earl of Douglas,” replied Sir David Lindsay; “yet
when vaunts are the only weapons used against us, what can a man do?”
“Let words have no place, then,” said the Lord Welles, with
considerable eagerness, as well as haughtiness of manner—“let words
have no place; and if thou knowest not the chivalry and the valiant
deeds of Englishmen, appoint me a day and a place where thou listeth,
and, depardieux, thou shalt have experience to thine edification.”
“If it so please thee, then, to waive thy privileges, my Lord,” quickly
rejoined Sir David Lindsay; “if so be, I say, that thou wilt condescend
to waive thy privileges, and that thou wilt vouchsafe to honour our
lists with an exhibition of thy skill and nerve, by St. Andrew I will
gladly meet thee to-morrow; yea, or if thou shouldst wish to eschew the
encounter in thine own sacred person, of a truth I shall be well
contented to take whichsoever of thy companions thou mayest be pleased
to assign me. We shall at least be sure that the appearance of one
English knight in the lists shall give a zest to the jousting which
to-day’s exhibition did so meagrely supply.”
“I do beseech thee, my noble and most fair Lord,” said Sir Piers
Courtenay to the Lord Welles—“I do beseech thee, let me be the
supremely felicitous knight who may appear under the banner of St.
George to combat in honour of England.”
“Nay, Courtenay,” said the Lord Welles, “I can neither resign to thee
the right I have obtained to the gallant Sir David Lindsay, nor can I
submit to tilt now; but if Sir David will indulge me so far as to name
some other time and place, verily, I shall pledge myself to give him
the meeting, yea, and that, too, with as much good-will as he can wish
for it.”
“By the mass, I care not though thou dost make the meeting in England,
or even in London itself,” said Sir David Lindsay. “Let me have a
safe-conduct from the English King for myself and party and I will not
scruple to ride, yea, even to the farthermost point of thy southern
soil in search of an antagonist so desirable.”
“Let it be on London Bridge, then,” said the Lord Welles.
“On London Bridge!” muttered a number of the Scottish knights, as if
they thought that it was but hardly liberal in the English noble to
close so narrowly with the wide proposal of their champion.
“Yea, on London Bridge, or in thine own garden, if it so listeth thee,
my Lord Welles,” replied the staunch Sir David, without attending to
the ejaculations of his friends. “Let us not delay to record the
conditions.”
“My word is enow for this night, I do trust,” replied the Lord Welles,
rising and offering his hand across the table to Sir David Lindsay, who
took it in the most friendly manner. “To-morrow we may have the terms
properly drawn up at greater leisure.”
“So then, ’tis as it should be,” said the Earl of Moray. “Let a
brimming goblet be filled. I drink to the health of the Lord Welles and
the health of Sir David Lindsay of Glenesk, and let both names float
together in friendly guise on the same mantling mazer.”
This double health was received with loud acclamations by all, and the
goblets circulated briskly to do honour to it.