THE CROSSING OF THE FORD
It was still early morning of the great day, when Sholto and Laurence
MacKim, leaving their mother in the kitchen, and their young sister
Magdalen trying a yet prettier knot to her kerchief, took their way by
the fords of Glen Lochar to an eminence then denominated plainly the
Whinny Knowe, the same which afterwards gained and has kept to this
day the more fatal designation of Knock Cannon. The lads were dressed
as became the sons of so prosperous a craftsman (and master armourer
to boot) as Malise MacKim of the Carlinwark.
Laurence, the younger, wore his archer's jack over the suit of purple
velvet, high boots of yellow leather, and, withal, a dainty cap set
far back on his head, from which sprouted the wing of a blackcock in
as close imitation as Master Laurence dared compass of the Earl
Douglas himself. His bow was slung at his back all ready for the
inspection. A sash of orange silk was twisted about his slim waist,
and in this he would set his thumb knowingly, and stare boldly as
often as the pair of brothers overtook a pretty girl. For Master
Laurence loved beauty, and thought not lightly of his own.
Sholto, though, as we shall soon see, despised not love, had eyes more
for the knights and men-at-arms, and considered that his heaven would
be fully attained as soon as he should ride one of those great
prancing horses, and carry a lance with the pennon of the Douglas upon
it.
Meanwhile he wore the steel cap of the home guard, the ringed neck
mail, the close-fitting doublet of blue dotted over with red Douglas
hearts and having the white cross of St. Andrew transversely upon it.
About his waist was a peaked brace of shining plate armour, damascened
in gold by Malise himself, and filling out his almost girlish waist to
manlier proportions. From this depended a row of tags of soft leather.
Close chain-mail covered his legs, to which at the knees were added
caps of triple plate. A sheaf of arrows in a blue and gold quiver on
his right side, a sword of metal on his left, and a short Scottish bow
in his hand completed the attire of a fully equipped and efficient
archer of the Earl's guard.
The lads were soon at the fords of Lochar, where in the dry summers
the stones show all the way across--one in the midst being named the
Black Douglas, noted as the place where, as tradition affirms,
Archibald the Grim used to pause in crossing the ford to look at his
new fortress of Thrieve, rising on its impregnable island above the
rich water meadows.
Now neither Sholto nor Laurence wished to wet their leg array before
the work and pageant of the day began. This was the desire of
Laurence, because of the maids who would assemble on the Boreland
Braes, and of Sholto inasmuch as he hoped to win the prize for the
best accoutrement and the most point-device attiring among all the
archers of the Earl's guard. The young men had asked crusty Simon
Conchie, the boatman at the Ferry Croft, to set them over, offering
him a groat for his pains. But he was far too busy to pay any
attention to mere silver coin on such an occasion, only pausing long
enough to cry to them that they must e'en cross at the fords, as many
of their betters would do that day.
There was nothing for it, therefore, but either to strip to the waist
or to wait the chances of the traffic. Both Sholto and Laurence were
exceedingly loath to take the former course. They had not, however,
long to hesitate, for a train of sumpter mules, belonging to the Lord
Herries of Terregles, whose father had been with Archibald the Tineman
in France, came up laden with the choicest products of the border
country which he designed to offer as part of the "Service-Kane" to
his overlord, the Earl of Douglas.
Now mules are all of them snorting, ill-conditioned brutes, and are
ever ready to run away upon the least excuse, or even without any. So
as soon as those of Lord Herries' train caught the glint of Sholto's
blue baldric and shining steel girdle-brace appearing suddenly from
behind a knoll, they incontinently bolted every way with noses to the
ground, scattering packs and brandishing heels like young colts turned
out to grass. It chanced that one of the largest mules made directly
towards the fords of Lochar, and the youths, catching the flying
bridle at either side, applied a sort of brake which sufficiently
slowed the beast's movements to enable such agile skipjacks as Sholto
and Laurence to mount. But as they were concerned more with their
leaping from the ground than with what was already upon the animal's
back, their heads met with a crash in the midst, in which collision
the superior weight of the younger had very naturally the better of
the encounter.
Sholto dropped instantly back to the ground. He was somewhat stunned
by the blow, but the sight of his brother triumphantly splashing
through the shallows aroused him. He arose, and seizing the first
stone that came to hand hurled it after Laurence, swearing fraternally
that he would smite him in the brisket with a dirk as soon as he
caught him for that dastard blow. The first stone flew wide, though
the splash caused the mule to shy into deeper water, to the damping of
his rider's legs. But the second, being better aimed, took the animal
fairly on the rump, and, fetching up on a fly-galled spot, frightened
it with bumping bags and loud squeals into the woods of Glen Lochar,
which come down close to the fords on every side. Here presently
Laurence found himself, like Absalom, caught in the branches of a
beech, and left hanging between heaven and earth. A rider in complete
plate of black mail caught him down, still holding on to his bow, and,
placing him across the saddle, brought down the flat of his gauntleted
hand upon a spot of the lad's person which, being uncovered by mail,
responded with a resounding smack. Then, amid the boisterous laughter
of the men-at-arms, he let Laurence slip to the ground.
But the younger son of Brawny Kim, master armourer of Carlinwark, was
not the lad to take such an insult meekly, even from a man-at-arms
riding on horseback. He threw his bow into the nearest thicket, and
seizing the most convenient ammunition, which chanced to be in great
plenty that day upon the braes of Balmaghie, pursued his insulter
along the glade with such excellent aim and good effect that the
black unadorned armour of the horseman showed disks of defilement all
over, like a tree trunk covered with toadstool growths.
"Shoot down the intolerable young rascal! Shall he thus beard my Lord
Maxwell?" cried a voice from the troop which witnessed the chase. And
more than one bow was bent, and several hand-fusils levelled from the
company which followed behind.
But the injured knight threw up his visor.
"Hold, there!" he cried, "the boy is right. It was I who insulted him,
and he did right to be revenged, though the rogue's aim is more to be
admired than his choice of weapons. Come hither, lad. Tell me who thou
art, and what is thy father's quality?"
"I am Laurence MacKim, an archer of my lord's guard, and the younger
son of Malise MacKim, master armourer to the Douglas."
Laurence, being still angry, rang out his titles as if they had been
inscribed in the book of the Lion-King-at-Arms.
"Saints save us," cried the knight in swart armour, "all that!"
Then, seeing the boy ready to answer back still more fiercely, he
continued with a courteous wave of the hand.
"I humbly ask your pardon, Master Laurence. I am glad the son of
Brawny Kim hath no small part of his father's spirit. Will you take
service and be my esquire, as becomes well a lad of parts who desires
to win his way to a knighthood?"
The heart of Laurence MacKim beat quickly--a horse to ride--an
esquire--perhaps if he had luck and much fighting, a knighthood.
Nevertheless, he answered with a bold straight look out of his black
eyes.
"I am an archer of my lord Douglas' outer guard. I can have no
promotion save from him or those of his house--not even from the King
himself."
"Well said!" cried the knight; "small wonder that the Douglas is the
greatest man in Scotland. I will speak to the Earl William this day
concerning you."
Lord Maxwell rode on at the head of his company with a courteous
salutation, which not a few behind him who had heard the colloquy
imitated. Laurence stood there with his heart working like yeast
within him, and his colour coming and going to think what he had been
offered and what he had refused.
"God's truth," he said to himself, "I might have been a great man if I
had chosen, while Sholto, that old sober sides, was left lagging
behind."
Then he looked about for his bow and went swaggering along as if he
were already Sir Laurence and the leader of an army.
But Nemesis was upon him, and that in the fashion which his pride
would feel the most.
"Take that, beast of a Laurence!" cried a voice behind him.
And the lad received a jolt from behind which loosened his teeth in
their sockets and discomposed the dignified stride with which in
imagination he was commanding the armies of the Douglas.