That day had broken bright, was almost balmy, and brilliantly clear, the gray storm-pall having rolled seaward during the night.
"'Twill be a salve to my sore lungs, sire ... this blessed warmth," Tyrrell said to Sir Richard, lifting his nose into the thin air as he tottered upon the young knight's arm toward his waiting barb.
With Harold's assistance Sir Richard contrived to seat Tyrrell upon his horse; though it was no easy task, all encumbered as he was in the heaviest of armor.
"Put hand upon my shoulder, man," Sir Richard said to him after they had started, riding close to his side.
"Without aid have I come through life ... alone I'll sit till I fall ... sire," Tyrrell answered gloomily.
"An you call me king rightfully," said Sir Richard sternly, "put hand on my shoulder ... 'tis a command!"
Tyrrell turned upon the young knight a wan smile and then capitulated.
"Now thou art becoming an apt pupil ... sire," he answered in a whisper.
By now they were riding along a part of the Sauchieburn Pass with which Sir Richard was not familiar. It was that portion stretching northward from the point where he had left it to give battle with the Renegade Duke. The country here was more thickly populated than any through which they had passed. Drawing upon a high eminence, the three travelers could see the smoke from many chimney-tops curling above the downs. Away to the left was a cluster of cottages, surmounted by the steeple of a church. A good two leagues ahead could be distinguished that which appeared to be an inn standing alone against the roadside.
Like a yellow and much broken ribbon the highway fell away from their feet, threading in wide, sweeping curves along the narrow, winding valley. Upon this roadway, and appearing and disappearing with it around the bases of the hills, a company of armed horsemen was riding.