"To look for himself?"
"Surely—an excellent joke; I meant to take him, where in reality none expect to find him; for I tell thee, Lintstock, this march westward is all a trick of mine enemies at court, to banish me from the king's presence and this good town of Edinburgh, when they know I would give my ears to remain in it."
"Aha!" said Lintstock, giving under his helmet a shrewd Scots wink with his solitary eye; "I can see into a millstone as far as my neighbours; but, certes! I saw na this."
Roland yawned below his visor as he faced the cold breeze that swept from the sea round Arthur's Seat, and gave a casual glance at the hundred soldiers of the guard whom his friend Leslie was arraying with their arquebuses, rests, and bandoliers; and another at his sixteen gunners, who were all stout men in steel bonnets and jacks, armed with swords and glove of plate, and who were tracing the horses, and preparing two very handsome French culverins for the march. These were two of those fifty-six beautiful pieces of brass cannon, presented by Francis I. to his daughter Magdalene on her becoming queen of Scotland, and which were long after known in the arsenal by his cipher, which was engraved on them.
Like all men of the old school (for they have existed in every age, and every age has had "a good old time" to regret), Lintstock was scrutinizing these cannon narrowly with his one eye, and commenting from time to time in sorrow and with anger on the various innovations they exhibited, and the multitude of ornamental rings which encircled the first and second reinforce, the chase and muzzle of each; and he could not repress a groan at the trunnions with which they were supported on the carriages, and the curved dolphins, which served for mounting and dismounting them. Thrawn-mouthed Mow, which had knocked out his left eye by her splinters, had been blessedly free (as he remembered) of all such useful ornaments, and lay on her stock like one log lying on another.
"By my holy dame! but this dings Dunse!" said the old fellow, shaking his battered morion; "this world will no do now for an auld body like me; and the suner I march to my lang hame the better. Gude-sake! what have they made o' the aim frontlets?"
"Sic auld-fashioned things are no needed, ye grumbling carle," said a young cannonier; "especially when the trunnions are so placed, and the quoins are so low."
"Ye are but a bairn; trunnions! we levelled six-and-twenty pieces on Flodden field, and devil a trunnion was among them a'. We were but ten thousand that day, and the Lord Surrey had six-and-twenty thousand under his banner: but say nae mair o' Flodden, for I feel as if this corslet would burst when I think o't."
Roland paid no attention to the old soldier's complaints; he was intently observing a man who was muffled in a sad-coloured mantle, and leaned against the wall of James the Fifth's Tower, watching the preparations for the departure of this little band. The hour was so early that no other person was visible about the palace, save the arquebusiers eo duty in the archways.
"Yonder is either Redhall, or his friend with the horns," thought Roland. "Now, what errand can bring my lord advocate abroad at this early hour? Ah, rascal! more than probable it is to thee I owe this untimeous march, without bidding once adieu to her who loves me so well."