"Meantime," said the leader, "waken up his worship, for supper is ready."
Here one pulled the wearied cavalier by the cloak. He started up, and revealed a handsome young face, aquiline features and dark hazel eyes, close clipped beard and dark moustache. He wore (very much on the right side) a smart blue bonnet, with a white feather springing from a diamond St. Andrew's cross.
"Mercy! the king!" said the earl, in the inmost recesses of his heart, as he respectfully gave place at the fire to the gallant and adventurous James V., who had not the most remote idea that he was recognised by any one there, and passed for nothing more than a private gentleman; the whole adventure being one of that romantic kind in which he—our Scottish Haround Alraschid—delighted. Before seating himself on the stone which was to be his chair, he signed the cross upon his breast and said: "Benedicite."
A mess of rabbits and fowls stewed together in a kailpot, another of broiled fish, with cheese and bannocks, which, like the small kegs of ale and usquebaugh, had merely cost the trouble of carrying them off (at a time when the burgh-merchants had no other police than their own eyes and hands), were freely shared by the thieves with their illustrious guests, one of whom they had foredoomed to death. The other, they deemed already as one of themselves; for the earl, the better to conceal his real character, assumed a strange dialect, and talked, laughed, sung and swore, till he drew upon him the marked attention of the king; but under that matted beard and tattered attire, disfigured by many a gout of blood, the monarch failed to recognise the outlawed noble.
With a hunting clasp-knife, one of those made and inscribed by Jacques de Liege (whence comes our Scottish Jockteleg), the king was carving for himself a chicken which he had laid on a broad bannock, and was evidently enjoying the repast like a huntsman and soldier, for he was both.
"By my faith! knave of the pot," said he to the robber who had cooked, "thou hast done thy duty well."
"Ouaye; we fisher chields can turn our hands to anything."
"Then turn them to mending the fire; for dost thou not see 'tis all gone to cinders?"
"As we shall when we gang to auld Clootie," replied the cook, whose reply was greeted by a roar of laughter, the echoes of which seemed to rumble away into the heart of the rocks.
"Friend Bloodybeard," said the king to the earl, "hand over that keg of usquebaugh; wilt drink with me? thy health, friend Bloodybeard."