It was not in the direction taken by the Scottish army that we were conducted as prisoners by the Scottish men-at-arms, but to a castle standing on the banks of a stream called the Leader, and hard by the tower within the walls of which, in the thirteenth century, dwelt Thomas of Ercildoun, a bard of mighty fame, who enjoyed the reputation of being gifted with a prophetic faculty, and who is said, while at supper in the castle of Dunbar, to have predicted the death of Alexander, King of Scots, and who, on being asked when the war in Scotland would come to an end, answered, "When the cultivated country shall become forest; when wild beasts shall inhabit the abodes of men; when the Scots shall not be able to escape the English, should they crouch as hares in their form; and when they shall be drowned in their flight for fault of ships."
As we approached Mount Moreville, which, in earlier days, was the castle of Hugh de Moreville, a great Norman noble, who figured as Constable of Scotland, and founded the abbey of Dryburgh, and as we rode through the village that had risen under the protection of the stronghold of the Morevilles, night had for some time fallen, and darkness overshadowed the earth. But the rumour that Englishmen were being led to captivity brought forth men and women, and even children, who greeted us in harsh accents, with epithets of no complimentary kind, and loudly chanted a song, which I learned had, forty years earlier, been in fashion among the Scots, and which still retained much of its popularity, albeit it was a song of triumph over potent foes humiliated by a disaster which had been sternly and terribly avenged in three foughten fields:—
"Maidens of England, sore may ye mourn
For your lovers ye have lost at Bannockburn,
With Heve a low!
What ho! weneth the King of England,
So soon to have all Scotland,
With a rumby low!"
Smiling, as one who had fought at Neville's Cross might well smile, in scornful disdain at this barbarous dirge, I passed through the barriers, Salle riding by my side in doleful mood at the thought of being separated from freedom by stone walls and iron bars; and, having passed the drawbridge and dismounted in the courtyard, we were led into the hall of the castle.
While Salle, much downcast, and I, somewhat crestfallen, were kept waiting in the great hall of the castle of Mount Moreville till arrangements were made for lodging us securely in one of the strong rooms of the tower, I gradually became aware that the inmates were not all Scots. In fact, some of the French who had accompanied Eugène de Garentière were quartered in the castle, and among them Lancelot de Lorris, a young knight, who, young, handsome, expert in arms, and much in love with a demoiselle of his own country, had come to win his spurs in combat with the English, and had taken one of those romantic vows so common at the period not to eat bread from a table-cloth, nor to sleep in a bed, nor to look the lady of his love in the face, till he had performed certain feats of chivalry against the garrison of Roxburgh.
As we entered the hall the Frenchmen, some seated, some standing by the fire that burned on the hearth and blazed up the huge chimney, were playing dice, and talking boastfully enough of their feats in love and war. On seeing us, however, they, with one accord, moved to the middle of the floor and stared at us, smiling and whispering to each other, and displaying more curiosity than was agreeable to my comrade.
"Gallants!" growled Salle, patting the heads of two hounds that had roused themselves and risen from their recumbent posture on our entrance, "have you before never seen an English prisoner, that you stare at us as if we were elephants or camels, or beasts of prey? By good St. George, I err grievously if you would not be more shy of approaching were we but mounted on our horses and armed with swords."
It seemed that the language in which Salle conveyed his question and uttered his comment was not comprehended by the Frenchmen; for they merely looked at each other and shook their heads. Suddenly, however, the countenance of Lancelot de Lorris was lighted up with a smile of surprise, and the young knight, who, I observed, bore a chain on his arm to indicate that he was under thraldom to his chivalrous vow, stepped forward.
"By our lady of Rybamont!" said he, addressing me, "it seems to me, gentle squire, that we have met before."
"It may so have chanced, sir knight," replied I, speaking in his own tongue, and with studied courtesy, for I wished to make amends for my comrade's growl, "but, if so, my memory serves me not as to time and place."