By this time our term of reprieve was at an end; and, arrangements having meanwhile been made for lodging us securely, we, after taking leave of Sir Lancelot, were conducted up a flight of stone stairs, and into a dimly-lighted chamber, with huge doors and narrow windows, the strong bolts and strong gratings of which seemed to forbid every thought of escape.
"My malison on Dame Fortune for playing us this scurvy trick," said my companion, as the gaoler departed, drawing bolt and bar carefully behind him. "If there is anything I have ever dreaded more than I have hated Scot and Frenchman, it has been the thought of captivity; and now here we are, mewed in an enemy's stronghold, without hope of freedom, and in the hands of men belonging to the nations I have ever detested."
"My friend," replied I soothingly, "be patient, I intreat you, and speak not of being without hope; captivity is the hard fate of many a brave warrior; and circumstances can open stronger doors than the one which bars us from liberty."
But days and weeks passed over, and winter went, and spring came, and the fields became green, and the leaves appeared on the trees, and we learned that the King of England and his army had returned home, and we were still prisoners, when, one day, an event occurred which lent something like novelty to our existence, and stimulated me in some efforts I had made to gratify our anxiety to escape.
I have said that Sir Lancelot de Lorris had vowed to perform certain deeds of chivalry against the garrison of Roxburgh, and no sooner had King Edward left the country than he began to make excursions with the object of accomplishing his vow. Pushing up one day to the stronghold, of which Sir John Copeland was governor, the French knight adventured so far as to strike upon the gate of the fortress and defy the garrison. On that day Copeland had left the castle to exercise his functions of Sheriff of Northumberland, and no notice was taken of the French knight's bravado. But when the Governor of Roxburgh returned, and learned what had occurred, he lost no time in returning the visit.
It was a day in spring, and the sun was shining pleasantly on pool and stream, when I, looking between the strong iron gratings that secured the window of our prison, observed a knight, accompanied by a band of horsemen, approach the castle, and hover on the lee outside the barriers in an attitude of defiance. I had no difficulty in recognising Copeland, and, entertaining little doubt as to the errand on which he had come, I called the attention of Salle to his presence, and awaited the result of his adventure with almost breathless interest.
Nor was Copeland long kept waiting. Elate with the anticipation of encountering so hardy a knight, Sir Lancelot, on hearing that the Governor of Roxburgh requested a tilt, immediately accepted the challenge, and, arraying himself for combat, sallied out, attended by Eustace the Strong and the other Frenchmen, all armed and mounted.
I have seldom beheld a more handsome cavalier than Sir Lancelot looked on this occasion, as, with his pennon displayed, he rode through the barriers with his target on his neck and a lance in his hand, full of gaiety and joyous with the prospect of conflict.
Meanwhile, Copeland, having looked to his saddle-girths, laid his lance in rest, and answered Sir Lancelot's cry of "Our lady of Rybamont!" with a shout of "St. George for England!" Then trumpets sounded, and the two champions rushed against each other. In this course, and in the second which they ran, both charged gallantly, and neither could be said to have any advantage over his antagonist; and, as their targets rang with a clash as they met, their companions shouted applause at their skill, and even I could not refrain from clapping my hands.
But when the English and French knights wheeled their coursers, and, charging for a third time, met with a furious onset, the result was far different. For a moment, so fierce was the shock that it was impossible to perceive what had occurred. But soon all doubt was at an end. Copeland had been so forcibly struck on his helmet that he bent back and shook in his saddle; but his spear had been driven with terrible effect; and Sir Lancelot, pierced through shield and armour, dropped from his steed with a deep and mortal wound.