“What is your answer, Armstrong?” asked the king.
“I and my forty men will serve your majesty faithfully in your army if you grant us our lives.”
“No thieves ride with any of Scotland’s brigade, Armstrong.”
“I will load your stoutest horse with gold until he cannot walk, if you spare our lives.”
“The revenues of Scotland are sufficient as they are, Armstrong,” replied the king.
“Harry of England will be glad to hear that the King of Scotland has destroyed twoscore of his stoutest warriors.”
“The King of England is my relative, and I shall be happy to please him. The defence of Scotland is my care, and I have honest men enough in my army to see that it is secure. Have you anything further to say, Armstrong?”
“It is folly to seek grace at a graceless face. If we are for the tree, then to the tree with us. But if you make this fair forest bear such woeful fruit, you shall see the day when you shall die for lack of stout hearts like ours to follow you, as sure as this day is the fatal thirteenth.”
The forty-one trees bore their burden, and thirteen years from that time the outlaw’s prophecy was fulfilled.