“N—nay,” said the forester, with hesitation; “there be more of us in company a short way off.”
“Hast thou any cottage or place of shelter hereabouts, where hungry travellers might have a mouthful of food, with provender, and an hour’s rest for our weary beasts?” demanded Assueton. “Here’s money for thee.”
“As to a cottage like,” replied the forester, “I trow there be not many of them in these wilds; but an thou wilt yede thee wi’ me, thou shalt share the supper my comrades must be cooking ere this time; and as for thy beasts, they canna be muckle to dole for, where the grass grows aneath their feet. Thy money we care not for.”
“Thine offer is fair and kind, good forester,” said Assueton; “we shall on with thee right gladly, and give thee good thanks for thy sylvan hospitality, such as it may be. Lead on then.”
The forester, without more words, walked cleverly on before Sir John Assueton, who followed him at the head of his party. As they advanced a little way, the wooding of the glen became much more dense, and rocks projecting themselves from the base of the hills on either side, rendered the passage in the bottom between them and the stream excessively narrow, so that the men of the party could only move on singly, and were more than once obliged to dismount and lead their horses. The way seemed to be very long, and night came on to increase its difficulties. Assueton’s impatience more than once tempted him to complain of it; but he restrained himself, lest his eagerness might excite suspicion that he had some secret and important hostile object in view, and that he might thus lose all chance of gaining the information he so much wanted. He kept as close as he possibly could to his guide, however, for he began to have [[136]]strange doubts that he might be leading him into some ambush; and he had resolved within his own mind to seize and sacrifice him the instant he had reason to be convinced he had betrayed them.
After forcing their way through a very wild pass, where the rocks on both sides towered up their bold and lofty fronts, the glen widened, and the party entered a little gently-sloping glade or holme, bounded by the high and thickly-wooded banks, which here retired from the side of the stream, and swept irregularly around it. A blazing fire appeared among the trees.
“Ay,” said the forester, “these are my comrades: I reckon we come in good time, for yonder be the supper a-cooking.”
The party now crossed through the luxuriant pasture, that, moistened with the evening dew, was giving out a thousand mingled perfumes from the wild flowers that grew in it, and speedily came within view of about a dozen men, clad in the same woodland garb worn by their guide. Some of them were sitting about the fire, engaged in roasting and broiling fragments of venison; while others were loitering among the trees, or sitting under their shade. A number of cross-bows and long-bows hung from the branches, several spears rested against their stems; and these, with swords, daggers, and anelaces, seemed to compose the arms of this party of hunters. They appeared to have had good success, for six or eight fat bucks were hanging by the horns from the boughs overhead.
“Here is a gallant knight and his party,” said their guide to a man who seemed to be a leader among them, “who would be glad of a share of our supper.”
The person he addressed, and who came forward to receive Assueton, was a tall and uncommonly handsome man; and although his dress differed in no respect from that of the others, except that he wore a more gaudy plume in his hat, and that his baldrick, the sword suspended from it, his belt and dagger, and the bugle that hung from his shoulder, were all of more costly materials and rarer workmanship. But there was something in his appearance and mien that might have graced knighthood itself. He bowed courteously to Assueton.