CHAPTER XLVIII.
The Departure from the Castle of Tarnawa—The Alarm of War.
The morning had not yet dawned when the court-yard of the Castle re-echoed to the tramp of the mettled steeds of the Lord Welles and the English knights, and their numerous retinue. The gay caparisons of the men and horses, and the gaudily embroidered banners they carried, flaunted and fluttered in vain amid the raw, grey, and chilling light that quenched their glittering lustre, and left them but meagrely visible. A body of Scottish lances, commanded by several trusty officers, stood ready to march with them as a guard, and the troop was of such strength as might overawe any undue curiosity they might display, as well as do them honour, or protect them from injury or insolence during their march through Scotland. The Earl of Moray was on foot to do them the parting civilities of a host.
“Forget not London Bridge,” cried a loud voice from the window of a high turret that overlooked the court-yard.
The Lord Welles and his knights were already in their saddles. They twisted their necks with some difficulty, so as to have a view upwards, and there they beheld the hairy bosom and sternly-comic features of Sir William de Dalzell, who, in his chemise and bonnet de nuit, had thrust his head and shoulders forth from a window.
“Fear not,” cried the Lord Welles; “the meeting shall not fail on the side of England.
“Nor of Scotland neither,” replied Dalzell, “if so be that fourfooted beasts can be had to carry our bodies to the muddy banks of thy stinking Thames. I bid thee bon voyage, my Lord, though, by St. Andrew, I envy thee not thine early morning’s march; and so I’ll to my couch, and court the gentle influence of Morpheus for some hour or twain, for contraire to all due course of nature, I see it threatens to snow.”
With these words he threw into the air two large handfuls [[334]]of feather-downs, and instantly drew himself in. The Lord Welles was half disposed to take the matter up as an insult; but the Earl of Moray, laughing good-humouredly as the artificial snow descended on the group, soon pacified his excited indignation.
“Nay, mind him not, my Lord,” said he—“no one among us minds the jest of Sir William de Dalzell; and if we did, perdie, we should gain little by the trial, for we should only bring more of his humorous conceits on our heads. His wit, how rude soever it may seem, hath no meaning of harm or insult in it.”