The Earl allowed the Lord Welles and his knights to be some time gone ere he began to summon his people about him, and to issue his orders for an immediate march. Sir William de Dalzell was the first of the Scottish knights, his guests, who appeared armed cap-a-pie in the court-yard, where the bustle of the foregoing morning was soon more than renewed. Two or three hundred good men of the Earl’s followers began to assemble, with their horses and arms, in obedience to the summons which had been secretly sent through the population of the district during the night. The rumour of the approaching war spread from mouth to mouth, and rude jokes and laughter followed its propagation, until the joyous clamour, becoming louder and louder, began at last to swell till the welkin was rent with the bursting shouts of the men-at-arms and soldiery, who rejoiced at the prospect of having something more serious than a tourney to do with.
Sir Patrick Hepborne sprang from his couch, and began to busy himself for his departure. As he moved across the floor, his naked foot struck against something that felt like the head of a nail, and was slightly wounded by it. He stooped to ascertain what it was, when, much to his surprise, he discovered a ring, with a beautiful emerald set in it, that had slipped into a crevice between the planks, so as to leave the stone sticking up. He immediately recognized it as having been worn by the page Maurice de Grey. It was of beautifully wrought gold, and, after a more minute examination, he discovered some Gothic characters within its circle, which he read thus—
Change never,
But love ever
Thine Eleanore de Selby.
At the very name of Eleanore de Selby, Sir Patrick’s heart beat quicker. He had no doubt that the jewel had dropped [[335]]from the finger of the page, probably the morning he left Tarnawa. He had already resolved to keep it carefully, in remembrance of the boy; but the legend seemed to prove it to have been a gift to Maurice de Grey from his cousin the Lady Eleanore de Selby; and the conviction that it had once been hers, all unworthy as she was, imparted to it a tenfold value, which he in vain attempted to struggle against. It seemed to have appeared miraculously to warn him never to forget her, and he resolved to treasure it as a relic of one who could never be his.
Meanwhile the court-yard resounded with the neighing of steeds and the din of arms, and the trumpets and bugles were heard to strike shrilly on the Castle walls, till its very turrets seemed to thrill with their hoarse clangour. It was chiefly thronged by some of the same knights, and some of the same esquires, pages, lacqueys, and steeds, whose painted surcoats of a thousand dies, whose armour glittering with gold and gems, and whose gorgeous attire and furniture, had reflected the rays of the sunrise of the previous morning. But the new-born orb of this day looked upon them in another guise. Though by no means devoid of splendour, what they now wore was more adapted for use than for ornament, and their very countenances displayed more of the fury of joy, and had put on an air of greater sternness, that sorted strangely with their uncouth jeers and laughter. The number of spearmen, bowmen, pole-axe-men, and men-at-arms of all descriptions, was now much larger; and in addition to this variety of the motley crowd, there were several horse litters in attendance, and numerous batt and sumpter horses loading with the lighter baggage, whilst at the Castle gate appeared a small train of wains and wainmen, who were receiving the heavier articles that were to be transported.
One of the most active men in the midst of the bustle was Rory Spears, who, with a morion on his head, and a back and breast-plate donned instead of his fisherman’s coat, was busily occupied assisting in and superintending the loading of the baggage.
“Father,” said his daughter Katherine to him, as she at last obtained an opportunity of addressing him, whilst at the same time her eyes wandered to the adjacent spot, where Squire Sang was engaged in getting Sir Patrick Hepborne’s party in order; “would I could wend with thee, father!”
“Hey!” exclaimed Rory, turning suddenly round upon her, and at the same time poising a large package on his broad [[336]]shoulder, and keeping it there with one hand, whilst with the other he brandished his gaud-clip, with singular energy of action; “what ails thee, lass? Is the wench wud, think ye? Wouldst thou to the wars, sayest thou? Na, na, Kate; the camp be nae fit place for sike like as thee, I trow. What, expose thee, with all thy leddy learning and madame ’haviour, to be the hourly butt for the ribald jests of the guards, and the boozing companions of the sultering huts! By my fackins, that would be it indeed. Na, na! stay thee at home, lassie, and look to the Countess, and thy new young leddy; ay, and thy mother Alice, and the auld woman in the Burgh alswa; and when I come back, my winsome grouse-pout, I’ll bring thee some bonny-waully frae the wars. We shall ha’ spulzie to pick and choose amang, I rauckon.” So saying, he threw his right arm, gaud-clip and all, around his daughter’s waist, and kissing her heartily and with much affection, hastened off with his burden.