“Stabling for us all, sir knave?” cried Sang; “marry, thou dost speak as if we were a herd of horses.”
“Cry you mercy, noble esquire,” rejoined Kyle. “An thou beest an ass, indeed, a halter and a hook at the gate-cheek may [[24]]serve thy turn, and so peraunter I may find room for the rest.”
A smothered laugh among his comrades proclaimed Squire Sang’s defeat. The triumphant host ran to hold Sir Patrick Hepborne’s stirrup.
“By the Rood,” cried the squire, as he dismounted, with a good-natured chuckle at his own discomfiture—“by the Rood, but the rogue hath mastered me for this bout. But verily my wit is fasting, whilst his, I warrant, hath the full spirit of his potent ale in’t. Never trust me but I shall be even with him anon.”
“Master Kyle,” said Assueton, to their host, as he ushered his guests into the common room, “we should be glad to see some food. The rising sun looked upon our last meal; so bestir thyself, I pr’ythee, goodman, and let us know as soon as may be how we are to fare.”
“Room there, sirs, for two valiant knights,” cried Kyle, getting rid of the question by addressing himself to a party seated at a table near the hearth; “room, I say, gentlemen. What, are ye stocks, my masters?”
“Nay, treat not the good people so rudely,” said Hepborne, as some eight or ten persons were hastily vacating their places; “there is room enow for all. Go not thou, at least, old man,” continued he, addressing a minstrel who was following the rest, his snowy locks and beard hanging luxuriantly around a countenance which showed all the freshness of a green old age; “sit thee down, I do beseech thee, and vouchsafe us thy winning discourse. Where is the chevalier to whom a bard may not do honour?”
The minstrel’s heart was touched by Sir Patrick’s kind words; his full hazel eye beamed on him with gratitude; he put his hand to his breast, and modestly bowed his head.
“My time is already spent, most gentle knight,” said he. “Ere this I am looked for at the Castle; yet, ere I go hence, let me drink this cup of thanks for thy courtesy. To thee I wish tender love of fairest lady; and may thy lance, and the lance of thy brave companion, never be couched but to conquer.” And so draining the draught to the bottom, he again bowed, and immediately retired.
“So, Master Kyle,” said Assueton to the host, who returned at this moment, after having ascertained the country and quality of his new guests, “what hast thou in thy buttery?”