As they spoke the approach of the party disturbed a flight of kites and ravens, which arose with hoarse screams and croakings from something that lay extended amid the long heath near the water’s edge. It was the skeleton of a horse. The flesh had been so completely eaten from the bones by the wolves that but little was left for the birds of prey. The furniture, half torn off, showed that the creature had had a rider. A few yards farther on a single wolf started away from a broken part of the bog. Rory Spears’ gaud-clip was launched after him with powerful and unerring aim, and its iron head buried in the side of the animal, while at the same moment the quick-eyed Oscar seized the caitiff by the throat, and he was finally despatched by several lances plunged into him at once. They sought the spot whence the gaunt animal had been roused, and their blood was frozen by the horrid spectacle of the half-consumed carcase of a man.
It was of size gigantic; and although the limbs and body had been in a great measure devoured, yet enough of evidence still remained in the rent clothes and in the lacerated features of the face to establish beyond a doubt to the lady and the minstrel, who had known him, that he who had thus perished by so miserable a fate was the wizard Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick.
A leathern purse, with a few gold coins in it, was found in his pouch; and, among other articles of no note, there was a small manuscript book of necromancy, full of cabalistic signs.
The spectacle was too horrible and revolting for the lady to bear. She therefore besought her attendants to cover the wretched remains, and with Katherine Spears retired to some distance until this duty was performed and a huge monumental cairn of stones heaped over them, after which they again proceeded on their way.
The troopers belonging to the Wolfe of Badenoch were sent back as soon as Rory Spears judged they might be spared with safety, and nothing occurred during the remainder of the journey to make him regret having so parted with them. As the party travelled through the fertile Merse they found that which should have been a smiling scene converted into a wilderness of desolation. The storm of England’s wrath had swept over it, and the rifled and devastated fields, the blackened heaps of half-consumed houses and cottages, around which some few human beings were still creeping and shivering, like ghosts unwilling [[399]]to leave the earthly tenements to which they had been linked in life, brought the horrors of war fresh before them. The aged man and the boy were the only male figures that were mingled with those groups of wailing women that appeared. All who could draw a sword or a bow, or wield a lance, were already on their way to join the Scottish host, their bosoms burning with a thirst of vengeance.
As they were lamenting over the melancholy scene they were passing through—for even the English damosel deplored the ravages committed by her countrymen—their way was crossed by a troop of well-armed and bravely-appointed horsemen, which halted, as if to wait until their party should come up. Rory advanced to reconnoitre.
“Ha, Sir Squire Oliver,” said he to the leader, whom he immediately recognized as belonging to the Lord of Dirleton, “can that in very deed be thee? Whither art thou bound in array so gallant?”
“Master Rory Spears,” replied the squire with a look of surprise—“what, art thou too bound for the host?”
“Nay,” replied Rory, mournfully, “I hae other emprise on hand just at this time. Goest thou thither?”
“Yea,” replied the esquire, “I go with my Lord’s service of lances to join the collected Scottish armies on their way to Jedworth. There will be rare work anon, I ween. Some English horses have been dancing over these fields, I see, but, by’r Lady, the riders shall pay for the sport they have had.”