“Thou art right,” replied Assueton; “for to-day was fixed for a council of war to be held within that church, and it would seem that at least some, if not all, of the nobles and knights of the host are already met. Let us hasten thither, I beseech thee. I long to learn what is to be the plan of our warfare.”
“I shall at least meet my father there,” said Sir Patrick listlessly, and as if he cared for little else. “Do thou follow us, Lindsay, to take our horses, and then wait for us, with the esquires, under the spreading oaks of yonder swelling knoll.”
On entering the church the two knights learned that they had arrived just in time for the opening of the business. The Earls of Fife, Douglas, Dunbar, and Moray were there, and indeed all the leading nobles and knights of Scottish chivalry; and the doors being closed, the assembly were soon deeply engaged in the gravest deliberations.
Whilst the council of war was so employed within the church, Mortimer Sang was lying at the root of an aged oak, holding conversation to, rather than with, Roger Riddel. Near them were the horses tethered and feeding, under the eyes of Robert Lindsay, and his old, though newly-recovered comrade, Ralpho Proudfoot, who were earnestly engaged in talking over many a story of their boyhood.
“What dost thou stare at so, friend Riddel?” demanded Sang, who observed his comrade stretching his neck so as to throw his eyes up the trough of a ravine down which stole a little rill, that murmured around the knoll where they were sitting; “what dost thou see, I say, friend Roger, that thou dost so stretch thy neck like a heron, when disturbed in her solitary fishing?”
Roger replied not, but nodded significantly, and pointed with his finger.
“Nay, I see nought,” replied Sang, “save, indeed, a swinking churl, who doth untie and lead away a gallant and bravely caparisoned steed from yonder willow that weepeth over the stream.”
Roger looked grave, and nodded again, and looked as much as to say, “A-well, and dost thou see nothing in that?”
“Nay, now that the knave hath mounted,” said Sang, “he seemeth to ride like one who would make his horse’s speed keep his neck from the halter. By’r Lady, he’s gone already. Is the rogue a thief, thinkest thou, Roger?”
“Notour, I’ll warrant me,” replied Squire Riddel. [[410]]