Armed with Sir Henry Piersie’s authority to do so, Sir Rafe despatched an especial messenger to Sir Walter de Selby, to assure him that it rejoiced him much to be the instrument of procuring his exemption from personal attendance at Newcastle, which to one who had already seen so many fields, must be rather irksome. The messenger found Sir Walter de Selby lately recovered from his bodily malady; for the death of the wizard Ancient and his villainy being now known to him, he [[418]]again enjoyed comparative peace of mind. But he was much enfeebled by the shocks he had received. He heard the courier to an end; and the moisture in his eye, with the nervous motion in his closed lips, showed how much he was affected by it.
“Am I then deemed to be so old and worthless?” said he, after a pause. “The time was when the Marches, neither East nor West, could have turned out a starker pricker; yet was it kind in Sir Rafe Piersie, after what hath passed between us, and tell him, I beseech thee, that I so felt and received his message. But it shall never be said that I am behind when others are in the field; it shall never be said of old Sir Walter de Selby, who hath worn the hauberk and morion from his cradle, that he was afraid to die in knightly harness. No, no; let Tom Turnberry prepare my war steed; I’ll lead mine own spears to Newcastle. To thee, my good Lieutenant Oglethorpe, do I commit the keeping of old Norham. It is King Richard’s now. See that it hath no other master when I or King Richard demand it of thee.”
With these words, the brave old warrior gave orders for his men to assemble immediately, and mounting, with the aid of his esquires, he rode from the court-yard at the head of his force, on a mettlesome horse, the fiery paces of which but ill suited with his years; as he went, he joined feebly in the parting cheer with which his brave bowmen and lances took leave of their comrades.
It was the daring spirit of chivalry, more than any great hope of taking the town, that induced the gallant Douglas to tarry for two days before Newcastle. The most powerful thirst of heroic adventure then prevailed, and those within the town were as eager to rush beyond their ramparts to meet the assailants, as the Scottish knights were to assault them. Both days, therefore, were occupied in a succession of skirmishes; and it was a remarkable feature of this warfare, that it seemed to be more regulated by the courtesy of the tournament, than guided by the brutal and remorseless rage of battle. No sooner did a body of lances show itself from within the Scottish lines, than another of equal numbers appeared from behind the barriers of the town, prepared to give it a meeting. Spurring from opposite sides, the combatants encountered each other midway, as if they had been in the lists. A desperate shock took place, followed by a melée, in which prodigious feats of arms were done, whilst the English from their walls, and the Scottish troops from their temporary entrenchments, alternately cheered their friends, as one or other side gained the advantage. But, [[419]]what was most wonderful, everything resembling atrocity appeared to be banished from the field, and mercy and generosity so tempered victory, that it was difficult to say whether the contest was greatest for glory in the skirmish, or for superiority in clemency, and every other noble feeling, after it was over.
On the evening of the first day, the Lord Douglas, to give the troops a breathing, ordered the place to be assaulted by means of scaling ladders, with the hopes of perhaps surprising it by a coup-de-main. The Scottish troops rushed to the walls with their usual hardihood, and Sir Patrick Hepborne and Sir John Assueton were found in the very front of the attack made by the Earl of Moray’s division. Although they were provided with fascines and trusses of straw to throw into the ditch, yet the ladders were in general found to be too short for surmounting the walls. At one place, however, they were successfully applied; and the two knights, followed by their esquires and some few others, gallantly mounted in the teeth of the enemy, and fought their way into the town, driving the English before them; but being unsupported, owing to the failure of the escalade in other quarters, they were unwillingly compelled to retreat, which they and their followers did, bravely fighting with their faces to the enemy. Having gained the spot where they had climbed, the two friends planted themselves side by side firmly in front of it, to cover the retreat of those who were with them, and gallantly kept a whole host of foes at bay, until all who had entered the place with them had descended, except their trusty esquires, and two other individuals whom they had not leisure to note. The ladders had all been broken or thrown down in the confusion except one, and the English so pressed upon the little knot of Scotchmen that it appeared impossible for so many of them to escape.
“One desperate charge at them, Assueton,” cried Hepborne. “Our safety depends on driving them back for a brief space’s breathing. On them, brave Scots!”
The two knights raised a shout, in which they were joined by their fellow-combatants, and with one accord rushed furiously against the dense circle of English. The effect was tremendous. Many were overthrown by the vigorous blows of the knights and their assistants, but more by the press and confusion occasioned by the panic, excited by the belief that they were backed by a fresh assault of troops from without the walls. There was a momentary dispersion of them; but the individuals of the Scottish party were also separated from each other, and as Sir [[420]]Patrick Hepborne returned to the rallying point, he was grieved to discover his friend Assueton lying wounded and helpless on the ground. He immediately stooped, to endeavour to set him on his legs, but he was unable to support himself.
“Leave me, dear Hepborne,” said Assueton faintly; “thine own safety depends on thy doing so.”
“Leave thee, Assueton!” cried Hepborne with energy; “nay, by St. Baldrid, if I cannot bear thee hence, I will perish with thee. Clasp thine arms round my neck, my friend,” added he, as he lifted him up from the ground, and began carrying him towards the walls. “Be of good cheer, and tighten thy grasp; thou dost thereby lighten my burden.”
As he moved off, the English returned, shouting upon his heels, with Sang sullenly retreating before them.