“Yea, it is so,” replied the Douglas; “but to-morrow we move hence from this idle warfare, and I would not willingly go without proving the metal of the gallant Hotspur, so ’tis as well that his impatience be gratified.” [[430]]
The bruit of the coming encounter spread like wild-fire through the camp, and the whole chivalry within its circuit pressed forward to be admitted of the chosen band who were to witness the onset of the two bravest knights in Christendom. Lord Douglas’s difficulty was how to select so as to avoid giving offence, and he required all his judgment to manage this. Sir Patrick Hepborne had the good fortune to be one of those who were admitted into the honourable ranks.
When the gay little cohort of mounted lances were drawn forth in array, and the Douglas’s banner was displayed, the stout Earl sprang on a powerful black war-horse, that had neighed and pranced whilst he was held by two esquires, but that became quiet and gentle as a lamb when backed by his heroic master. The whole Scottish line turned out to gaze, and shouts of applause arose that re-echoed from the walls of Newcastle. Immediately afterwards Sir Harry Piersie appeared before the barriers of the town, mounted on a milk-white steed, and as Douglas, even at that distance, could perceive that his escort was of similar strength and description to his own, he had the satisfaction of thinking that the terms he had proposed had been accepted. The fortifications were soon covered by the garrison, who crowded to behold the combat, and the Scottish cheers were loudly returned by the English. A trumpet call from the Piersie band was instantly returned by one from that of Lord Douglas, who immediately gave the word for his knights to advance, whilst he rode forward so as to gain a position about fifty yards in front of them, that he might be the better seen by the opposite party. Having brought up his escort to a point sufficiently near (as he judged) for the arrangement agreed on, he halted them, and ordered them to remain steady, whilst he continued to approach until he came within a due distance for running his course against Hotspur, who had also come forward a considerable way before his attendants.
The trumpets from both bands sounded nearly at once, as if by mutual consent—both knights couched their lances—their armed heels made the blood spring from the sides of their coursers—and they flew like two thunderbolts towards the shock. Anxious suspense hung on both sides as they were stretching over the field, and the silence of the moment was such that the full crash of the collision entered every listening ear, however distant. Loud and exulting cheers from the Scottish lines, which, though they came so far, altogether drowned the uncouth sounds of dismay that ran along the walls of Newcastle, proclaimed the success of the Douglas, whose resistless arm, nerved [[431]]with a strength that few men could boast, bore the no less gallant Hotspur clean out of his saddle, though, owing to his adroitness in covering his person against his adversary’s point, he was hardly if at all wounded.
The band of English knights who attended him, forgetting the nature of the combat, as well as the express orders they had received from Piersie, saw their adored leader on the green sward, and thinking only of the jeopardy he lay in, began shouting—“Hotspur, Hotspur, to the rescue!” and ere the bold Douglas could well check the furious career of his horse, he was in the midst of a phalanx of his advancing foes. Abandoning his ponderous lance, he grasped the enormous mace that hung at his saddle-bow, and bestirred himself with it so lustily that three or four of the English chevaliers were in as many seconds dashed from their seats to the earth, in plight so grievous that there was but little chance of their ever filling them again. But the throng about the hero was so great, and their blows rained so thickly and heavily upon him, that his destruction must have been inevitable long ere his own band could have reached him, had not the noble Hotspur, whom some of his people were by this time carrying hurriedly away, called out to the knights of his party in a voice of command that was rarely disobeyed—
“Touch not the Douglas—harm not a hair of his head, as ye would hope for heaven. What, would ye assault at such odds the brave Douglas, who hath relied on the word of a Piersie? Shame, shame on ye, gentlemen. Your zeal for Hotspur’s safety came not well at this time for Hotspur’s honour. Trust me, his life stood in no peril with so chivalric a foe.”
Awed and ashamed by these chiding words, the English knights fell back abashed, and made way for the valiant Douglas, who emerged from among them like a hunted lion from among the pack of puny hounds who have vainly baited him.
“Halt! chevaliers,” cried he, rising in his saddle, and raising his right arm, as he in his turn addressed his own band, who were pouring furiously down on the English knights, shouting, “Douglas, Douglas, to the rescue!” “Halt,” cried he again, “halt, in the name of St. Andrew! Let the gallant Hotspur retreat in peace. I blame not him for this small mistake of his trusty followers, the which, after all, was but an excusable error of affection. And as for thee, Piersie, I thank thee for thy courtesy. Depardieux, thou hast proved thyself to be brave as honourable and honourable as brave. Can I say more? By the honour of knighthood, thou hast proved thyself to be Harry [[432]]Piersie, and in that name all that is excellent in chivalry is centred. The chance hath been mine now; it may be thine anon, if it do so please Heaven. Get thee to refresh thyself then, for we shall forthwith beat up thy quarters with a stiffer stoure than any thou hast yet endured.”
“Douglas,” cried Piersie, who was by this time remounted, “Douglas, thou art all, and more than all that minstrels have called thee. Farewell, till we again meet, and may our meeting be speedy.”
With these parting words, the two leaders wheeled off their respective bands.