The flying English were now driven far and wide, and day began to break ere the pursuit slackened. Among those who followed the chase most vehemently was Sir David Lindsay. Infuriated by the loss of the hero to whom he was so devoted, he seemed to be insatiable in his vengeance. Whilst he was galloping after the flying foe at sunrise, the rays, as they shot over the eastern hill, were sent back with dazzling splendour from the gold-embossed armour of a knight who had stopped at some distance before him to slake his thirst at a fountain. He was in the act of springing into the saddle as Lindsay approached; but the Scottish warrior believing, from the richness of his armour, that he was some one of noble blood, pushed after him so hard, and gained so much upon him, that he was nearly within reach of him with his lance-point.
“Turn, Sir Knight,” cried Lindsay. “It is a shame thus to flee. I am Sir David Lindsay. By St. Andrew, an thou turn not, I must strike thee through with my lance.”
But the English knight halted not; on the contrary, he only pricked on the more furiously, and Lindsay’s keenness being but the more excited, he followed him at full gallop for more than a league, until at last the English knight’s horse, which had shot considerably ahead of his, suddenly foundered under him. The rider instantly sprang to his legs, and drew out his sword to defend himself.
“I scorn to take unfair vantage of thee, Sir Knight,” said [[456]]Lindsay, dismounting from his horse, when he came up to him, and throwing down his lance and seizing a small battle-axe that hung at his sadle-bow, he ran at the English knight, and a well-contested single combat ensued between them. But the weight of Lindsay’s weapon was too much for the sword of the Englishman; and after their strokes had rung on each other’s arms for a time, and that the Scot had bestowed some blows so heavy that the plates of the mail began to give way under them—
“I yield me, Sir David Lindsay,” cried the English knight, breathless and ready to sink with fatigue; “I yield me, rescue or no rescue.”
“Ha,” replied Lindsay, “’tis well. And whom, I pray thee, mayest thou be who has cost me so long a chase, and contest so tough, ere I could master thee?”
“I am Sir Matthew Redman, Governor of Berwick,” replied the English knight.
“Gramercy, Sir Governor,” said Sir David Lindsay; “sit thee down, then, with me on this bank, and let us talk a while. We seem to be both of us somewhat toil-spent with this encounter, yea, and thy grey destrier and my roan do seem to have had enow on’t as well as their masters. Behold how they feed most peaceably together.”
“Let us then imitate their example, good Sir Knight of Scotland,” said Sir Matthew Redman. “I have a small wallet here, with some neat’s tongue, and some delicate white bread; and this leathern bottle, though it be small, hath a cordial in it that would put life into a dead man.”
The two foes, who had so lately endeavoured to work each other’s death, sat down quietly together and silently partook of the refreshment, and then alternately applying the little leathern flask to their lips, they talked in friendly guise of the result of the battle.