“And now, Sir David of Lindsay,” said Redman, “I am thy prisoner, and bound to obey thy will. But I have ever heard thee named as a courteous knight, the which doth embolden me to make thee a proposal. I have a certain lady at Newcastle, whom I do much love, and would fain see. If thy generosity may extend so far, I shall be much beholden to thee if thou wilt suffer me to go thither, to assure her of my safety, and to bid her adieu; on which I do swear to thee, on the word of a knight, that I will render myself to thee in Scotland within fifteen days hence.”
“Nay, now I do see, Sir Matthew,” said Lindsay archly—[[457]]“now I do see right well why thou didst ride so hard from the field; but I am content to grant thee thy request; nay, if thou dost promise me, on the faith of a knight, to present thyself to me at Edinburgh within three weeks from the present time, it is enow.”
“I do so promise,” replied Redman. And so shaking hands together, each took his horse and mounted to pursue his own way.
By this time a thick morning mist had settled down on the face of the country, and Lindsay had hardly well parted from the prisoner ere he perceived that he had lost his way. As he was considering how he should recover it, he beheld a considerable body of horsemen approaching, and believing them to be some of the Scottish army who had pushed on thus far in the pursuit, he rode up to them with very great joy; but what was his surprise when he found himself in the midst of some three or four hundred English lances!
“Who art thou, Sir Knight?” cried the leader, who, though clad in armour, yet wore certain Episcopal badges about him that mightily puzzled the Scottish knight.
“I am Sir David Lindsay,” replied he; “but whom mayest thou be, I pray thee?”
“I am the Bishop of Durham,” replied the other; “thus far am I come to give mine aid to the Piersie.”
“Thine aid cometh rather of the latest, Sir Bishop,” replied Lindsay; “for, certes, his army is routed with great slaughter, and he and his brother Sir Rafe are prisoners in the Scottish camp.”
“I have heard as much already from some of those who fled,” replied the Bishop: “Quæ utilitas in sanguine meo? what good would my being killed do my cousins the Piersie? Now I do haste me back again to Newcastle; but thou must bear me company, Sir David.”
“Sith thou dost say so, my sacred Lord,” replied Sir David, “I must of needscost obey thee, for, backed as thou art, I dare not say thee nay. Such is the strange fortune of war.”