The Scottish Knights at the English Court—The wealthy London Merchant—Combat on London Bridge.
Everything that art could achieve, by means of steel, gold, embossing, embroidery, and emblazoning, was done to give splendour to the array of Sir David Lindsay, and his companions and attendants, that Scotland should, if possible, be in no whit behind England upon this occasion. A safe-conduct was readily granted them by the English court, and they departed, all high in spirits, save Hepborne alone, who seemed to suffer the journey rather than to enjoy it. They travelled very leisurely, and frequently halted by the way, that their horses might not be oppressed; and they were everywhere received with marked respect.
It was towards the end of the third week that they found themselves crossing a wide glade among those immense forests which then covered the country, lying immediately to the north of the English metropolis, when they were attracted by an encampment of gay pavilions, pitched among the thin skirting trees. A strong guard of archers and well-mounted lances, that patrolled around the place, proved that there was some one there of no mean consequence. Within the circle was a vast and motley crowd of people, moving about in all the rich and varied costumes which then prevailed. There could be descried many nobles, knights, and esquires, some equipt in fanciful hunting-garbs, and others in all the foppery of golden circlets, flowing robes, party-coloured hose, and long-pointed shoes, attached to knee-chains of gold and silver; and these were mingled with groups of huntsmen, falconers, pages, grooms, lacqueys, and even hosts of cooks and scullions. Many were on horseback, and whole rows of beautiful horses were picketted in different places, and their neighing mingled cheerily with the baying of tied-up hounds and the hum of many merry voices.
It was a spectacle well calculated to arrest the attention of the Scottish knights, and accordingly they halted to enjoy it, and to listen to the trumpets and timbrels that now began to sound. In a little time they observed a party of horsemen [[486]]leave the encampment, and they were soon aware that it came to meet them. At the head was a knight clad in a white hunting-coif richly flowered with gold, and a sky-blue gippon of the most costly materials, thickly wrought with embroidery, while the toes of his tawny boots, being released from their knee-chains, hung down nearly a yard from his stirrup-irons. On his wrist sat a falcon, the badge of a knight. He rode a superb horse, and his housings corresponded in grandeur with everything else belonging to him.
“Ha!” exclaimed he, as he reined up his steed affectedly in front of the group, raised himself in his high-peaked saddle, and, standing in his stirrups, put his bridle-hand to his side, as if selecting the attitude best calculated to show off his uncommonly handsome person; “ha! so I see that my divination doth prove to have been true to most miraculous exactitude. My Lord of Welles must forfeit an hundred pieces, in compliment to my superior accuracy of vision and of judgment. Sir David de Lindsay, I knew thy banner. I do give thee welcome to England, beausir; nay, I may add, welcome to London too, seeing thou art barely two leagues from its walls, and that the very spirit of its greatness is here in these sylvan solitudes, in the person of the Royal Richard, attended as he is by his chivalrous Court.”
“Sir Piers Courtenay,” exclaimed Sir David de Lindsay, “perdie, it doth rejoice me to behold thee, strangers as we are, in these parts.”
“Trust me, ye shall be strangers no longer, gentle sir,” replied Sir Piers, with a condescending inclination of body, that he now deigned to continue round, with his eyes directed to the other knights severally, whom he had not noticed until now. “When I, with singularly fortunate instinct, did assert that it was thee and thy bandon we beheld, the Lord Welles did wager me an hundred pieces that I did err in sagacity; but as I parted from him to ride hither, to bring mine accuracy to the proof, he charged me, if I were right, to invite thee and thy company to the Royal camp.”
“Travel-worn and dust-begrimed as we are,” said Sir William de Dalzel, “meseems we shall be but sorry sights for the eyes of Royalty, especially amid a crowd of gallants so glittering as the sample thou hast brought us in thine own sweet and perfumed person, beausir.”
“Nay, nay,” replied Sir Piers Courtenay, glancing with contempt at Dalzel’s war-worn surcoat, and taking his ironical remark as an actual compliment, “we are but accoutred, as thou [[487]]seest, for rustic sport; we are shorn of our beams among the shades of these forests. But let us not tarry, I pray thee; the sports of the morning are already over; the sylvan meal is about to be spread in the grand pavilion, and rude though it be, it may not come amiss to those who have already travelled since dawn. Let us hasten thither, then, for the King doth return to London after feeding.”
Under the guidance of this pink of fashion, the Scottish knights advanced towards the Royal hunting-encampment; and long ere they reached it, the Lord Welles, who already saw that he had lost his wager, came forth to meet them, and received them with all that warmth of hospitality which characterized the English people of all ranks even in those early days, and for which they were already famed among foreign nations. He led them through a mass of guards, who, though they appeared but to form a part of the pageantry of the Royal sports, were yet so completely armed, both men and horses, that it was manifest security from sudden surprise was the chief object of their being placed there.