Loud applause followed the minstrel’s merry performance, and Sir Walter de Selby called Adam towards him to reward him with another cup of wine.
“But thou hast not told us the name of thy mettlesome knight, old bard,” said he. [[44]]
Adam looked over his shoulder, with a waggish smile, towards Sir John Assueton.
“’Twas a certain Scottish knight,” said he, “one whose heart was as easily wounded as his frame was invulnerable—one who was as remarkable for his devotion to the fair as for his prowess in the field. It was whispered at Noyon that the feat was done to give jovisaunce to a pair of bright eyes which looked that day from the balcony.”
“By St. Andrew, but thou art out there, goodman harper,” cried Assueton, caught in the trap so cunningly laid for him by the minstrel; “trust me, thou wert never more out in thy life. My heart was then, as it is now, as sound, entire, firm, and as hard as my cuirass. By’r Lady, I am not the man to be moved by a pair of eyes. No pair of eyes that ever lighted up a face could touch me; and as to that matter, a—a—” But observing a smile playing over the countenances of the guests, he recollected that he had betrayed himself, and stopped in some confusion. The harper turned round to the host—
“Sir Walter,” said he, “there never sat within this wall two more doughty or puissant knights than these. Both did feats of valour abroad that made Europe ring again. Sir John Assueton was indeed the true hero of my verses. As to his love I did but jest, for I wot ’tis well known he hath steeled himself against the passion, and hath never owned it. I but feigned, to draw him into a confession of the truth of my tale, the which his consummate modesty would never have permitted him to avow.”
Sir Walter called for a goblet of wine—
“To the health of the brave knight of Noyon!” cried he. “Well did we all know to whom the merry minstrel alluded.”
The health was received with loud applause, and compliments came so thick upon Assueton, that he blushed to receive them.
“Load me not thus, courteous knights, load me not thus, I beseech you, with your applause for a silly frolic. Here sits one,” said he, wishing to turn the tide from himself, and tapping Hepborne on the shoulder—“Here sits one, I say, who hath done feats of arms compared to which my boyish pranks are but an idle pastime. This is the Scottish knight who, at the fight of Rosebarque, did twice recover the flag of France from the Flemings, and of whom the whole army admitted that the success of that day belonged to the prowess of his single arm.”