"And what am I to do when I come back?" said he; "for if there's a fight at Darnick, will the Laird of Darnick not be expected to be in the thickest of it?"
"Certainly; and so ye will, man. Mount and go—begone! The cloud must soon rise, or it must sink for ever!"
And Heiton, without putting more questions, returned to the Royal party, which was now approaching danger. He got the men who had gone with him, and returning by a round to avoid Scott, again reached his own peel.
There was not much time to be lost, for there were signs abroad of the coming cavalcade. People were running hither and thither, under the excitement so natural as a consequence of a Royal procession in a part of the country accustomed only to lawless raids. There was a mystery too among the more knowing, for Scott's manœuvre could not be altogether hidden. He was in the neighbourhood at no great distance from the Royal procession, and yet he did not show any intention to be of it; but his secret must have been wonderfully kept, for the generality had no suspicion that within less than an hour a bloody contest would eclipse by the confusion of its strife the éclat of a Royal presence. Now the mistress of Darnick evolved her plans. She sent the men away on various errands, which somehow seemed to be all very necessary, though the necessity never appeared till the moment it was made known.
"And now Andrew Heiton," she said, "thou'rt not to be found anywhere. Away in the donjon there, to remain till I tell thee thou'rt wanted either by James Stewart or Wat Scott."
This command Heiton would not obey, till he understood better her intentions, and these were conveyed by a whisper which seemed to satisfy him. He did as he was directed, and the portal of the peel tower was closed and bolted.
The mistress then betook herself to the top, and planted herself where she could see far around without being observed.
Nor was all this done more quickly than was required. By and by the signs of the coming procession thickened. The indescribable stir of the air on the approach of crowds of human beings might easily be detected. Then the sounds of horses' feet, succeeded by the reverberations of trumpets, which the heralds and pursuivants began to blow as the town of Melrose came in view. The heraldic ensigns glittered in the rays of an unclouded sun; the gay armour of barons and knights cast their reflections everywhere, carrying the glory of war under the aspects of peace and loyalty. The young prince was seated on horseback, with Angus on the one side, and George Douglas on the other; their horses equipped after the gaudy fashion of the times, which were not yet beyond the era of chivalry, neighing to the sound of the horns, and curveting as if under the very feelings which inspired the riders. The scene was such as might seem the farthest removed from the inspirations of strife. Royalty sat enshrined in peace, to receive the éclat of admiration, and be blessed with the breathings of gratitude.
But, quick as a blast of a horn among the hills or the advent of a thunder-clap, the terrific cry of "Bellenden!" was heard, succeeded by the Border hurrah, and the next instant a thousand wild men, with glittering swords in their hands, the terrible battle-axe or the piercing spear, rushed more like a cataract than a torrent on the all-unprepared and utterly-unsuspicious party. In the midst of them was Wat Scott, with his stern face and fierce eye. For an enemy to see it was to tremble, for a warrior to be fired. Taken at once, the Royal party swerved like a surging sea. The prince was cared for, and the Douglas, maddened by the fear of losing their royal prize, and burning with the revenge of an old hatred, flew from place to place, crying, "For the king! for the king!" It was answered by the roar of the now raised Scotts, returned again by the Royalists, and echoed with an energy redoubled by the rising fury of opposition. The pressure of the Borderers increased as their hopes rose, and their repeated hurrahs told of their success amidst the clanging of swords, the heavy fall of the axe, the sharp risp of the lance. Scott was still paramount, and everywhere, pointing, hacking, calling to secure the prince.
"The noise of battle hurtled in the air,
Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan."