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The Wolfe of Badenoch: A Historical Romance of the Fourteenth Century

9781465664815
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
It was in the latter part of the fourteenth century that Sir Patrick Hepborne and Sir John Assueton—two young Scottish knights, who had been serving their novitiate of chivalry under the banners of Charles the Sixth of France, and who had bled their maiden lances against the Flemings at Rosebarque—were hastening towards the Border separating England from their native country. A truce then subsisting betwixt the kingdoms that divided Britain had enabled the two friends to land in Kent, whence they were permitted to prosecute their journey through the dominions of Richard II., attended by a circumscribed retinue of some ten or a dozen horsemen. “These tedious leagues of English ground seem to lengthen under our travel,” said Sir John Assueton, breaking a silence that was stealing upon their march with the descending shades of evening. “Dost thou not long for one cheering glance of the silver Tweed, ere its stream shall have been forsaken by the last glimmer of twilight?” “In sooth, I should be well contented to behold it,” replied Hepborne. “The night droops fast, and our jaded palfreys already lag their ears from weariness. Even our unbacked war-steeds, albeit they have carried no heavier burden than their trappings, have natheless lost some deal of their morning’s metal, and, judging from their sobered paces, methinks they would gladly exchange their gay chamfronts for the more vulgar hempen-halters of some well-littered stable.” “Depardieux, but I have mine own sympathy with them,” said Assueton. “Saidst thou not that we should lie at Norham to-night?” “Methought to cast the time and the distance so,” replied Hepborne; “and by those lights that twinkle from yonder dark mass, rising against that yellow streak in the sky, I should judge that I have not greatly missed in meting our day’s journey to that of the sun. Look between those groups of trees—nay, more to the right, over that swelling bank—that, if I mistake not, is the keep of Norham Castle, and those are doubtless the torches of the warders moving along the battlements. The watch must be setting ere this. Let us put on.”