"It is Ambrose!" cried one. "Surely it is Ambrose of Ingleton."
"Yes, in truth, I see his yellow hair. And the other, him with
the beard, it is Lockwood of Skipton. Alas for his wife who keeps
the booth by the bridge-head of Ribble! I wot not who the third
may be."
"It is little Johnny Alspaye, the youngest man in the company,"
cried old Wat, with the tears running down his cheeks, "'Twas I
who brought him from his home. Alas! Alas! Foul fare the day
that ever I coaxed him from his mother's side that he might perish
in a far land."
There was a sudden flourish of a trumpet and the drawbridge fell.
Across it strode a portly man with a faded herald's coat. He
halted warily upon the farther side and his voice boomed like a
drum. "I would speak with your leader." he cried.
Knolles rode forward.
"Have I your knightly word that I may advance unscathed with all
courteous entreaty as befits a herald?"
Knolles nodded his head.
The man came slowly and pompously forward. "I am the messenger
and liege servant," said he, "of the high baron, Oliver de St.
Yvon, Lord of La Brohiniere. He bids me to say that if you
continue your journey and molest him no further he will engage
upon his part to make no further attack upon you. As to the men
whom he holds, he will enroll them in his own honorable service,
for he has need of longbowmen, and has heard much of their skill.
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