‘Yorkists, sir! It was all in the good cause,’ responded a sullen voice, as a grim red and scarred face was seen on a ruffian held by two of the archers. ‘No Yorkists we, sir!’ began a stout figure, coming forward from the waggon. ‘We be peaceable merchants and this is a holy dame, the--’ ‘The Prioress Selby of Greystone,’ interrupted one of the nuns, coming forward with a hawk on her wrist. ‘Sir Giles of Musgrave, I am beholden to you! I was on my way to take the young damsel of Bletso to her father, the Lord St. John, with Earl Warwick in London. He sent us an escort, but they being arrant cravens, as it seems, we thought it well to join company with these same merchants, and thus we became a bait for the outlaws of the Border.’ ‘Lady, lady,’ burst from one of the prisoners, ‘I swear that we kenned not holy dames to be of the company! Sir, my lord, we thought to serve the cause of King Harry, and how any man is to guess which side is Earl Warwick’s is past an honest man.’ ‘An honest man whose cause is his own pouch!’ returned Sir Giles. ‘Miscreants all! But I trow we are scarce yet out of the land of misrule! So if the Lady Prioress will say a word for such a sort of sorners, I’ll e’en let you go on your way.’ ‘They have had a warning, the poor rogues, and that will suffice for this time! Nay, now, fellows, let my wimple alone! You’ll not find another lord to let you off so easy, nor another Prioress to stand your friend. Get off, I say.’ An archer enforced her words with a blow, and by some means, rough or otherwise, a certain amount of order was restored, the ruffians slinking off among the gorse bushes, their flight hastened by the pointing of pikes and levelling of arrows at them. While the merchants, diving into their packages, produced horns of ale which a younger man offered to their defenders, the chief of the party, a portly fellow, interrupted certain civilities between the Prioress and Sir Giles by praying them to partake of a cup of malmsey, and adding an entreaty that they might be allowed to join company with so brave an escort, explaining that he was a poor merchant of London and the Hans towns who had been beguiled into an expedition to Scotland to the young King James, who was said to have a fair taste. He waved his hands as if his sufferings had been beyond description. ‘Went for wool and came back shorn!’ said the Prioress, laughing. ‘Well, my Lord Musgrave, what say you to letting us join company?--as I see your band is afoot it will be no great delay, and the more the safer as well as the merrier! Here, let me present to you my young maid, the Lady Anne of Bletso, whom I in person am about to deliver to her father.’ ‘And let me present privately to both ladies,’ said Sir Giles, ‘the young squire Harry of Derwentdale, who hath been living as a shepherd in the hills during the York rule.’