It was a busy scene, for the number of gentlemen and nobles who were
now crowded into the city, had filled all spare stables and places of
public reception with their horses and military attendants. There were
some score of yeomen, dressing their own or their masters' horses in
the yard, whistling, singing, laughing, and upbraiding each other, in
a style of wit which the good order of Avenel Castle rendered strange
to Roland Graeme's ears. Others were busy repairing their own arms, or
cleaning those of their masters. One fellow, having just bought a
bundle of twenty spears, was sitting in a corner, employed in painting
the white staves of the weapons with yellow and vermillion. Other
lacqueys led large stag-hounds, or wolf-dogs, of noble race, carefully
muzzled to prevent accidents to passengers. All came and went, mixed
together and separated, under the delighted eye of the page, whose
imagination had not even conceived a scene so gaily diversified with
the objects he had most pleasure in beholding; so that he was
perpetually breaking the quiet reverie of honest Woodcock, and the
mental progress which he was making in his ditty, by exclaiming, "Look
here, Adam--look at the bonny bay horse--Saint Anthony, what, a
gallant forehand he hath got!--and see the goodly gray, which yonder
fellow in the frieze-jacket is dressing as awkwardly as if he had
never touched aught but a cow--I would I were nigh him to teach him
his trade!--And lo you, Adam, the gay Milan armour that the yeoman is
scouring, all steel and silver, like our Knight's prime suit, of which
old Wingate makes such account--And see to yonder pretty wench, Adam,
who comes tripping through them all with her milk-pail--I warrant me
she has had a long walk from the loaning; she has a stammel waistcoat,
like your favourite Cicely Sunderland, Master Adam!"
"By my hood, lad," answered the falconer, "it is well for thee thou
wert brought up where grace grew.
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