CHAPTER IX

LAURENCE SINGS A HYMN


Laurence turned and beheld his brother. In another instant the two
young men had clinched and were rolling on the ground, wrestling and
striking according to their ability. Sholto might easily have had the
best of the fray, but for the temper aroused by Laurence's recent
degradation, for the elder brother was taller by an inch, and of a
frame of body more lithe and supple. Moreover, the accuracy of Sholto
MacKim's shape and the severe training of the smithy had not left a
superfluous ounce of flesh on him anywhere.

In a minute the brothers had become the centre of a riotous, laughing
throng of varlets--archers seeking their corps, and young squires sent
by their lords to find out the exact positions allotted to each
contingent by the provost of the camp. For as the wappenshaw was to be
of three days' duration in all its nobler parts, a wilderness of tents
had already begun to arise under the scattered white thorns of the
great Boreland Croft which stretched up from the river.

These laughed and jested after their kind, encouraging the youths to
fight it out, and naming Laurence the brock or badger from his
stoutness, and the slim Sholto the whitterick or, as one might say,
weasel.