much martial spirit pervaded that gorgeous assembly, that once more did
hope prevail in the monarch's breast, once more did he believe his
ambitious yearnings would all be fulfilled, and Scotland, rebellious,
haughty Scotland, lie crushed and broken at his feet. Once more his dark
eye flashed, his proud lip curled with its wonted smiles; his warrior
form, erect and firm as in former days, now spurned the couch of
disease, and rode his war-horse with all the grace and ease of former
years. A gallant army, under the command of Aymer de Valence, Earl of
Pembroke, had already been dispatched towards Scotland, bearing with it
the messengers of the Earl of Buchan, armed both with their lord's
commands and Edward's warrant for the detention of the young heir of
Buchan, and to bring him with all honor to the head-quarters of the
king. The name of Isabella of Buchan was subjoined to that of the Bruce,
and together with all those concerned in his rising proclaimed as
traitors and a price set upon their heads. This done, the king had been
enabled to wait with greater tranquillity the assembling of his larger
army, and after the ceremonials of Westminster, orders were issued for
every earl and baron to proceed with their followers to Carlisle, which
was named the head-quarters of the army, there to join their sovereign
with his own immediate troops. The Scottish nobles Edward's usual policy
retained in honorable posts about his person, not choosing to trust
their fidelity beyond the reach of his own eye.

Obedient to these commands, all England speedily appeared in motion, the
troops of every county moving as by one impulse to Carlisle. Yet there
were some of England's noblest barons in whose breasts a species of
admiration, even affection, was at work towards the very man they were
now marching to destroy, and this was frequently the case in the ages of
chivalry. Fickle as the character of Robert Bruce had appeared to be,
there was that in it which had ever attracted, riveted the regard of