troops he had brought from Edinburgh, and of which he was sure, on the
top of rising ground, and drew up in tiers on the hill slope all his
northern allies. Huntly advanced resolutely upon them, and attacked his
neighbours the Highlanders, who after a short resistance retired in
disorder. His men immediately threw away their lances, and, drawing
their swords, crying, "Cordon, Cordon!" pursued the fugitives, and
believed they had already gained the battle, when they suddenly ran right
against the main body of Murray's army, which remained motionless as a
rampart of iron, and which, with its long lances, had the advantage of
its adversaries, who were armed only with their claymores. It was then
the turn of the Cordons to draw back, seeing which, the northern clans
rallied and returned to the fight, each soldier having a sprig of heather
in his cap that his comrades might recognise him. This unexpected
movement determined the day: the Highlanders ran down the hillside like a
torrent, dragging along with them everyone who could have wished to
oppose their passage. Then Murray seeing that the moment had come for
changing the defeat into a rout, charged with his entire cavalry: Huntly,
who was very stout and very heavily armed, fell and was crushed beneath
the horses' feet; John Cordon, taken prisoner in his flight, was executed
at Aberdeen three days afterwards; finally, his brother, too young to
undergo the same fate at this time, was shut up in a dungeon and executed
later, the day he reached the age of sixteen.

Mary had been present at the battle, and the calm and courage she
displayed had made a lively impression on her wild defenders, who all
along the road had heard her say that she would have liked to be a man,
to pass her days on horseback, her nights under a tent, to wear a coat of
mail, a helmet, a buckler, and at her side a broadsword.

Mary made her entry into Edinburgh amid general enthusiasm; for this