rried into the
privacy of the guest-chamber, and thither it was that Nigel was summoned
to hold him company while he stewed and sweltered in his tub.

Nigel perched himself upon the side of the high bed, swinging his legs
over the edge and gazing with wonder and amusement at the quaint face,
the ruffled yellow hair, and the sinewy shoulders of the famous warrior,
dimly seen amid a pillar of steam. He was in a mood for talk; so Nigel
with eager lips plied him with a thousand questions about the wars,
hanging upon every word which came back to him, like those of the
ancient oracles, out of the mist and the cloud. To Chandos himself, the
old soldier for whom war had lost its freshness, it was a renewal of his
own ardent youth to listen to Nigel's rapid questions and to mark the
rapt attention with which he listened.

"Tell me of the Welsh, honored sir," asked the Squire. "What manner of
soldiers are the Welsh?"

"They are very valiant men of war," said Chandos, splashing about in his
tub. "There is good skirmishing to be had in their valleys if you ride
with a small following. They flare up like a furzebush in the flames,
but if for a short space you may abide the heat of it, then there is a
chance that it may be cooler."

"And the Scotch?" asked Nigel. "You have made war upon them also, as I
understand."

"The Scotch knights have no masters in the world, and he who can hold
his own with the best of them, be it a Douglas, a Murray or a Seaton,
has nothing more to learn. Though you be a hard man, you will always
meet as hard a one if you ride northward. If the Welsh be like the furze
fire, then, pardieu! the Scotch are the peat, for they will smolder and
you will never come to the end of them. I have had many happy hours
on the marches of Scotland, for even if there be no war the Percies of
Alnwick or the Governor of Carlisle can still raise a little bickering
with the border clans."

"I bear in mind that my father was wont to say that they were very stout
spearmen."

"No better in the world, for the spears are twelve foot long and they
hold them in very thick array; but their archers are weak, save only the
men of Ettrick and Selkirk who come from the forest. I pray you to open
the lattice, Nigel, for the steam is overthick. Now in Wales it is the
spearmen who are weak, and there are no archers in these islands like
the men of Gwent with their bows of elm, which shoot with such power
that I have known a cavalier t