and swans. So the hawking would be apt to start in the vicinity of one or other of the lochs.
The nearest was St Margaret's Loch, which lay on the low ground at this north-east side of the hill, named after the well nearby where King David the First had drunk for much-needed refreshment after he had been attacked by the wounded stag—which of course had been scared off by his chaplain waving the casket containing his mother, St Margaret's, famed Black Rood, or piece of the true Cross of Calvary, the occasion for his founding of the Abbey of the Holy Rood and the palace which developed therefrom.
John rode to St Margaret's Loch, beneath St Anthony's Chapel on its knoll, but there were no sportsmen there; and some children playing at the water's edge declared that John was the first horseman they had seen. Which left Dunsappie and Duddingston Lochs.
Dunsappie, which John had skirted the day before on his climb, was not much more than half-a-mile off, to the south, but some three hundred feet higher. It was small, really only a mountain tarn, and without the great reed-beds of Duddingston, to shelter and feed the wildfowl—so the latter was the more likely. However, Dunsappie was as it were on the way, although involving the ascent; and from the ridge above it a panoramic view of all the Duddingston, Priestfield and Craigmillar area could be seen and the huntsmen surely to be picked out.
With a horse to do the climbing for him, he was soon up to Dunsappie, scattering sheep. The place was deserted and looking desolate, so different from yesterday. He seemed to have Arthur's Seat to himself.
But from the ridge to the south he had no difficulty in spotting his quarry. Far below, on the firmer ground beyond the vast sedge-beds of Duddingston Loch, on the lands of Priestfield—now being called Prestonfield, priests being out-of-favour after the Reformation—about a dozen horsemen could be seen milling around, presumably flying their hawks. The chances of them being other than the royal party were remote.
Although not much more than another half-mile away as the crow flies, to get down to them was less simple. First of all, the slopes at this side were exceedingly steep, really a southwards extension of the great red crags which soared above Holyrood, with a peculiar pillared rock formation known as Sampson's Ribs. Then, at the bottom was the quaking sea of reeds. No horseman could descend the first nor cross the second. So John had to ride on eastwards at this high level, and in the wrong direction, to get down the more manageable slopes beyond, where their Pictish ancestors had dug cultivation-terraces out of the hillside, to reach Duddingston village itself. Then he had to work the long way round the loch and its sedgy extension westwards, although most of this he could do at the canter on fairly level ground so long as he kept well back from the shore. In this royal demesne the King could not have chosen a hawking-ground further away from his palace.
As he rode up on to the Prestonfield parkland, the mounted huntsmen were well scattered and mainly in pairs, much shouting and wagering going on and dogs barking. The sport consisted of the dogs being sent into the reeds to put up duck, geese, herons, swans or other fowl, and then the hawks to be unhooded and released from their owners' wrists to fly at selected birds. Although the sportsmen would prefer to choose each their own fowl, it was usually the sprung hawks that did so. Then the owners would wager on whose hawk would stoop on what quarry and make the kill, whilst they strove to ride as nearly beneath the aerial chase as was possible, shouting encouragements or curses—although here, much of it being over water or swamp, this was difficult. The dogs were then sent in to retrieve the plummeting game and the trained hawks called or whistled back to their owners' wrists. It was all a lively, noisy, ploutering business.
The ideal was for two hawks to aim at the same
The nearest was St Margaret's Loch, which lay on the low ground at this north-east side of the hill, named after the well nearby where King David the First had drunk for much-needed refreshment after he had been attacked by the wounded stag—which of course had been scared off by his chaplain waving the casket containing his mother, St Margaret's, famed Black Rood, or piece of the true Cross of Calvary, the occasion for his founding of the Abbey of the Holy Rood and the palace which developed therefrom.
John rode to St Margaret's Loch, beneath St Anthony's Chapel on its knoll, but there were no sportsmen there; and some children playing at the water's edge declared that John was the first horseman they had seen. Which left Dunsappie and Duddingston Lochs.
Dunsappie, which John had skirted the day before on his climb, was not much more than half-a-mile off, to the south, but some three hundred feet higher. It was small, really only a mountain tarn, and without the great reed-beds of Duddingston, to shelter and feed the wildfowl—so the latter was the more likely. However, Dunsappie was as it were on the way, although involving the ascent; and from the ridge above it a panoramic view of all the Duddingston, Priestfield and Craigmillar area could be seen and the huntsmen surely to be picked out.
With a horse to do the climbing for him, he was soon up to Dunsappie, scattering sheep. The place was deserted and looking desolate, so different from yesterday. He seemed to have Arthur's Seat to himself.
But from the ridge to the south he had no difficulty in spotting his quarry. Far below, on the firmer ground beyond the vast sedge-beds of Duddingston Loch, on the lands of Priestfield—now being called Prestonfield, priests being out-of-favour after the Reformation—about a dozen horsemen could be seen milling around, presumably flying their hawks. The chances of them being other than the royal party were remote.
Although not much more than another half-mile away as the crow flies, to get down to them was less simple. First of all, the slopes at this side were exceedingly steep, really a southwards extension of the great red crags which soared above Holyrood, with a peculiar pillared rock formation known as Sampson's Ribs. Then, at the bottom was the quaking sea of reeds. No horseman could descend the first nor cross the second. So John had to ride on eastwards at this high level, and in the wrong direction, to get down the more manageable slopes beyond, where their Pictish ancestors had dug cultivation-terraces out of the hillside, to reach Duddingston village itself. Then he had to work the long way round the loch and its sedgy extension westwards, although most of this he could do at the canter on fairly level ground so long as he kept well back from the shore. In this royal demesne the King could not have chosen a hawking-ground further away from his palace.
As he rode up on to the Prestonfield parkland, the mounted huntsmen were well scattered and mainly in pairs, much shouting and wagering going on and dogs barking. The sport consisted of the dogs being sent into the reeds to put up duck, geese, herons, swans or other fowl, and then the hawks to be unhooded and released from their owners' wrists to fly at selected birds. Although the sportsmen would prefer to choose each their own fowl, it was usually the sprung hawks that did so. Then the owners would wager on whose hawk would stoop on what quarry and make the kill, whilst they strove to ride as nearly beneath the aerial chase as was possible, shouting encouragements or curses—although here, much of it being over water or swamp, this was difficult. The dogs were then sent in to retrieve the plummeting game and the trained hawks called or whistled back to their owners' wrists. It was all a lively, noisy, ploutering business.
The ideal was for two hawks to aim at the same
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