CONCLAVE OF MALCONTENTS.
_Sir Penny_ owre all gets the gree,
Both in burgh and citie,
In castle and in tower;
Withouten either spear or shield,
He is the best by firth or field,
And stalwartest in stowre.
_Money, an old Ballad._
Sir Patrick Gray and Sir James Shaw rose with much real and more
feigned respect, as the swarthy Earl of Angus, still clad as usual in
his armour, the statesman-like Lord Drummond, wearing a suit of black
velvet edged with corded gold, the Lords Hailes, Home, Stirling of
Keir, and the Hereditary Forester of Drum, all partially clad in buff
and steel, and the grim old Steward of Menteith, with his long
Highland cliob, and portentous beard that reached nearly to the top
of his kilt, entered the apartment, making a great clatter with their
long steel Rippon spurs, and those enormous swords, for the
manufacture of which the sword slippers of Banff bade fair to rival
those of Cologne and Toledo, and which were of such preposterous
length, that they were generally worn across the back, with the hilt
at the left shoulder, over which they were unsheathed when necessary.
Now, since James had declined his pilgrimage to Amiens, and Angus,
leader of the peers, was quite averse to the invasion of Brittany, to
destroy Montrose, Wood, and other favourites of the king, there
seemed to be no other resource but a general appeal to arms; and yet
the malcontent barons were perhaps loth to engage again in a project
so desperate.
"I ken o' nocht for us but an open raid and massacre o' the king's
garrisons, if they hauld aloof," said the stern Steward of Menteith.
"Those paid soldiers are but an insolent curb upon the auld and
inborn power of the nobles."
"Massacre!" reiterated Angus, with one of his dark smiles; "and what
then, Steward of Menteith? The king can readily find new garrisons
and new favourites, who will again keep the power in their own hands,
to the exclusion of our interests."
"Then let us dethrone the king," growled the Forester of Drum.
"And crown young Rothesay in his stead, whether he will or not,"
added the Laird of Keir.
"I like not the project," said Drummond, who was the most politic and
least violent noble there; "_dethrone!_ it hath a new and strange
sound, sirs, to a Scottish ear."
"Dethrone--and why not, my lord?" asked Sir James Shaw, who was now
flushed with wine; "in our past history there are precedents enough
even for the most unscrupulous. Without going back to that barbarous
age when Fergus II. restored the monarchy, have we not had
Constantine I., who was slain by a Lord of the Isles; and Ferquhard
I., who fell into the errors of the Pelagians, and for his contempt
of all holy rites was dethroned by his nobles, and cast into a
dungeon, where he died like a Roman of old; Malduin, who was
strangled by his queen; and the son of Findon, who was shot by an
arrow? Had we not Ewen VIII., '_who was slain for having wicked
favourites,_' all of whom ended their lives on a gallows, around
which the people held jubilee as round a maypole? And did not Eth,
Malcolm I., and Colin, all die at the behest of an insulted people?
And last of all, was there not Duncan II., whom the Earl of Mearn
slew by one stroke of his dagger?"
"The last you have named reigned four hundred years ago Sir James,"
replied Lord Drummond, coldly; "but I do hope in my heart, that the
measures which suited the thanes of the eleventh century and their
more barbarous predecessors, are altogether antagonistic to the
sentiments of the Scottish peers of James III."
A partial murmur of pretended assent responded to this reply, and
thus encouraged, the old lord continued--
"When I remember the love of this young king for me, and how he
placed a coronet on my head, I feel something of remorse when men
speak as thou, Sir James, hast spoken."
"My lord," retorted the fiery baron, "in this desperate game, the man
who feels remorse is lost!"
"Alas! I fear me it is but too true."
"Remorse!" added Gray; "pshaw! 'tis but weakness of mind and
narrowness of soul!"
Lord Drummond made an impatient step forward, but Angus grasped his
arm.
"Knight of Kyneff," said he, with a reddening brow and quivering lip,
"I can afford to pardon this rashness of speech, which a younger man
and soldier would be compelled to resent. I am an old man now, sirs,
but while this dear Scotland of ours required my sword, it was never
allowed to rest in its scabbard; and if it is for the good of the
people, whose natural head are the nobles, I will unsheath it against
a corrupt court, as readily as against our hereditary foemen of
England or elsewhere."
"In this hast thou spoken well; for by one grand stroke must this
corrupt court be swept away!" said the Earl of Angus, who as yet had
not spoken much, but in whose breast was concentrated all the pride
of feudal nobility, and the memory of a lofty ancestry, whose origin
was lost in the dark ages of Scottish antiquity, and whose military
glory was incorporated with the past history of the nation. "My
lords and gentlemen, I will appeal to you, whether it is not an
intolerable thing that I, who am lieutenant-general of the kingdom,
must receive orders and edicts from this new-fangled Duke of
Montrose, whose ancestry were but Lairds of Crawford and Glenesk when
mine were Earls of Douglas and Lords supreme of Galloway?--men who,
since the days when Sholto the Swarthy won the Dale of Douglas by his
valour, have been foremost in every field that is honourable to
Scotland,--men who bore on their shields the red lion of the Galwegii
at the battles of Largs, Theba, and Northallerton, and whose war cry,
six hundred years ago, found a terrible echo in the ranks of the
Longobardi! I will rather die, as many of them have died, on the red
field of battle, than stoop their honoured crest to this ignoble
yoke! Aid me to drive these tawdry courtiers into England or the
sea, and I will make thee, Drummond, Great Chamberlain of Scotland."
"It would appear to me," said Sir James Shaw, who was blinking over
another pot of wine, "that thou, my Lord Hailes, art bettor fitted
for the office of treasurer than yonder old Saracen, Knollis, the
Prior of Rhodez."
"Yes, and we shall make his pood friend Home lord privy seal, in lieu
of that old foutre the Provost of Lincluden," added Sir Patrick Gray,
half in jest.
"Accept my thanks, sirs," replied Home; "but are there no pretty
places you could choose for yourselves?"
"Why, let me think," muttered Gray; "I have some old feuds in the
Howe of Angus--feuds which have been standing over since my father
fought Huntly at the battle of Brechin, on Ascension-day in '53, and
I would like for one month--only a month, sirs--to be judge of
justiciary, with a commission of fire and sword against all
malcontents."
"Right," hiccuped Shaw; "by St. Beelzebub! and thou shalt be clerk of
justiciary too, instead of that painted fop, Halket of Belfico, and I
shall be lord clerk register. The Laird of Bailie-Craig hath a
pretty young wife and a cellar of pretty old wine; we shall
confiscate both, Sir Patrick--for he is a malcontent, and master of
the king's hounds."
During this, the Earl of Angus, who had been whispering aside with
the politic old chief of the Drummonds, now stepped forward with a
peculiar smile on his dark visage. It almost amounted to drollery,
if such an expression ever lighted up that swarthy and stern, yet
handsome face, before which the sister of Henry VIII. of England
quailed when his bride at the altar, and knelt down in the dust at
the castle gate of Edinburgh, thirty-six years afterwards.
"My lords and gentlemen, I crave your attention," said he; "the Lord
Drummond, although steward of Strathearn and head of his house, does
not feel that his family is sufficiently powerful to take the field
formally against the court. His coronet is somewhat newer than mine,
and consequently seems to him, perhaps, of greater value. Thus he
proposes to strengthen himself by two alliances in marriage, through
which he calculates on having at least, for the security of himself
and his cause, six other castles, well furnished with men and
artillery, and four thousand border horse and Lothian spearmen. His
three daughters are beautiful, and as we know, my lords, are
_peerless_ (in more ways than one). He therefore proposes to make
you, my Lords of Home and Hailes, his sons-in-law, giving to each a
good slice of his arable land in bonnie Strathearn, and three of
Montrose's best farms in the glen of Kincardine. Now, my lords, you
have a noble chance to win earls' coronets, with fair countesses to
share them. By St. Bryde of Kildara!" he added, turning to Stirling
of Keir, "were I not espoused to your dear daughter, Sir William, I
would lay my heart and sword at the feet of one of these beautiful
Drummonds."
There was a general, but very subdued titter at this proposal; Shaw
and Gray laughed so immoderately that Lord Drummond grew red with
anger, and tall Angus bent his formidable gaza inquiringly upon them.
The fierce old Steward of Strathearn stroked his white beard (which
seemed the exact counterpart of his Highland sporran), and adjusted
his belted plaid, with the air of a man who was about to say
something for himself if the younger suitors declined; though he had
already handfasted by force the fair daughter of a cock-laird in
Glenartney. There was a momentary pause, for the two young Southland
peers were confounded by the sudden proposition, though such hastily
conceived alliances were by no means uncommon in those days, when the
Scottish nobles availed themselves of every means of strengthening
themselves for those sudden raids and revolts which were the ruin of
the national strength, and the terror of the rising middle-class.
"For my own part," said Hailes, hastening to break the silence, "I
beg to offer my most dutiful thanks to the Lord Drummond, and to say,
that I will consider it the task--or rather the pleasure--of my life
to love his fair daughter Sybilla, and if he will honour me with her
hand, two thousand of the best lances in Eastern Lothian will follow
his banner to death! Alexander Home, what sayest thou?"
"All that you have said, I too am ready to perform--excepting that
instead of spearmen, I bring two thousand troopers from Tweedside and
the Merse, for I have long admired the Lady Euphemia Drummond, and
would soon have learned to love her, but feared she was betrothed to
the rich heir of Sir Andrew Barton."
"Robert Barton is a brave, good fellow," said Lord Drummond, "but a
stanch king's man."
"And the son of a merchant skipper," said Angus; "so it is your
bounden duty, Home, to save a noble lady from such a misalliance."
"I place myself at the complete disposal of her father," replied
Home, whom, like Hailes, the dazzling beauty of the proffered bride
had made completely tractable; "but what shall we say if each of
these fair dames assert a woman's right of choice?"
At this idea Lord Drummond laughed aloud, for that was a _right_
which was but ill defined in Scotland till the middle or nearly the
end of the last century.
"Wine--wine! more Rochelle and Bordeaux to drink to these fair brides
and facile bridegrooms!" cried the half-intoxicated Governor of
Stirling, as he thundered on the oaken table with a silver
drinking-pot. "Gray, is thy devil of a butler deaf, or is the cellar
empty?"
"We have three butts of Rochelle, a bombarde of Bordeaux, and Lammas
ale enow to swim the _Yellow Frigate_," replied the chatelain; "but,
on my soul, Sir James, I think thou'st had enough before dinner."
"More wine, I tell thee, thou inhospitable! Bring up the bombarde,
and I will teach thee an infallible thrust, by which thou wilt always
kill an adversary, even though girded in a triple coat of mail. By
my faith, old Drummond, thou art a wise carle! Take lords, while
thou canst get them;--better have eggs to-day than hens to-morrow.
Ha! ha!"
* * * * * *
Altogether unaware of the troubles in store for them, the three
daughters of Drummond at that very time were seated on the bartizan
of their ancient mansion in Dundee, watching the white sails of the
_Yellow Frigate_ and her consort, as they shone in the setting-sun,
and diminished on those waters which the western light tinged with a
golden glow.
With anxious eyes and saddened hearts, the dark-haired Euphemia and
hazel-eyed Sybilla gazed after them, for they knew not on what errand
the ships had sailed so hurriedly; and there they lingered long after
the summer sun had sunk beyond the beautiful Carse of Gowrie, and its
rays had faded from the green conical hill of Dundee, which was then
girded by the ruined ramparts of a castle, averred by history to have
been the habitation of Catanach, King of the Picts, and afterwards of
Donald I. of Scotland.
By their side sat Margaret, pale and thoughtful as usual, with little
Lizzie and Beatrix nestling by her side. The ocean became a darker
blue, and blended with the sky; bells rang for vespers in the many
ecclesiastical buildings of the town, which then possessed four great
churches, five convents, and thirteen chapels; and reluctantly and
with silent anxiety the three fair girls withdrew from the proud
bartizan to the chamber of dais below.
By this time their politic--perhaps we are not wrong in saying
cunning--old father was leaving the tower of Broughty, accompanied by
his two intended sons-in-law, and two gentlemen, both Drummonds of
Strathearn, who were his constant attendants, and were constantly
armed to the teeth. Borthwick, who had finished his letter, and was
loitering in the archway, beckoned to his lordship, and uncovering
his head with great respect, craved a word with him, for he had not
forgotten the punch he received on the head from the fiery young Duke
of Rothesay, and his heart yet burned to be revenged for it.
"Well, good fellow, what would you with me?" asked the noble, as he
checked his horse, for he was in excellent humour at the prospect of
two such powerful alliances for his daughters.
"I am one who has a sincere friendship for your lordship, and a
regard for the honour of your family," said Borthwick in a whisper;
"and I beg to warn you, that by watching well, there may be
discovered a certain masked man, wearing a scarlet mantle, who visits
your mansion under cloud of night--generally about the hour of
ten--and who enters a postern by the way of Fish-street."
The old lord glanced hastily at Home and Hailes, but fortunately they
were beyond earshot; so he turned sternly to Borthwick, and said,--
"Fellow, art sure of what thou tellest me?"
"Sure as I have now the honour of addressing you."
"A scarlet mantle, say you;--the Lord Lindesay wears one;--'tis like
his insolence. Well, this eavesdropper shall die! But who art thou?"
"A friend and follower of Sir Patrick Gray, who will vouch for my
veracity."
"A most worthy recommendation!" said the old lord, ironically; "but I
thank you, sir, and will watch, believe me. This muffled man may
find it perilous work, and that he had better, as our motto hath it,
_gang warily_, or byde at home. Carnock--Balloch!" he added to the
two gentlemen referred to, "come hither."
They cantered up to his side; and with all the ardour of vengeance,
Hew Borthwick watched their chief as he repeated the information just
received, and no doubt gave them the necessary instructions how to
waylay and discover this unknown interloper.
"So much for thee and thy blow," said he, with one of his hyæna
laughs; "and _this_ for thy simple father."
For a moment he contemplated his letter, which was written on the
coarse grey paper then coming into use, folded square, pierced at the
corners with blue ribbons, which were tied saltirewise, and sealed
with purple wax like a royal letter,--sealed, moreover, by the king's
own private signet, which Borthwick applied to this most infamous use.
The traitor gazed complacently at his handiwork, and then concealing
it under his scarlet mantle, he returned to the tapestried room,
where Kyneff was still drinking, and Sir James Shaw was now lying
prostrate on the matted floor, and completely intoxicated.