THE KING'S WARK.
"Virtue!--to be good and just---
Every heart when sifted well,
Is a clot of warmer dust,
Mixed with cunning sparks of hell!"
The bell in the tower of St. Anthony's preceptory--a tower demolished
by the English cannon in 1559--was just tolling eleven, when Hew
Borthwick blew the copper horn which hung by a chain at the outer
gate of the King's Wark, and hastily inquired for the Laird of
Blackcastle, or for the Lords Home or Hailes. These names secured to
him an immediate passage among the Douglases, Homes, and Hepburns who
loitered about or slept on the floor or benches of the passages,
hall, and vestibule, and two pages, having the Hepburn arms--two
Scottish lions rending an English rose--ushered the bravo at once
into a chamber, the walls of which were hung with old amber-coloured
arras, sewn over with red stars and green thistles, the work, it was
said, of Elizabeth, Duchess of Brittany, daughter of James I.
This apartment was encumbered by arms and armour; halberts and lances
were piled against the walls; two large sconces of tin, having in
each four candles, gave sufficient light to the two reckless young
lords, who were playing at chess, and sipping wine from silver cups,
while the pages were conveying away the remains of the baked chicken
and pie of plumdames on which they had just made their rere-supper.
Their daggers, belts, and cuirasses were flung aside, and they wore
loose ample gowns of dark woollen cloth, lined with brightly coloured
silk, and edged with stripes of fine sable.
"Thou hast come betimes, sir," said Hailes; "and doubtless hast
succeeded, too."
"I seldom fail in aught I undertake, my lord. A ready wit, a clear
head, a bold heart, and nimble hands, are ever required by those who
have light purses and high ambition," was the confident reply.
"Thou hast rather an active tongue too, sirrah," said Lord Home,
frowning.
"'Tis the only inheritance my good mother left me," said the
unabashed Borthwick.
"Enough of this--the letter, if thou hast it!"
Borthwick still lingered, till Hailes scornfully tossed to him a
fleur-de-lys, and then he received the letter at once. He untied the
ribbons, opened and scrutinized it with stern and curious eyes. He
then counted the lines repeatedly, and looked at the address--but of
that and the contents neither he nor Hailes could decypher one word.
"Curse on this conjuror's art!" said he; "'tis the Dean of Dunblane
hath taught dame Euphemia and her sisters this clerkly craft. Had
they learned how to make hippocras, to knead a pasty, to collar a
pig, or to throw a hawk well off, it had been wiser! Canst thou make
out this devilish scrawl, my lord?"
"Nay, not I, thank God! If I can mumble _Kyrie Eleison_, or _Christi
Eleison_, at Mass, 'tis all my book lear."
"Ouf! for a fair dame's epistle, what an odour it hath of herrings
and tar!"
And now there was a pause. Home thrust aside the chessmen; Hailes
took a sip at his wine-cup, and curled up his moustachios, while
Borthwick stood by with a sneer on his face, and watched them,
smiling in his heart at their absurd perplexity.
Now, although so early as the year 1173 the towns of Perth and
Stirling, Aberdeen and Ayr, had their seminaries under the monks, and
others were established in Roxburgh, St. Andrews, and Montrose during
the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the Scottish nobles were so
ignorant, that a law was passed at a period subsequent to the reign
of James III. that every peer should send his eldest son to school.
Thus, to the Scots, all of whom--even the lowest and poorest
classes--are now so well educated, the ignorance of the good folks,
their ancestors, must seem extraordinary, if not incredible.
Impatient that Borthwick did not offer to read it, and yet half
ashamed of what the contents might be, Home turned to him with
reluctance, saying,--
"Master Borthwick, wert thou not somewhat of a monk in thy younger
days?"
Borthwick started, and his countenance flushed, as he replied, "To my
shame I acknowledge that I was; I am now a more useful man--but what
of that, my lord?"
"You can read, of course?" said Hailes, a little more gently, and
with a bitter expression of eye, for he felt that he and his friend
were at the mercy of a man whom they disliked and despised.
"Read, if it please you," said Lord Home, and he whispered, while
Borthwick took up the letter, "Fear not its contents, Hailes; if it
contains aught unpleasant, we can stop this fellow's tongue by a gag
of steel, and there are vaults in Home Castle where the light of day
hath never entered: read on."
"'_For Robert Barton of that Ilk--Captain to the Laird of Largo--be
these delivered--_,'" began Borthwick.
"Of that Ilk!" exclaimed the two lords, together, with fierce, and
unutterable scorn; and then they burst into a fit of laughter.
"By St. Anne, this amuses me!" said Hailes, "Read on, good fellow; of
that Ilk--read on."
The noble lord was not so much amused by what followed, for Euphemia
expressed in strong language the horror she and her sister Sybilla
entertained of the two suitors whom their impetuous and ambitious
father had thrust upon them; the letter expressed their double dread
of him and of their uncle, the dean; it detailed the persecution they
were subjected to, and the surveillance with which they were annoyed;
and ended by stating that their marriage days were fixed, but that
they were resolved not to be wedded, at the sword's point, like two
brides among the wild Redshanks who dwelt beyond the Grampians; and
so they begged that Barton and Falconer, if they loved them, would
take measures to save them from such a fate, and become their
protectors.
"'Tis madness--'tis infatuation!" said Home, with something of pity;
"and but for the honour of Lord Drummond's house, and the necessity
for killing these scurvy companions, and preventing the daughters of
our nobles from making alliances so degrading, on my soul I would
leave Lady Euphemia to her lover, Master Robert Barton of--_that
Ilk_."
"And had I not a slender fancy for the pretty Sybilla, and a greater
one for that slice of Strathearn which the old lord promised me, I
would rest contented with the black-eyed dame to whom I am
hand-fasted already; but we must punish their contumacy; and I doubt
not they will become loving wives enough, after we have given their
gallants to feed the gleds."
"So, so; is that all, Master Borthwick?"
"There is a post scriptum, my lord."
"Post--what? is there more of this precious epistle?"
"But a line or two, my lord, hastily pencilled."
"'Tis what we saw her writing," said Home; "and faith, she did look
beautiful as she bent over her tablets, and her heavy locks fell
forward; well, and what saith the post scriptum?"
"'_We will meet you at the chapel of Loretto, beside the Links of
Musselburgh, on Friday, in the evening, for there we mean to spend
the whole night in vigil and in prayer, &c._--E.D."
"At our Lady of Loretto! what a place for an assignation with these
skipper varlets," said Lord Hailes, "those cullionly mongrels!"
"Art sure of this, sirrah?" asked Lord Home, with a terrible frown.
"Sure as I now address your lordship--for I read word for word as it
is written."
"At six in the evening?"
"Six, my lord."
"God's death!" said Hailes, with ferocious joy, "if this meeting take
place, I would not wed the Lord Drummond's daughter had she the crown
of Scotland on her head."
"Nor I her sister, with Brittany and Orkney to boot."
"What then shall we do?"
"Send their letter to its destination, my lords," said Borthwick, who
ever loved to ferment and further mischief; "permit the ladies
quietly to ride forth, but attend the tryst, too--and let them find
their lovers there, but less their heads."
"It shall be so; we'll beset the place, Hailes, and cut them into
gobbets, by my father's soul we will?"
"But Loretto is a holy place."
"What! art thou one of those who deem one place more holy than
another because a shaveling mumbles Latin there? Well, we will drag
them forth and hang them at the Musselburgh Cross, if you will. I'll
take a hundred horse and hide them in the woods of Pinkey.
Enough--enough, we'll see to it; and now to send this letter to the
churls at Largo. The bearer--"
"I left him drunk as a Saxon, and snorting like a pig, in an alehouse
near the Timber Bourse; day has not yet broken, so I may easily
restore it to his pouch without his having missed it, perhaps."
"Good--excellent! away, it lacks but a short time of day-dawn; when
all this matter is over and settled, when the rooks of Pinkey Wood
have gorged them to their fill on those aspiring curs who cross our
plans, I'll make thee, Borthwick--a rascal though thou art--the
richest varlet in my new earldom--away, away!" and laughing and
pushing, he almost put Borthwick out of the room. When he was gone,--
"Hailes, can we really trust this fellow?" asked Home.
"Trust him! For gold he would sell his father's bones, and his own
slender chance of salvation; but I'll have him followed, and prove
whether or not he plays us foul."
The messenger of Home was no other than the unwilling Laird of
Blackcastle, who had been sleeping in his armour on a stone bench in
the upper hall of the King's Wark, and who grumbled under his helmet
as he followed Borthwick through the dark and narrow streets of Leith
in the grey light of the morning.
Turning off towards the Timber Bourse he saw him enter the narrow
alley which led to Tibby Tarvet's alehouse, and there he met Willie
Wad in a high state of excitement.
"What ho, Master Wad," said he, "you are abroad betimes."
"Abroad betimes, thou dog-thief and loon; thou'st boarded me like a
pirate in the night, and stolen a letter frae me."
"Beware ye, sirrah, of what you say," replied Borthwick, making a
show of dignified indignation; "beware, for I am a man of a good
repute, that must not be impugned; but if this be the letter you have
lost--"
"It is--it is," said Wad, almost dancing with joy as the other
displayed the missing article; "and where got ye it?"
"Lying at the close-head."
"Say you so? Could I have dropped it?"
"You know best."
"My deck was overstown wi' usquebaugh--donnart deil that I am, it
must have been so!"
"This letter is of value then??
"I would rather lose my starboard fin than it."
"Then it is well worth a crown."
"To those wha hae crowns to spare," said the gunner.
Borthwick took a firmer grasp of the packet.
"What, will a gay gentleman in a scarlet cloak, chaffer thus wi' a
puir mariner like me?" asked Wad, with astonishment mingled with
contempt.
"I have said the letter is well worth a crown."
"Crowns hae I none--but I will gie what I have, and then let us part;
sorrow be on the hour I met you."
As money poured upon this wretched bravo, avarice grew and
strengthened in his heart; and he omitted no opportunity of gathering
all he could win; knowing well that ere long Scotland would be too
hot to hold him.
"A' I hae is here," said Wad, opening a secret nook in his pouch;
"three rose-nobles, and welcome you are to them."
"Rose-nobles," said Borthwick, suspiciously, and pricking up his ears
at the sound; "where got you them?"
"In the pouch of a dead Englishman. Take them; the letter, the
letter!" said Willie, losing all patience, and beginning to grasp his
knife with one hand, while by the other he angrily snatched away the
billet. "You are I doubtna a thief and limmer to boot--despite your
braw gear and laced mantle. But off! sheer off, I say, or may I
drink bilge, if by one hearty kick I dinna double you up like a bolt
of wet canvas!"
With these complimentary remarks Willie hastened down the Broad Wynd,
crossed the ancient bridge of three arches, where a trifling toll was
levied from every passenger, and reached the boat of Jamie Gair, who
was just preparing to put off without him. A chill wind was blowing
from the north-east and a white _harr_ was setting in from the German
Sea, so they buttoned up their gaberdines, betook them to the oars,
shot the boat out into the midstream, and in a short time the old
wooden pier of Leith, the Beacon Rock and Partan Craig, were left
astern. Then they set their lug-sail, and keeping the boat
close-hauled, bore away as nearly as her head would lie to the wind,
for the beautiful Bay of Largo.