Some ten or twelve days after the momentous event recorded in our last
chapter, King Edward's royal palace, at Winchester, was thronged at an
unusually early hour by many noble knights and barons, bearing on their
countenances symptoms of some new and unexpected excitement; and there
was a dark boding gloom on the now contracted brow and altered features
of England's king, as, weakened and well-nigh worn out by a lingering
disease, he reclined on a well-cushioned couch, to receive the
eagerly-offered homage of his loyal barons. He, who had been from
earliest youth a warrior, with whose might and dauntless prowess there
was not one, or prince, or noble, or English, or foreigner, could
compete, whose strength of frame and energy of mind had ever borne him
scathless and uninjured through scenes of fatigue, and danger, and
blood, and death; whose sword had restored a kingdom to his father--had
struggled for Palestine and her holy pilgrims--had given Wales to
England, and again and again prostrated the hopes and energies of
Scotland into the dust; even he, this mighty prince, lay prostrate now,
unable to conquer or to struggle with disease--disease that attacked the
slave, the lowest serf or yeoman of his land, and thus made manifest,
how in the sight of that King of kings, from whom both might and
weakness come, the prince and peasant are alike--the monarch and the
slave!
The disease had been indeed in part subdued, but Edward could not close
his eyes to the fact that he should never again be what he had been;
that the strength which had enabled him to do and endure so much, the
energy which had ever led him on to victory, the fire which had so often
inspired his own heart, and urged on, as by magic power, his
followers--that all these were gone from him, and forever. Ambition,
indeed, yet burned within, strong, undying, mighty; aye, perhaps
mightier than ever, as the power of satisfying that ambition glided from
his grasp. He had rested, indeed, a brief while, secure in the
fulfilment of his darling wish, that every rood of land composing the
British Isles should be united under him as sole sovereign; he believed,
and rejoiced in the belief, that with Wallace all hope or desire of
resistance had departed. His disease had been at its height when Bruce
departed from his court, and disabled him a while from composedly
considering how that event would affect his interest in Scotland. As the
violence of the disease subsided, however, he had leisure to contemplate
and become anxious. Rumors, some extravagant, some probable, now floated
about; and the sovereign looked anxiously to the high festival of Easter
to bring all his barons around him, and by the absence or presence of
the suspected, discover at once how far his suspicions and the floating
rumors were correct.
Although the indisposition of the sovereign prevented the feasting,
merry-making, and other customary marks of royal munificence, which ever
attended the solemnization of Easter, yet it did not in any way
interfere with the bounden duty of every earl and baron, knight and
liegeman, and high ecclesiastics of the realm to present themselves
before the monarch at such a time; Easter, Whitsuntide, and Christmas,
being the seasons when every loyal subject of fit degree appeared
attendant on his sovereign, without any summons so to do.
They had been seasons of peculiar interest since the dismemberment of
Scotland, for Edward's power was such, that seldom had the peers and
other great officers of that land refused the tacit acknowledgment of
England's supremacy by their non-appearance. Even in that which was
deemed the rebellion of Wallace, the highest families, even the
competitors for the crown, and all the knights and vassals in their
interest, had swelled the train of the conqueror; but this Easter ten or
twelve great barons and their followers were missing. The nobles had
eagerly and anxiously scanned the countenances of each, and whispered
suspicions and rumors, which one glance on their monarch's ruffled brow
confirmed.
"So ho! my faithful lords and gallant knights," he exclaimed, after the
preliminaries of courtesy between each noble and his sovereign had been
more hastily than usual performed, speaking in a tone so unusually harsh
and sarcastic, that the terms "faithful and gallant" seemed used but in
mockery; "so ho! these are strange news we hear. Where be my lords of
Carrick, Athol, Lennox, Hay? Where be the knights of Seaton, Somerville,
Keith, and very many others we could name? Where be these proud lords, I
say? Are none of ye well informed on these things? I ask ye where be
they? Why are they not here?"
There was a pause, for none dared risk reply. Edward's voice had waxed
louder and louder, his sallow cheek flushed with wrath, and he raised
himself from his couch, as if irritability of thought had imparted
strength to his frame.
"I ask ye, where be these truant lords? There be some of ye who _can_
reply; aye, and by good St. Edward, reply ye shall. Gloucester, my lord
of Gloucester, stand forth, I say," he continued, the thunderstorm
drawing to that climax which made many tremble, lest its bolt should
fall on the daring baron who rumor said was implicated in the flight of
the Bruce, and who now stood, his perfect self-possession and calmness
of mien and feature contrasting well with the fury of his sovereign.
"And darest thou front me with that bold, shameless brow, false traitor
as thou art?" continued the king, as, with head erect and arms proudly
folded in his mantle, Gloucester obeyed the king's impatient summons.
"Traitor! I call thee traitor! aye, in the presence of thy country's
noblest peers, I charge thee with a traitor's deed; deny it, if thou
darest."
"Tis my sovereign speaks the word, else had it not been spoken with
impunity," returned the noble, proudly and composedly, though his cheek
burned and his eye flashed. "Yes, monarch of England, I dare deny the
charge! Gloucester is no traitor!"
"How! dost thou brave me, minion? Darest thou deny the fact, that from
thee, from thy traitorous hand, thy base connivance, Robert of Carrick,
warned that we knew his treachery, fled from our power--that 'tis to
thee, we owe the pleasant news we have but now received? Hast thou not
given that rebel Scotland a head, a chief, in this fell traitor, and art
thou not part and parcel of his guilt? Darest thou deny that from thee
he received intelligence and means of flight? Baron of Gloucester, thou
darest not add the stigma of falsity to thy already dishonored name!"
"Sovereign of England, my gracious liege and honored king," answered
Gloucester, still apparently unmoved, and utterly regardless of the
danger in which he stood, "dishonor is not further removed from thy
royal name than it is from Gloucester's. I bear no stain of either
falsity or treachery; that which thou hast laid to my charge regarding
the Earl of Carrick, I shrink not, care not to acknowledge; yet, Edward
of England, I am no traitor!"
"Ha! thou specious orator, reconcile the two an thou canst! Thou art a
scholar of deep research and eloquence profound we have heard. Speak on,
then, in heaven's name!" He flung himself back on his cushions as he
spoke, for, despite his wrath, his suspicions, there was that in the
calm, chivalric bearing of the earl that appealed not in vain to one who
had so long been the soul of chivalry himself.
The tone in which his sovereign spoke was softened, though his words
were bitter, and Gloucester at once relaxed from his proud and cold
reserve; kneeling before him, he spoke with fervor and impassioned
truth--
"Condemn me not unheard, my gracious sovereign," he said. "I speak not
to a harsh and despotic king, who brings his faithful subjects to the
block at the first whisper of evil or misguided conduct cast to their
charge; were Edward such Gloucester would speak not, hope not for
justice at his hands; but to thee, my liege, to thee, to whom all true
knights may look up as to the minor of all that knight should be--the
life and soul of chivalry--to thee, the noblest warrior, the truest
knight that ever put lance in rest--to thee, I say, I am no traitor; and
appeal but to the spirit of chivalry actuating thine own heart to acquit
or condemn me, as it listeth. Hear me, my liege. Robert of Carrick and
myself were sworn brothers from the first hour of our entrance together
upon life, as pages, esquires, and finally, as knights, made such by
thine own royal hand; brothers in arms, in dangers, in victories, in
defeat; aye, and brothers--more than brothers--in mutual fidelity and
love; to receive life, to be rescued from captivity at each other's
hand, to become equal sharers of whatever honors might be granted to the
one and not the other. Need my sovereign be reminded that such
constitutes the ties of brothers in arms, and such brothers were Robert
of Carrick and Gilbert of Gloucester. There came a rumor that the
instigations of a base traitor had poisoned your grace's ear against one
of these sworn brothers, threatening his liberty, if not his life; that
which was revealed, its exact truth or falsehood, might Gloucester pause
to list or weigh? My liege, thou knowest it could not be. A piece of
money and a pair of spurs was all the hint, the warning, that he dared
to give, and it was given, and its warning taken; and the imperative
duty the laws of chivalry, of honor, friendship, all alike demanded
done. The brother by the brother saved! Was Gloucester, then, a traitor
to his sovereign, good my liege?"
"Say first, my lord, how Gloucester now will reconcile these widely
adverse duties, how comport himself, if duty to his liege and sovereign
call on him to lift his sword against his brother?" demanded Edward,
raising himself on his elbow, and looking on the kneeling nobleman with
eyes which seemed to have recovered their flashing light to penetrate
his soul. Wrath itself appeared to have subsided before this calm yet
eloquent appeal, which in that age could scarcely have been resisted
without affecting the honor of the knight to whom it was addressed.
An expression of suffering, amounting almost to anguish, took the place
of energy and fervor on the noble countenance of Gloucester, and his
voice, which had never once quivered or failed him in the height of
Edward's wrath, now absolutely shook with the effort to master his
emotion. Twice he essayed to speak ere words came; at length--
"With Robert of Carrick Gilbert of Gloucester was allied as brother, my
liege," he said. "With Robert the rebel, Robert the would-be king, the
daring opposer of my sovereign, Gloucester can have naught in common. My
liege, as a knight and gentleman, I have done my duty fearlessly,
openly; as fearlessly, as openly, as your grace's loyal liegeman, fief,
and subject, in the camp and in the court, in victory or defeat, against
all manner or ranks of men, be they friends or foes; to my secret heart
I am thine, and thine alone. In proof of which submission, my royal
liege, lest still in your grace's judgment Gloucester be not cleared
from treachery, behold I resign alike my sword and coronet to your royal
hands, never again to be resumed, save at my sovereign's bidding."
His voice became again firm ere he concluded, and with the same
respectful deference yet manly pride which had marked his bearing
throughout, he laid his sheathed sword and golden coronet at his
sovereign's feet, and then rising steadily and unflinchingly, returned
Edward's searching glance, and calmly awaited his decision.
"By St. Edward! Baron of Gloucester," he exclaimed, in his own tone of
kingly courtesy, mingled with a species of admiration he cared not to
conceal, "thou hast fairly challenged us to run a tilt with thee, not of
sword and lance, but of all knightly and generous courtesy. I were no
true knight to condemn, nor king to mistrust thee; yet, of a truth, the
fruit of thy rash act might chafe a cooler mood than ours. Knowest thou
Sir John Comyn is murdered--murdered by the arch traitor thou hast saved
from our wrath?"
"I heard it, good my liege," calmly returned Gloucester. "Robert of
Carrick was no temper to pass by injuries, aggravated, traitorous
injuries, unavenged."
"And this is all thou sayest!" exclaimed Edward, his wrath once again
gaining dominion. "Wouldst thou defend this base deed on plea, forsooth,
that Comyn was a traitor? Traitor--and to whom?"
"To the man that trusted him, my liege; to him he falsely swore to
second and to aid. To every law of knighthood and of honor I say he was
a traitor, and deserved his fate."
"And this to thy sovereign, madman? To us, whose dignity and person
have been insulted, lowered, trampled on! By all the saints, thou hast
tempted us too far! What ho, there, guards! Am I indeed so old and
witless," he muttered, sinking back again upon the couch from which he
had started in the moment of excitement, "as so soon to forget a
knightly nobleness, which in former days would have knitted my very soul
to his? Bah! 'tis this fell disease that spoke, not Edward. Away with
ye, sir guards, we want ye not," he added, imperatively, as they
approached at his summons. "And thou, sir earl, take up thy sword, and
hence from my sight a while;--answer not, but obey. I fear more for mine
own honor than thou dost for thy head. We neither disarm nor restrain
thee, for we trust thee still; but away with thee, for on our kingly
faith, thou hast tried us sorely."
Gloucester flung himself on his knee beside his sovereign, his lips upon
the royal hand, which, though scarcely yielded to him, was not withheld,
and hastily resuming his sword and coronet, with a deep reverence,
silently withdrew.
The king looked after him, admiration and fierce anger struggling for
dominion alike on his countenance as in his heart, and then sternly and
piercingly he scanned the noble crowd, who, hushed into a silence of
terror as well as of extreme interest during the scene they had beheld,
now seemed absolutely to shrink from the dark, flashing orbs of the
king, as they rested on each successively, as if the accusation of _lip_
would follow that of eye, and the charge of treason fall
indiscriminately on all; but, exhausted from the passion to which he had
given vent, Edward once more stretched himself on his cushions, and
merely muttered--
"Deserved his fate--a traitor. Is Gloucester mad--or worse, disloyal?
No; that open brow and fearless eye are truth and faithfulness alone. I
will _not_ doubt him; 'tis but his lingering love for that foul traitor,
Bruce, which I were no true knight to hold in blame. But that murder,
that base murder--insult alike to our authority, our realm--by every
saint in heaven, it shall be fearfully avenged, and that madman rue the
day he dared fling down the gauntlet of rebellion!" and as he spoke, his
right hand instinctively grasped the hilt of his sword, and half drew it
from its sheath.
"Madman, in very truth, my liege," said Aymer de Valence, Earl of
Pembroke, who, high in favor with his sovereign, alone ventured to
address him; "as your grace will believe, when I say not only hath he
dared defy thee by the murder of Comyn, but has had the presumptuous
folly to enact the farce of coronation, taking upon himself all the
insignia of a king."
"How! what sayst thou, De Valence," returned Edward, again starting up,
"coronation--king? By St. Edward! this passeth all credence. Whence
hadst thou this witless news?"
"From sure authority, my liege, marvellous as they seem. These papers,
if it please your grace to peruse, contain matters of import which
demand most serious attention."
"Anon, anon, sir earl!" answered Edward, impatiently, as Pembroke,
kneeling, laid the papers on a small table of ivory which stood at the
monarch's side. "Tell me more of this strange farce; a king, ha! ha!
Does the rebel think 'tis but to put a crown upon his head and a sceptre
in his hand that makes the monarch--a king, forsooth. And who officiated
at this right solemn mockery? 'Twas, doubtless, a goodly sight!"
"On my knightly faith, my liege, strangely, yet truly, 'twas a ceremony
regally performed, and, save for numbers, regally attended."
"Thou darest not tell me so!" exclaimed the king, striking his clenched
hand fiercely on the table. "I tell thee thou darest not; 'tis a false
tale, a lie thrust upon thee to rouse thy spirit but to laugh at. De
Valence, I tell thee 'tis a thing that cannot be! Scotland is laid too
low, her energies are crushed; her best and bravest lying in no
bloodless graves. Who is there to attend this puppet king, save the few
we miss? who dared provoke our wrath by the countenance of such a deed?
Who would dare tempt our fury by placing a crown on the rebel's head?
I tell thee they have played thee false--it cannot be!"
"Thy valor hath done much, my gracious liege," returned Pembroke, "far
more than ever king hath done before; but pardon me, your grace, the
_people_ of Scotland are not yet crushed, they lie apparently in peace,
till a chief capable of guiding, lordly in rank and knightly in war,
ariseth, and then they too stand forth. Yet what are they? they do but
nominally swell the rebel's court: they do but _seem_ a multitude, which
needs but thy presence to disperse. He cannot, if he dare, resist thee."
"And wherefore should these tidings so disturb you grace?" interposed
the Earl of Hereford, a brave, blunt soldier, like his own charger,
snuffing the scent of war far off. "We have but to bridle on our
harness, and we shall hear no more of solemn farces like to this. Give
but the word, my sovereign, and these ignoble rebels shall be cut off to
a man, by an army as numerous and well appointed as any that have yet
followed your grace to victory; 'tis a pity they have but to encounter
traitors and rebels, instead of knightly foes," continued the High
Constable of England.
"Perchance Robert of Carrick deems the assumption of king will provoke
your grace to combat even more than his traitorous rebellion, imagining,
in his madness, the title of king may make ye equals," laughingly
observed the Earl of Arundel; and remarks and opinions of similar import
passed round, but Edward, who had snatched the papers as he ceased to
speak, and was now deeply engrossed in their contents, neither replied
to nor heeded them. Darker and darker grew the frown upon his brow; his
tightly compressed lip, his heaving chest betraying the fearful passion
that agitated him; but when he spoke, there was evidently a struggle for
that dignified calmness which in general distinguished him, though ever
and anon burst forth the undisguised voice of wrath.
"'Tis well, 'tis very well," he said. "These wild Scots would tempt us to
the utmost, and they shall be satisfied. Ah! my lords of Buchan and
Fife, give ye good morrow. What think ye of these doings amidst your
countrymen, bethink ye they have done well?"
"Well, as relates to their own ruin, aye, very well, my liege; they act
but as would every follower of the murderer Bruce," replied Buchan,
harshly and sullenly.
"They are mad, stark mad, your highness; the loss of a little blood may
bring them to their senses," rejoined the more volatile Fife.
"And is it thus ye think, base, villainous traitors as ye are, leagued
with the rebel band in his coronation? My Lord of Chester, attach them
of high treason."
"What means your grace?" exclaimed both noblemen at once, but in very
different accents, "Of what are we charged, and who dare make this lying
accusation?"
"Are ye indeed so ignorant?" replied the king, jibingly. "Know ye not
that Isabella, Countess of Buchan, and representative, in the absence
of her brother, of the earldom of Fife, hath so dared our displeasure as
to place the crown on the rebel's head, and vow him homage?"
"Hath she indeed dared so to do? By heaven, she shall rue this!" burst
wrathfully from Buchan, his swarthy countenance assuming a yet swarthier
aspect. "My liege, I swear to thee, by the Holy Cross, I knew no more of
this than did your grace. Thinkest thou I would aid and abet the cause
of one not merely a rebel and a traitor, but the foul murderer of a
Comyn--one at whose hands, by the sword's point, have I sworn to demand
my kinsman, and avenge him?"
"And wherefore did Isabella of Buchan take upon herself this deed, my
liege, but because the only male descendant of her house refused to give
his countenance or aid to this false earl? Because Duncan of Fife was
neither a rebel himself nor gave his aid to rebels, On the honor of a
knight, my liege, I know naught of this foul deed."
"It may be, it may be," answered Edward, impatiently. "We will see to
it, and condemn ye not unheard; but in times like these, when traitors
and rebels walk abroad and insult us to our very teeth, by St. Edward,
our honor, our safety demands the committal of the suspected till they
be cleared. Resign your swords to my Lord of Chester, and confine
yourselves to your apartments. If ye be innocent, we will find means to
repay you for the injustice we have done; if not, the axe and the block
shall make short work. Begone!"
Black as a thunderbolt was the scowl that lowered over the brow of
Buchan, as he sullenly unclasped his sword and gave it into the Lord
Constable's hand; while with an action of careless recklessness the Earl
of Fife followed his example, and they retired together, the one
scowling defiance on all who crossed his path, the other jesting and
laughing with each and all.
"I would not give my best falcon as pledge for the Countess of Buchan's
well-doing, an she hath done this without her lord's connivance,"
whispered the Prince of Wales to one of his favorites, with many of whom
he had been conversing, in a low voice, as if his father's wrathful
accents were not particularly grateful to his ear.
"Nor would I pledge a hawk for her safety, if she fall into his grace's
hands, whether with her lord's consent or no," replied the young
nobleman, laughing. "Your royal father is fearfully incensed."
"Better destroy them root and branch at once," said the prince, who,
like all weak minds, loved any extremity better than a protracted
struggle. "Exterminate with fire and sword; ravage the land till there
be neither food for man nor beast; let neither noble nor serf remain,
and then, perchance, we shall hear no more of Scotland. On my faith, I
am sick of the word."
"Not so the king, my royal lord," returned his companion. "See how
eagerly he talks to my lords of Pembroke and Hereford. We shall have our
sovereign yet again at our head."
And it was even as he said. The king, with that strong self-command
which disease alone could in any way cause to fail, now conquering alike
his bitter disappointment and the fury it engendered, turned his whole
thought and energy towards obtaining the downfall of his insolent
opponents at one stroke; and for that purpose, summoning around him the
brave companions of former campaigns, and other officers of state, he
retired with them to his private closet to deliberate more at length on
the extraordinary news they had received, and the best means of nipping
the rebellion in the bud.