It was the month of June, and the beautiful county of Perth smiled in
all the richness and loveliness of early summer. Not yet had the signal
of war floated on the pure springy breeze, not yet had the stains of
blood desecrated the gladsome earth, although the army of De Valence was
now within very few miles of Scone, which was still the head-quarters of
the Scottish king. Aware of the very great disparity of numbers between
his gallant followers and those of Pembroke, King Robert preferred
entrenching himself in his present guarded situation, to meeting De
Valence in the open field, although, more than once tempted to do so,
and finding extreme difficulty in so curbing the dauntless spirit of his
followers as to incline them more towards the defensive than the attack.
Already had the fierce thunders of the Church been launched against him
for the sin of murder committed in consecrated ground. Excommunication
in all its horrors exposed him to death from any hand, that on any
pretence of private hate or public weal might choose to strike; but
already had there arisen spirits bold enough to dispute the awful
mandates of the Pope, and the patriotic prelates who had before
acknowledged and done homage to their sovereign, now neither wavered in
their allegiance nor in any way sought to promulgate the sentence
thundered against him. A calm smile had passed over the Bruce's noble
features as the intelligence of the wrath of Rome was communicated to
him.
"The judge and the avenger is in heaven, holy father," he said; "to His
hands I commit my cause, conscious of deserving, as humbly awaiting,
chastisement for that sin which none can reprobate and abhor more
strongly than myself; if blood must flow for blood, His will be done. I
ask but to free my country, to leave her in powerful yet righteous
hands, and willingly I will depart, confident of mercy for my soul."
Fearful, however, that this sentence might dispirit his subjects, King
Robert watched his opportunity of assembling and addressing them. In a
brief, yet eloquent speech, he narrated the base, cold-blooded system of
treachery of Comyn; how, when travelling to Scotland, firmly trusting
in, and depending on, the good faith the traitor had so solemnly
pledged, a brawl had arisen between his (Bruce's) followers and some men
in the garb of Borderers, who were discovered to be emissaries of the
Red Comyn, and how papers had been found on them, in which all that
could expose the Bruce to the deadly wrath of Edward was revealed, and
his very death advised as the only effectual means of quelling his
efforts for the freedom of Scotland, and crushing the last hopes of her
still remaining patriots. He told them how, on the natural indignation
excited by this black treachery subsiding, he had met Sir John Comyn at
Dumfries--how, knowing the fierce irascibility of his natural temper, he
had willingly agreed that the interview Comyn demanded should take place
in the church of the Minorite Friars, trusting that the sanctity of the
place would be sufficient to restrain him.
"But who may answer for himself, my friends?" he continued, mournfully;
"it needs not to dilate on that dark and stormy interview, suffice it
that the traitor sought still to deceive, still to win me by his
specious sophistry to reveal my plans, again to be betrayed, and that
when I taunted him with his base, cowardly treachery, his black
dishonor, words of wrath and hate, and blind deluded passion arose
between us, and the spirit of evil at work within me urged my rash sword
to strike. Subjects and friends, I plead no temptation as excuse, I make
no defence; I deplore, I contemn the deed. If ye deem me worthy of
death, if ye believe the sentence of our holy father in God, his
holiness the Pope, be just, that it is wholly free from the machinations
of England, who, deeming force of arms not sufficient, would hurl the
wrath of heaven's viceregent on my devoted head, go, leave me to the
fate it brings; your oath of allegiance is dissolved. I have yet
faithful followers, to make one bold stand against the tyrant, and die
for Scotland; but if ye absolve me, if ye will yet give me your hearts
and swords, oh, fear me not, my countrymen, we may yet be free!"
Cries, tears, and blessings followed this wisely-spoken appeal, one
universal shout reiterated their vows of allegiance; those who had felt
terrified at the mandate of their spiritual father, now traced it not to
his impartial judgment, but to the schemes of Edward, and instantly felt
its weight and magnitude had faded into air. The unwavering loyalty of
the Primate of Scotland, the Bishop of Glasgow, and the Abbot of Scone
strengthened them alike in their belief and allegiance, and a band of
young citizens were instantly provided with arms at the expense of the
town, and the king entreated by a deputation of the principal
magistrates to accept their services as a guard extraordinary, lest his
life should be yet more endangered from private individuals, by the
sentence under which he labored; and gratified by their devotedness,
though his bold spirit spurned all Fear of secret assassination, their
request was graciously accepted.
The ceremony of knighthood which the king had promised to confer on
several of his young followers had been deferred until the present time,
to admit of their preparing for their inauguration with all the solemn
services of religion which the rites enjoined.
The 15th day of June was the time appointed, and Nigel Bruce and Alan of
Buchan were to pass the night previous, in solemn prayer and vigil, in
the abbey church of Scone. That the rules of chivalry should not be
transgressed by his desire to confer some honor on the son of the
Countess of Buchan, which would demonstrate the high esteem in which she
was held by her sovereign, Alan had served the king, first as page and
then as esquire, in the interval that had elapsed since his coronation,
and now he beheld with ardor the near completion of the honor for which
he pined. His spirit had been wrung well-nigh to agony, when amidst the
list of the proscribed as traitors he beheld his mother's name; not so
much at the dangers that would encircle her--for from those he might
defend her--but that his father was still a follower of the unmanly
tyrant, who would even war against a woman--his father should still
calmly assist and serve the man who set a price upon his mother's head.
Alas! poor boy, he little knew that father's heart.
It was evening, a still, oppressive evening, for though the sun yet
shone brightly as he sunk in the west, a succession of black
thunder-clouds, gradually rising higher and higher athwart the intense
blue of the firmament, seemed to threaten that the wings of the tempest
were already brooding on the dark bosom of night. The very flowers
appeared to droop beneath the weight of the atmosphere; the trees moved
not, the birds were silent, save when now and then a solitary note was
heard, and then hushed, as if the little warbler shrunk back in his
leafy nest, frightened at his own voice. Perchance it was the stillness
of nature which had likewise affected the inmates of a retired chamber
in the palace, for though they sate side by side, and their looks
betrayed that the full communion of soul was not denied, few words were
spoken. The maiden of Buchan bent over the frame which contained the
blue satin scarf she was embroidering with the device of Bruce, in gold
and gems, and it was Nigel Bruce who sate beside her, his deep,
expressive eyes fixed upon her in such fervid, such eloquent love, that
seldom was it she ventured to raise her glance to his. A slight shadow
was on those sweet and gentle features, perceptible, perchance, to the
eye of love alone; and it was this that, after enjoying that silent
communion of the spirit, so dear to those who love, which bade Nigel
fling his arm around that slender form, and ask--
"What is it, sweet one? why art thou sad?"
"Do not ask me, Nigel, for indeed I know not," she answered, simply,
looking up a moment in his face, in that sweet touching confidence,
which made him draw her closer to his protecting heart; "save that,
perchance, the oppression of nature has extended to me, and filled my
soul with unfounded fancies of evil. I ought to be very happy, Nigel,
loved thus by _thee_," she hid her eyes upon his bosom; "received as thy
promised bride, not alone by thy kind sisters, thy noble brothers,
but--simple-hearted maiden as I am--deemed worthy of thee by good King
Robert's self. Nigel, dearest Nigel, why, in an hour of joy like this,
should dreams of evil come?"
"To whisper, my beloved, that not on earth may we look for the
perfection of joy, the fulness of bliss; that while the mortal shell is
round us joy is chained to pain, and granted us but to lift up the
spirit to that heaven where pain is banished, bliss made perfect;
dearest, 'tis but for this!" answered the young enthusiast, and the rich
yet somewhat mournful tones of his voice thrilled to his listener's
heart.
"Thou speakest as if thou, too, hadst experienced forebodings like to
these, my Nigel," said Agnes, thoughtfully. "I deemed them but the
foolishness of my weaker mind."
"Deem them not foolishness, beloved. There are minds, indeed, that know
them not, but they are of that rude, coarse material which owns no
thought, hath no hopes but those of earth and earthly things, insensible
to that profundity of joy which makes us _feel_ its _chain_: 'tis not to
the lightly feeling such forebodings come."
"But thou--hast thou felt them, Nigel, dearest? hast thou listened to,
_believed_ their voice?
"I have felt, I feel when I gaze on thee, sweet one, a joy so deep, so
full, that I scarce dare trace it to an earthly cause," he said,
slightly evading a direct answer. "I cannot look forward and, as it
were, extend that deep joy to the future; but the fetter binding it to
pain reminds me I am mortal, that not an earth may I demand find seek
and hope to find its fulfilment."
She looked up in his face, with an expression both of bewilderment and
fear, and her hand unconsciously closed on his arm, as thus to detain
him to her side.
"Yes, my beloved," he added, with more animation, "it is not because I
put not my trust in earth for unfading joy that we shall find not its
sweet flowers below; that our paths on earth may be darkened, because
the fulness of bliss is alone to be found in heaven. Mine own sweet
Agnes, while darkness and strife, and blood and death, are thus at work
around us, is it marvel we should sometimes dream of sorrow? Yet, oh
yet, have we not both the same hope, the same God, the same home in
heaven; and if our doom be to part on earth, shall we not, oh, shall we
not meet in bliss? I say not such things will be, my best beloved; but
better look thus upon the dim shadow sometimes resting on the rosy wings
of joy, than ever dismiss it as the vain folly of a weakened mind."
He pressed his lips, which quivered, on the fair, beautiful brow then
resting in irresistible sorrow on his bosom; but he did not attempt by
words to check that maiden's sudden burst of tears. After a while, when
he found his own emotion sufficiently restrained, soothingly and fondly
he cheered her to composure, and drew from her the thoughts which had
disturbed her when he first spoke.
"'Twas of my mother, Nigel, of my beloved, my noble mother that I
thought; proscribed, hunted, set a price upon as a traitor. Can her
children think on such indignity without emotion--and when I remember
the great power of King Edward, who has done this--without fear for her
fate?"
"Sweetest, fear not for her; her noble deed, her dauntless heroism has
circled her with such a guard of gallant knights and warriors, that, in
the hands of Edward, trust me, dearest, she shall never fall; and even
if such should be, still, I say, fear not. Unpitying and cruel as Edward
is, where his ambition is concerned, he is too true a knight, too noble
in spirit to take a woman's blood; he is now fearfully enraged, and
therefore has he done this. And as to indignity, 'tis shame to the
proscriber not to the proscribed, my love!"
"There is one I fear yet more than Edward," continued the maiden,
fearfully; "one that I should love more. Oh, Nigel, my very spirit
shrinks from the image of my father. I have sought to love him, to
dismiss the dark haunting visions which his name has ever brought before
me. I saw him once, but once, and his stern terrible features and harsh
voice so terrified my childish fancies, that I hid myself till he had
departed, and I have never seen him since, and yet, oh yet, I fear him!"
"What is it that thou fearest, love?"
"I know not," she answered; "but if evil approach my mother, it will
come from him, and so silently, so unsuspectedly, that none may avoid
it. Nigel, he cannot love my mother! he is a foe to Bruce, a friend of
the slaughtered Comyn, and will he not demand a stern account of the
deed that she hath done? will he not seek vengeance? and oh, will he
not, may he not in wrath part thee and me, and thus thy bodings be
fulfilled?"
"Agnes, never! The mandate of man shall never part us; the power of man,
unless my limbs be chained, shall never sever thee and me. He that hath
never acted a father's part, can have no power on his child. Thou art
mine, my beloved!--mine with thy mother's blessing; and mine thou shalt
be--no earthly power shall part us. Death, death alone can break the
links that bind us, and must be of God, though man may seem the cause.
Be comforted, sweet love. Hark! they are chiming vespers; I must be gone
for the solemn vigil of to-night, and to-morrow thou shalt arm thine own
true knight, mine Agnes, and deck me with that blue scarf, more precious
even than the jewelled sword my sovereign brother gives. Farewell, for a
brief, brief while; I go to watch and pray. Oh, let thy orisons attend
me, and surely then my vigil shall be blest."
"Pray thou for me, my Nigel," whispered the trembling girl, as he
clasped her in his arms, "that true as I may be, strength befitting thy
promised bride may be mine own. Nigel, my beloved, indeed I need such
prayer."
He whispered hope and comfort, and departed by the stone stairs which
led from the gothic casement where they had been sitting, into the
garden; he lingered to gather some delicate blue-bells which had just
blown, and turned back to place them in the lap of Agnes. She eagerly
raised them and pressed them to her lips, but either their fragile
blossoms could not bear even her soft touch, or the heavy air had
inwardly withered their bloom, for the blossoms fell from their stalks,
and scattered their beautiful petals at her feet.