The hour of vespers had come and passed; the organ and choir had hushed
their solemn sounds. The abbot and his attendant monks, the king who,
with his train, had that evening joined the solemn service, all had
departed, and but two inmates were left within the abbey church of
Scone. Darkness and silence had assumed their undisturbed dominion, for
the waxen tapers left burning on the altar lighted but a few yards
round, leaving the nave and cloisters in impenetrable gloom. Some twenty
or thirty yards east of the altar, elevated some paces from the ground,
in its light and graceful shrine, stood an elegantly sculptured figure
of the Virgin and Child. A silver lamp, whose pure flame was fed with
aromatic incense, burned within the shrine and shed its soft light on a
suit of glittering armor which was hanging on the shaft of a pillar
close beside it. Directly behind the altar was a large oriel window of
stained glass, representing subjects from Scripture. The window, with
its various mullions and lights, formed one high pointed arch, marked by
solid stone pillars on each side, the capitals of which traced the
commencement of the arch. Another window, similar in character, though
somewhat smaller in dimensions, lighted the west end of the church; and
near it stood another shrine containing a figure of St. Stephen, lighted
as was that of the Virgin and Child, and, like that, gleaming on a suit
of armor, and on the figure of the youthful candidate for knighthood,
whose task was to pass that night in prayer and vigil beside his armor,
unarmed, saved by that panoply of proof which is the Christian's
portion--faith, lowliness, and prayer.
No word passed between these pledged brothers in arms. Their watch was
in opposite ends of the church, and save the dim, solemn light of the
altar, darkness and immeasurable space appeared to stretch between them.
Faintly and fitfully the moon had shone through one of the long, narrow
windows of the aisles, shedding its cold spectral light for a brief
space, then passing into darkness. Heavy masses of clouds sailed slowly
in the heavens, dimly discernible through the unpainted panes; the
oppression of the atmosphere increasing as the night approached her
zenith, and ever and anon a low, long peal of distant thunder, each
succeeding one becoming longer and louder than the last, and heralded by
the blue flash of vivid lightning, announced the fury of the coming
tempest.
The imaginations even as the feelings of the young men were already
strongly excited, although their thoughts, perchance, were less akin
than might have been expected. The form of his mother passed not from
the mental vision of the young heir of Buchan: the tone of her voice,
the unwonted tear which had fallen on his cheek when he had knelt before
her that evening, ere he had departed to his post, craving her blessing
on his vigil, her prayers for him--that tone, that tear, lingered on his
memory, hallowing every dream of glory, every warrior hope that entered
in his soul. Internally he vowed he would raise the banner of his race,
and prove the loyalty, the patriotism, the glowing love of liberty which
her counsels, her example had planted in his breast; and if the
recollection of his mother's precarious situation as a proscribed
traitor to Edward, and of his father's desertion of his country and her
patriot king in his adherence to a tyrant--if these reflections came to
damp the bright glowing views of others, they did but call the indignant
blood to his cheek, and add greater firmness to his impatient step, for
yet more powerfully did they awake his indignation against Edward. Till
now he had looked upon him exclusively in the light of Scotland's
foe--one against whom he with all true Scottish men must raise their
swords, or live forever 'neath the brand of slaves and cowards; but now
a personal cause of anger added fuel to the fire already burning in his
breast. His mother was proscribed--a price set upon her head; and as if
to fill the measure of his cup of bitterness to overflowing, his own
father, he who should have been her protector, aided and abetted the
cruel, pitiless Edward. Traitress! Isabella of Buchan a traitress! the
noblest, purest, bravest amid Scotland's children. She who to him had
ever seemed all that was pure and good, and noblest in woman; and most
noble and patriot-hearted now, in the fulfilment of an office inherent
in the House of Fife. Agitated beyond expression, quicker and quicker he
strode up and down the precincts marked for his watch, the increasing
tempest without seeming to assimilate strangely with the storm within.
Silence would have irritated, would have chafed those restless smartings
into very agony, but the wild war of the elements, while they roused
his young spirit into yet stronger energy, removed its pain.
"It matters not," his train of thought continued, "while this brain can
think, this heart can feel, this arm retain its strength, Isabella of
Buchan needs no other guardian but her son. It is as if years had left
their impress on my heart, as if I had grown in very truth to man,
thinking with man's wisdom, fighting with man's strength. He that hath
never given a father's love, hath never done a father's duty, hath no
claim upon his child; but she, whose untiring devotion, whose faithful
love hath watched over me, guarded, blessed from the first hour of my
life, instilled within me the principles of life on earth and
immortality in heaven--mother! mother! will not thy gentle virtues cling
around thy boy, and save him even from a father's curse? Can I do else
than devote the life thou gavest, to thee, and render back with my
stronger arm, but not less firm soul, the care, protection, love thou
hast bestowed on me? Mother, Virgin saint," he continued aloud, flinging
himself before the shrine to which we have alluded, "hear, oh hear my
prayer! Intercede for me above, that strength, prudence, wisdom may be
granted me in the accomplishment of my knightly vows; that my mother, my
own mother may be the first and dearest object of my heart: life, fame,
and honor I dedicate to her. Spare me, bless me but for her; if danger,
imprisonment be unavailingly her doom, let not my spirit waver, nor my
strength flag, nor courage nor foresight fail, till she is rescued to
liberty and life."
Wrapt in the deep earnest might of prayer, the boy remained kneeling,
with clasped hands, and eyes fixed on the Virgin's sculptured face, his
spirit inwardly communing, long, long after his impassioned vows had
sunk in silence; the thunder yet rolled fearfully, and the blue
lightning flashed and played around him with scarce a minute's
intermission, but no emotion save that of a son and warrior took
possession of his soul. He knew a terrific storm was raging round him,
but it drew him not from earthly thoughts and earthly feelings, even
while it raised his soul in prayer. Very different was the effect of
this lonely vigil and awful night on the imaginative spirit of his
companion.
It was not alone the spirit of chivalry which now burned in the noble
heart of Nigel Bruce. He was a poet, and the glowing hues of poesie
invested every emotion of his mind. He loved deeply, devotedly; and
love, pure, faithful, hopeful love, appeared to have increased every
feeling, whether of grief of joy, in intensity and depth. He felt too
deeply to be free from that peculiar whispering within, known by the
world as presentiment, and as such so often scorned and contemned as the
mere offspring of weak, superstitious minds, when it is in reality one
of those distinguishing marks of the higher, more ethereal temperament
of genius.
Perchance it is the lively imagination of such minds, which in the very
midst of joy can so vividly portray and realize pain, or it may be,
indeed, the mysterious voice which links gifted man with a higher class
of beings to whom futurity is revealed. Be this as it may, even while
the youthful patriot beheld with, a visioned eye the liberty of his
country, and rejoiced in thus beholding, there ever came a dim and
silent shadowing, a whispering voice, that he should indeed behold it,
but not from earth. When the devoted brother and loyal subject pictured
his sovereign in very truth a free and honored King, his throne
surrounded by nobles and knights of his own free land, and many others,
the enthusiast saw not himself amongst them, and yet he rejoiced in the
faith such things would be. When the young and ardent lover sate by the
side of his betrothed, gazing on her sweet face, and drinking in deeply
the gushing tide of joy; when his spirit pictured yet dearer, lovelier,
more assured bliss, when Agnes would be in very truth his own, still did
that strange thrilling whisper come, and promise he should indeed
experience such bliss, but not on earth; and yet he loved, aye, and
rejoiced, and there came not one shadow on his bright, beautiful face,
not one sad echo in the rich, deep tones of his melodious voice to
betray such dim forebodings had found resting in his soul.
Already excited by his conversation with Agnes, the service in which he
found himself engaged was not such as to tranquillize his spirit, or
still his full heart's quivering throb. His imaginative soul had already
flung its halo over the solemn rites which attended his inauguration as
a knight. Even to less enthusiastic spirits there was a glow, a glory in
this ceremony which seldom failed to awake the soul, and inspire it with
high and noble sentiments. It was not therefore strange that these
emotions should in the heart of Nigel Bruce obtain that ascendency,
which to sensitive minds must become pain. Had it been a night of calm
and holy stillness, he would in all probability have felt its soothing
effect; but as it was, every pulse throbbed and every nerve was strained
'neath his strong sense of the sublime. He could not be said to think,
although he had struggled long and fiercely to compose his mind for
those devotional exercises he deemed most fitted for the hour. Feeling
alone possessed him, overwhelming, indefinable; he deemed it admiration,
awe, adoration of Him at whose nod the mighty thunders rolled and the
destructive lightnings flashed, but he could not define it such. He did
not dream of earth, not even the form of Agnes flashed, as was its wont,
before him; no, it was of scenes and sounds undreamed of in earth's
philosophy he thought; and as he gazed on the impenetrable darkness, and
then beheld it dispersed by the repeated lightning, his excited fancy
almost believed that he should see it peopled by the spirits of the
mighty dead which slept within those walls, and no particle of terror
attended this belief. In the weak superstition of his age, Nigel Bruce
had never shared, but firmly and steadfastly he believed, even in his
calm and unexcited moments, that there was a link between the living and
the dead; that the freed spirits of the one were permitted to hold
commune with the other, not in visible shape, but in those thrilling
whispers which the spirit knows, while yet it would deny them even to
itself. It was the very age of superstition; religion itself was clothed
in a veil of solemn mystery, which to minds constituted as Nigel's gave
it a deeper, more impressive tone. Its ceremonies, its shrines, its
fictions, all gave fresh zest to the imagination, and filled the heart
of its votary with a species of devotion and excitement, which would now
be considered as mere visionary madness, little in accordance with the
true spirit of piety or acceptable to the Most High, but which was then
regarded as meritorious; and even as we look back upon the saints and
heroes of the past, even now should not be condemned; for, according to
the light bestowed, so is devotion demanded and accepted by the God of
all.
Nigel Bruce had paused in his hasty walk, and leaning against the pillar
round which his armor hung, fixed his eyes for a space on the large
oriel window we have named, whose outline was but faintly discernible,
save on the left side, which was dimly illumined by the silver lamp
burning in the shrine of St. Stephen, close beside which the youthful
warrior stood. The storm had suddenly sunk into an awful and almost
portentous silence; and in that brief interval of stillness and gloom,
Nigel felt his blood flow more calmly in his veins, his pulses stilled
their starting throbs, and the young soldier crossed his arms on his
breast, and bent his uncovered head upon them in silent yet earnest
prayer.
The deep, solemn chime of the abbey-bell, echoing like a spirit-voice
through the arched and silent church, roused him, and he looked up. At
the same moment a strong and awfully brilliant flash of lightning darted
through the window on which his eyes were fixed, followed by a mighty
peal of thunder, longer and louder than any that had come before. For
above a minute that blue flash lingered playing, it seemed, on steel,
and a cold shuddering thrill crept through the frame of Nigel Bruce,
sending the life-blood from his cheek back to his very heart, for either
fancy had again assumed her sway, and more vividly than before, or his
wild thoughts had found a shape and semblance. Within the arch formed by
the high window stood or seemed to stand a tall and knightly form, clad
from the gorget to the heel in polished steel; his head was bare, and
long, dark hair shaded a face pale and shadowy indeed, but strikingly
and eminently noble; there was a scarf across his breast, and on it
Nigel recognized the cognizance of his own line, the crest and motto of
the Bruce. It could not have been more than a minute that the blue
lightning lingered there, yet to his excited spirit it was long enough
to impress indelibly and startlingly every trace of that strange vision
upon his heart. The face was turned to his, with a solemn yet sorrowful
earnestness of expression, and the mailed hand raised on high, seemed
pointing unto heaven. The flash passed and all was darkness, the more
dense and impenetrable, from the vivid light which had preceded it; but
Nigel stirred not, moved not, his every sense absorbed, not in the
weakness of mortal terror, but in one overwhelming sensation of awe,
which, while it oppressed the spirit well-nigh to pain, caused it to
long with an almost sickening intensity for a longer and clearer view of
that which had come and passed with the lightning flash. Again the vivid
blaze dispersed the gloom, but no shadow met his fixed impassioned gaze.
Vision or reality, the form was gone; there was no trace, no sign of
that which had been. For several successive flashes Nigel remained
gazing on the spot where the mailed form had stood, as if he felt it
would, it must again appear; but as time sped, and he saw but space, the
soul relaxed from its high-wrought mood, the blood, which had seemed
stagnant in his veins, rushed back tumultuously through its varied
channels, and Nigel Bruce prostrated himself before the altar, to
wrestle with his perturbed spirit till it found calm in prayer.
A right noble and glorious scene did the great hall of the palace
present the morning which followed this eventful night. The king,
surrounded by his highest prelates and nobles, mingling indiscriminately
with the high-born dames and maidens of his court, all splendidly
attired, occupied the upper part of the hall, the rest of which was
crowded both by his military followers and many of the good citizens of
Scone, who flocked in great numbers to behold the august ceremony of the
day. Two immense oaken doors at the south side of the hall were flung
open, and through them was discerned the large space forming the palace
yard, prepared as a tilting-ground, where the new-made knights were to
prove their skill. The storm had given place to a soft breezy morning,
the cool freshness of which appearing peculiarly grateful from the
oppressiveness of the night; light downy clouds sailed over the blue
expanse of heaven, tempering without clouding the brilliant rays of the
sun. Every face was clothed with smiles, and the loud shouts which
hailed the youthful candidates for knighthood, as they severally
entered, told well the feeling with which the patriots of Scotland were
regarded.
Some twenty youths received the envied honor at the hand of their
sovereign this day, but our limits forbid a minute scrutiny of the
bearing of any, however well deserving, save of the two whose vigils
have already detained us so long. A yet longer and louder shout
proclaimed the appearance of the youngest scion of the house of Bruce,
and his companion. The daring patriotism of Isabella of Buchan had
enshrined her in every heart, and so disposed all men towards her
children, that the name of their traitorous father was forgotten.
Led by their godfathers, Nigel by his brother-in-law, Sir Christopher
Seaton, and Alan by the Earl of Lennox, their swords, which had been
blessed by the abbot at the altar, slung round their necks, they
advanced up the hall. There was a glow on the cheek of the young Alan,
in which pride and modesty were mingled; his step at first was
unsteady, and his lip was seen to quiver from very bashfulness, as he
first glanced round the hall and felt that every eye was turned towards
him; but when that glance met his mother's fixed on him, and breathing
that might of love which filled her heart, all boyish tremors fled, the
calm, staid resolve of manhood took the place of the varying glow upon
his cheek, the quivering lip became compressed and firm, and his step
faltered not again.
The cheek of Nigel Bruce was pale, but there was firmness in the glance
of his bright eye, and a smile unclouded in its joyance on his lip. The
frivolous lightness of the courtier, the mad bravado of knight-errantry,
which was not uncommon to the times, indeed, were not there. It was the
quiet courage of the resolved warrior, the calm of a spirit at peace
with itself, shedding its own high feeling and poetic glory over all
around him.
On reaching the foot of King Robert's throne, both youths knelt and laid
their sheathed swords at his feet. Their armor-bearers then approached,
and the ceremony of clothing the candidates in steel commenced; the
golden spur was fastened on the left foot of each by his respective
godfather, while Athol, Hay, and other nobles advanced to do honor to
the youths, by aiding in the ceremony. Nor was it warriors alone.
"Is this permitted, lady?" demanded the king, smiling, as the Countess
of Buchan approached the martial group, and, aided by Lennox, fastened
the polished cuirass on the form of her son. "Is it permitted for a
matron to arm a youthful knight? Is there no maiden to do such inspiring
office?"
"Yes, when the knight be one as this, my liege," she answered, in the
same tone; "let a matron arm him, good my liege," she added, sadly--"let
a mother's hand enwrap his boyish limbs in steel, a mother's blessing
mark him thine and Scotland's, that those who watch his bearing in the
battle-field may know who sent him there, may thrill his heart with
memories of her who stands alone of her ancestral line, that though he
bears the name of Comyn, the blood of Fife flows reddest in his veins."
"Arm him and welcome, noble lady," answered the king, and a buzz of
approbation ran through the hall; "and may thy noble spirit and
dauntless loyalty inspire him; we shall not need a trusty follower while
such as he are round us. Yet, in very deed, my youthful knight must
have a lady fair for whom he tilts to-day. Come hither, Isoline; thou
lookest verily inclined to envy thy sweet friend her office, and nothing
loth to have a loyal knight thyself. Come, come, my pretty one, no
blushing now. Lennox, guide those tiny hands aright."
Laughing and blushing, Isoline, the daughter of Lady Campbell, a sister
of the Bruce, a graceful child of some thirteen summers, advanced,
nothing loth, to obey her royal uncle's summons, and an arch smile of
real enjoyment irresistibly stole over the countenance of Alan,
dispersing the emotion his mother's words produced.
"Nay, tremble not, sweet one," the king continued, in a lower and yet
kinder tone, as he turned from the one youth to the other, and observed
that Agnes, overpowered by emotion, had scarcely power to perform her
part, despite the whispered words of encouraging affection Nigel
murmured in her ear. Imaginative to a degree, which, by her quiet,
subdued manners, was never suspected, the simple act of those early
flowers withering in her grasp, fresh as they were from the hand of her
betrothed, had weighed down her spirits as with an indefinable sense of
pain, which she could not combat. The war of the elements, attending as
it did the vigil of her lover, had not decreased these feelings, and the
morning found her dispirited and shrinking in sensitiveness from the
very scene she had anticipated with joy.
"It must not be with a trembling hand the betrothed of a Bruce arms her
chosen knight, fair Agnes," continued the king, cheeringly. "She must
inspire him with valor and confidence. Smile, then, gentlest and
loveliest; we would have all smiles to-day."
And she did smile, but it was a smile of tears, gleaming on her
beautiful face as a sunny beam through a glistening spray. One by one
the cuirass and shoulder-pieces, the greaves and gauntlets, the gorget
and brassards, the joints of which were so beautifully burnished that
they shone as mirrors, and so flexible every limb had its free use,
enveloped those manly forms. Their swords once again girt to their
sides, and once more keeling, the king descended from his throne, and
alternately dubbed them knight in the name of God, St. Michael, and St.
George.
"Be faithful, brave, and hardy, youthful cavaliers," he said; "true to
the country which claims ye, to the monarch ye have sworn to serve, to
the knight from whose sword ye have received the honor ye have craved.
Remember, 'tis not the tournay nor the tilted field in which ye will
gain renown. For your country let your swords be drawn; against her foes
reap laurels. Sir Nigel, 'tis thine to retain unsullied the name thou
bearest, to let the Bruce be glorified in thee. And thou, Sir Alan, 'tis
thine to _earn_ a name--in very truth, to win thy golden spurs; to prove
we do no unwise deed, forgetting thy early years, to do honor to thy
mother's son."
Lightly and eagerly the new-made knights sprung to their feet, the very
clang of their glittering armor ringing gratefully and rejoicingly in
their ears. Their gallant steeds, barded and richly caparisoned, held by
their esquires, stood neighing and pawing at the foot of the steps
leading from the oaken doors.
Without touching the stirrup, both sprung at the same instant in their
saddles; the helmet, with its long graceful plume, was quickly donned;
the lance and shield received; the pennon adorning the iron head of each
lowered a moment in honor to their sovereign, then waved gayly in air,
and then each lance was laid in rest; a trumpet sounded, and onward
darted the fiery youths thrice round the lists, displaying a skill and
courage in horsemanship which was hailed with repeated shouts of
applause. But on the tournay and the banquet which succeeded the
ceremony we have described we may not linger, but pass rapidly on to a
later period of the same evening.
Sir Nigel and his beautiful betrothed had withdrawn a while from the
glittering scene around them; they had done their part in the graceful
dance, and now they sought the comparative solitude and stillness of the
flower-gemmed terrace, on which the ball-room opened, to speak
unreservedly the thoughts which had filled each heart; perchance there
were some yet veiled, for the vision of the preceding night, the
strange, incongruous fancies it had engendered in the youthful warrior,
a solemn vow had buried deep in his own soul, and not even to Agnes, to
whom his heart was wont to be revealed, might such thoughts find words;
and she shrunk in timidity from avowing the inquietude of her own simple
heart, and thus it was that each, for the sake of the other, spoke
hopefully and cheeringly, and gayly, until at length they were but
conscious of mutual and devoted love--the darkening mists of the future
lost in the radiance of the present sun.
A sudden pause in the inspiring music, the quick advance of all the
different groups towards one particular spot, had failed perchance to
interrupt the happy converse of the lovers, had not Sir Alan hastily
approached them, exclaiming, as he did so--
"For the love of heaven! Nigel, forget Agnes for one moment, and come
along with me. A messenger from Pembroke has just arrived, bearing a
challenge, or something very like it, to his grace the king; and it may
be we shall win our spurs sooner than we looked for this morning. The
sight of Sir Henry Seymour makes the war trumpet sound in mine ears.
Come, for truly there is something astir."
With Agnes still leaning on his arm, Nigel obeyed the summons of his
impatient friend, and joined the group around the king. There was a
quiet dignity in the attitude and aspect of Robert Bruce, or it might be
the daring patriotism of his enterprise was appreciated by the gallant
English knight; certain it was that, though Sir Henry's bearing had been
somewhat haughty, his brow knit, and his head still covered, as he
passed up the hall, by an irresistible impulse he doffed his helmet as
he met the eagle glance of the Bruce, and bowed his head respectfully
before him, an example instantly followed by his attendants.
"Sir Henry Seymour is welcome to our court," said the king, courteously;
"welcome, whatever message he may bear. How fares it with the chivalric
knight and worthy gentleman, Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke? Ye
bring us a message from him, 'tis said. Needs it a private hearing, sir
knight? if so, we are at your service; yet little is it Aymer de Valence
can say to Scotland's king which Scotland may not hear."
"Pembroke is well, an please you, and sendeth greeting," replied the
knight. "His message, sent as it is to the Bruce, is well fitted for the
ears of his followers, therefore may it be spoken here. He sendeth all
loving and knightly greeting unto him known until now as Robert Earl of
Carrick, and bids him, an he would proclaim and prove the rights he hath
assumed, come forth from the narrow precincts of a palace and town,
which ill befit a warrior of such high renown, and give him battle in
the Park of Methven, near at hand. He challenges him to meet him there,
with nobles, knights, and yeomen, who proclaiming Robert Bruce their
sovereign, cast down the gauntlet of defiance and rebellion against
their rightful king and mine, his grace of England; he challenges thee,
sir knight, or earl, or king, whichever name thou bearest, and dares
thee to the field."
"And what if we accept not his daring challenge?" demanded King Robert,
sternly, without permitting the expression of his countenance to satisfy
in any way the many anxious glances fixed upon it.
"He will proclaim thee coward knight and traitor slave," boldly answered
Sir Henry. "In camp or in hall, in lady's bower or tented field, he will
proclaim thee recreant; one that took upon himself the state and pomp of
royalty without the spirit to defend and prove it."
"Had he done so by our predecessor, Baliol, he had done well," returned
the king, calmly. "Nobles, and knights, and gentlemen," he added, the
lion spirit of his race kindling in his eye and cheek, "what say ye in
accepting the bold challenge of this courtly earl? Do we not read your
hearts as well as our own? Ye have chafed and fretted that we have
retained ye so long inactive: in very truth your monarch's spirit chafed
and fretted too. We will do battle with this knightly foe, and give him,
in all chivalric and honorable courtesy, the meeting he desires."
One startling and energetic shout burst simultaneously from the warriors
around, forming a wild and thrilling response to their sovereign's
words. In vain they sought to restrain that outbreak of rejoicing, in
respect to the royal presence; they had pined, they had yearned for
action, and Sir Henry was too good a knight himself not to understand to
the full the patriotic fervor and chivalrous spirit from which that
shout had sprung. Proudly and joyfully the Bruce looked on his devoted
adherents, and then addressed the English knight.
"Thou hast our answer, good Sir Henry," he said; "more thou couldst
scarcely need. Commend us to your master, and take heed thou sayest all
that thou hast heard and seen in answer to his challenge. In the Park of
Methven, three days hence, he may expect the King of Scotland and his
patriot troops with him, to do battle unto death. Edward, good brother,
thou, Seaton, and the Lord of Douglas, conduct this worthy knight in all
honor from the hall. Thou hast our answer."
The knight bowed low, but ere he retreated he spoke again. "I am charged
with yet another matter, an it so please you," he said, evidently
studying to avoid all royal titles, although the bearing of the king
rendered his task rather more difficult than he could have imagined; "a
matter of small import, truly, yet must it be spoken. 'Tis rumored that
you have amid your household a child, a boy, whose father was a favored
servant of my gracious liege and yours, King Edward. The Earl of
Pembroke, in the name of his sovereign and of the child's father, bids
me demand him of thee, as having, from his tender years and
inexperience, no will nor voice in this matter, he having been brought
here by his mother, who, saving your presence, had done better to have
remembered her duty to her husband than encourage rebellion against her
king."
"Keep to the import of thy message, nor give thy tongue such license,
sir," interrupted the Bruce, sternly; and many an eye flashed, and many
a hand sought his sword. "Sir Alan of Buchan, stand forth and give thine
own answer to this imperative demand; 'tis to thee, methinks, its import
would refer. Thou hast wisdom and experience, if not years enough, to
answer for thyself.
"Tell Aymer de Valence, would he seek me, he will find me by the side of
my sovereign King Robert, in Methven Park, three days hence," boldly and
quickly answered the young soldier, stepping forward from his post in
the circle, and fronting the knight. "Tell him I am here of my own free
will, to acknowledge Robert the Bruce as mine and Scotland's king; to
defy the tyrant Edward, even to the death; tell him 'tis no child he
seeks, but a knight and soldier, who will meet him on the field."
"It would seem we are under some mistake, young sir," replied Sir Henry,
gazing with unfeigned admiration on the well-knit frame and glowing
features of the youthful knight. "I speak of and demand the surrender of
the son and heir of John Comyn, Earl of Buchan, who was represented to
me as a child of some ten or thirteen summers; 'tis with him, not with
thee, my business treats."
"And 'tis the son--I know not how long _heir_--of John Comyn, Earl of
Buchan, who speaks with thee, sir knight. It may well be, my very age,
my very existence hath been forgotten by my father," he added, with a
fierceness and bitterness little in accordance with his years, "aye,
and would have been remembered no more, had not the late events recalled
them; yet 'tis even so--and that thy memory prove not treacherous, there
lies my gage. Foully and falsely hast thou spoken of Isabella of Buchan,
and her honor is dear to her son as is his own. In Methven Park we _two_
shall meet, sir knight, and the child, the puny stripling, who hath of
his own nor voice nor will, will not fail thee, be thou sure."
Proudly, almost sternly, the boy fixed his flashing orbs on the English
knight, and without removing his glance, strode to the side of his
mother and drew her arm within his own. There was something in the
accent, in the saddened yet resolute expression of his countenance,
which forbade all rejoinder, not from Sir Henry alone, but even from his
own friends. Seymour raised the gage, and with a meaning smile secured
it in his helmet; then respectfully saluting the group around him,
withdrew, attended as desired by the Bruce.
"Heed it not, my boy, my own noble boy!" said the Countess of Buchan, in
those low, earnest, musical tones peculiarly her own; for she saw that
there was a quivering in the lip, a sudden paleness in the cheek of her
son, as he gazed up in her lace, when he thought they stood alone, which
denoted internal emotion yet stronger than that which had inspired his
previous words. "Their scorn, their contumely, I heed as little as the
mountain rock the hailstones which fall upon its sides, in vain seeking
to penetrate or wound. Nay, I could smile at them in very truth, were it
not that compelled as I am to act alone, to throw aside as worthless and
rejected those natural ties I had so joyed to wear, my heart seems
closed to smiles; but for words as those, or yet harsher scorn, grieve
not, my noble boy, they have no power to fret or hurt me."
"Yet to hear them speak in such tone of thee--thee, whose high soul and
noble courage would shame a score of some who write themselves
men!--thee, who with all a woman's loving heart, and guileless,
unselfish, honorable mind, hath all a warrior's stern resolve, a
patriot's noble purpose! Mother, mother, how may thy son brook scorn and
falsity, and foul calumny cast upon thee?" and there was a choking
suffocation in his throat, filling his eyes perforce with tears; and had
it not been that manhood struggled for dominion, he would have flung
himself upon his mother's breast and wept.
"As a soldier and a man, my son," she drew him closer to her as she
spoke; "as one who, knowing and feeling the worth of the contemned one,
is conscious that the foul tongues of evil men can do no ill, but fling
back the shame upon themselves. Arouse thee, my beloved son. Alas! when
I look on thee, on thy bright face, on those graceful limbs, so supple
now in health and life, and feel to what my deed may have devoted thee,
my child, my child, I need not slanderous tongues to grieve me!"
"And doth the Countess of Buchan repent that deed?" asked the rich
sonorous voice of the Bruce, who, unobserved, had heard their converse.
"Would she recall that which she hath done?"
"Sire, not so," she answered; "precious as is my child to this lone
heart--inexpressibly dear and precious--yet if the liberty of his
country demand me to resign him, the call shall be obeyed."
"Speak not thus, noble lady," returned the king, cheerily. "He is but
_lent_, Scotland asks no more; and when heaven smiles on this poor
country, smiles in liberty and peace, trust me, such devotedness will
not have been in vain. Our youthful knight will lay many a wreath of
laurel at his mother's feet, nor will there then be need to guard her
name from scorn. See what new zest and spirit have irradiated the brows
of our warlike guests; we had scarce deemed more needed than was there
before, yet the visit of Sir Henry Seymour, bearing as it did a
challenge to strife and blood, hath given fresh lightness to every step,
new joyousness to every tone. Is not this as it should be?"
"Aye, as it _must_ be, sire, while loyal hearts and patriot spirits form
thy court. Nobly and gallantly was the answer given to Pembroke's
challenge. Yet pardon me, sire, was it wise--was it well?"
"Its wisdom, lady, rests with its success in the hands of a higher
power," answered the king, gravely, yet kindly. "Other than we did we
could not do; rashly and presumptuously we would not have left our
quarters. Not for the mere chase of, mad wish for glory would we have
risked the precious lives of our few devoted friends, but challenged as
we were, the soul of Bruce could not have spoken other than he did; nor
do we repent, nay, we rejoice that the stern duty of inaction is over.
Thine eye tells me thou canst understand this, lady, therefore we say no
more, save to beseech thee to inspire our consort with the necessity of
this deed; she trembles for the issue of our daring. See how grave and
sad she looks, so lately as she was all smiles."
The countess did not reply, but hastened to the side of the amiable, but
yet too womanly Queen Margaret, and gently, but invisibly sought to
soothe her fears; and she partially succeeded, for the queen ever seemed
to feel herself a bolder and firmer character when in the presence and
under the influence of Isabella of Buchan.