It would be useless to linger on the trial of Nigel Bruce, in itself a
mockery of justice, as were all those which had proceeded, and all that
followed it. The native nobility of Scotland were no subjects of the
King of England; they owed him homage, perchance, for lands held in
England, but on flocking to the standard of the Bruce these had at once
been voluntarily forfeited, and they fought but as Scottish men
determined to throw off the yoke of a tyrant whose arms had overrun a
land to which he had no claim. They fought for the freedom of a country,
for their own liberty, and therefore were no traitors; but these facts
availed not with the ruthless sovereign, to whom opposition was treason.
The mockery of justice proceeded, it gave a deeper impression, a graver
solemnity to their execution, and therefore for not one of his prisoners
was the ceremony dispensed with. Sir Christopher Seaton had been
conveyed to the Tower, with his wife, under pretence of there waiting
till his wounds were cured, to abide his trial, and in that awful hour
Sir Nigel stood alone. Yet he was undaunted, for he feared not death
even at the hangman's hand; his spirit was at peace, for he was innocent
of sin; unbowed, for he was no traitor--he was a patriot warrior still.
Pale he was, indeed, ashy pale, but it told a tale of intense bodily
anguish. They had put him to the torture, to force from his lips the
place of his brother's retreat, that being the only pretence on which
the rage of Edward and the malice of Berwick could rest for the
infliction of their cruelty. They could drag naught from his lips; they
could not crush that exalted soul, or compel it to utter more than a
faint, scarcely articulate groan, as proof that he suffered, that the
beautiful frame was well-nigh shattered unto death. And now he stood
upright, unshrinking; and there were hearts amid those peers inwardly
grieving at their fell task, gazing on him with unfeigned admiration;
while others gloried that another obstacle to their sovereign's schemes
of ambition would be removed, finding, perchance, in his youth, beauty,
and noble bearing, from their contrast with themselves, but fresh
incentives to the doom of death, and determining, even as they sate and
scowled on him, to aggravate the bitterness of that doom with all the
ignominy that cruelty could devise.
He had listened in stern silence to the indictment, and evinced no sign
of emotion even when, in the virulence of some witnesses against him,
the most degrading epithets were lavished on himself, his family, and
friends. Only once had his eye flashed fire and his cheek burned, and
his right hand unconsciously sought where his weapon should have hung,
when his noble brother was termed a ribald assassin, an excommunicated
murderer; but quickly he checked that natural emotion, and remained
collected as before. He was silent till the usual question was asked,
"If he had any thing to say why sentence of death should not be
pronounced upon him?" and then he made a step forward, looked boldly and
sternly around him, and spoke, in a rich, musical voice, the following
brief, though emphatic words:
"Ye ask me if I could say aught why sentence of death should not be
pronounced. Nobles of England, in denying the charge of treason with
which ye have indicted me, I have said enough. Before ye, aye, before
your sovereign, I have done nothing to merit death, save that death
which a conqueror bestows on his captive, when he deems him too powerful
to live. The death of a traitor I protest against; for to the King of
England I am no subject, and in consequence no traitor! I have but done
that which every true and honorable man must justify, and in justifying
respect. I have sought with my whole heart the liberty of my country,
the interest of my lawful sovereign, and will die asserting the honor
and justice of my cause, even as I have lived. I plead not for mercy,
for were it offered, on condition of doing homage unto Edward, I would
refuse it, and choose death; protesting to the last that Robert Bruce,
and he alone, is rightful king of Scotland. My lords, in condemning me
to death as a captive taken in war, ye may be justified by the law of
battles, I dispute not the justice of your doom; but an ye sentence me
as traitor, I do deny the charge, and say my condemnation is unjust and
foul, and ye are perjured in its utterance. I have said. Now let your
work proceed."
He folded his arms on his breast, and awaited in unbroken silence his
doom. A brief pause had followed his words. The Earl of Gloucester, who,
from his rank and near connection with the king, occupied one of the
seats of honor at the upper end of the large hall, and had, during the
trial, vainly sought to catch the prisoner's eye, now reclined back on
his seat, his brow resting on his hand, his features completely
concealed by the dark drapery of his cloak. In that position he
remained, not only during the pause, but while the fatal sentence was
pronounced.
"By the laws of your country, and the sentence of your peers," so it
ran, "you, Nigel Bruce, by manifold acts of rebellion, disaffection, and
raising up arms against your lawful king, Edward, the sovereign of
England and Scotland, and all the realms, castles, and lordships thereto
pertaining, are proved guilty of high treason and _lèse majesté_, and
are thereby condemned to be divested of all symbols of nobility and
knighthood, which you have disgraced; to be dragged on a hurdle to the
common gibbet, and there hung by the neck till you are dead; your head
to be cut off; your body quartered and exposed at the principal towns as
a warning to the disaffected and the traitorous of all ranks in either
nation, and this is to be done at whatsoever time the good pleasure of
our sovereign lord the king may please to appoint. God save King Edward,
and so perish all his foes!"
Not a muscle of the prisoner's face had moved during the utterance of
this awful sentence. He had glanced fearlessly around him to the last,
his eye resting on the figure of the Earl of Gloucester with an
expression of pitying commiseration for a moment, as if he felt for him,
for his deep regret in his country's shame, infinitely more than for
himself. Proudly erect he held himself, as they led him in solemn pomp
from the great hall of the castle, across the court to the dungeons of
the condemned, gazing calmly and unflinchingly on the axe, which carried
with its edge towards him proclaimed him condemned, though his doom was
more ignominious than the axe bestowed. There was a time when he had
shrunk from the anticipated agony of a degradation so complete as
this--but not now; his spirit was already lifted up above the honors and
humiliations of earth. But one dream of this world remained--one sad,
sweet dream clung to his heart, and bound it with silver chains below.
Where was that gentle being? He fondly hoped she had sought the friends
of his boyhood, as he had implored her, should they be parted; he strove
to realize comfort in the thought they would protect and save her the
agony of a final parting; but he strove in vain. One wild yearning
possessed him, to gaze upon her face, to fold her to his heart once, but
once again: it was the last lingering remnant of mortality; he had not
another thought of life but this, and this grew stronger as its hope
seemed vain. But there was one near to give him comfort, when he
expected it not.
Wrapped so closely in his dark, shrouding mantle that naught but the
drooping feather of his cap could be distinguished, the Earl of
Gloucester drew near the prisoner, and as he paused, ere the gates and
bars of the prison entrance could be drawn back, whispered hurriedly yet
emphatically--
"A loved one is safe and shall be so. Would to God I could do more!"
Suppressing with extreme difficulty a start of relief and surprise, the
young nobleman glanced once on Gloucester's face, pressed his hands
together, and answered, in the same tone--
"God in heaven bless thee! I would see her once, only once more, if it
can be without danger to her; it is life's last link, I cannot snap
it--parted thus." They hurried him through the entrance with the last
word lingering on his lips, and before Gloucester could make even a sign
of reply.
Early in the evening of the same day, King Edward was reclining on his
couch, in the chamber we have before described, and, surrounded by some
few of his favorite noblemen, appeared so animated by a new cause of
excitement as to be almost unconscious of the internal pains which even
at that moment were more than usually intense. His courtiers looked on
unconcernedly while, literally shaking with disease and weakness, he
coolly and deliberately traced those letters which gave a base and
ignominious death to one of the best, the noblest, loveliest spirits
that ever walked the earth, and signed the doom of misery and madness to
another; and yet no avenging hand stretched forth between him and his
victim, no pang was on his heart to bid him pause, be merciful, and
spare. Oh, what would this earth be were it all in all, and what were
life if ending in the grave? Faith, thou art the crystal key opening to
the spirit the glorious vision of immortality, bidding the trusting
heart, when sick and weary of the dark deeds and ruthless spoilers of
this lovely earth, rest on thy downy wings, and seek for peace and
comfort there.
"Who waits?" demanded the king, as his pen ceased in its task.
"Sir Stephen Fitzjohn, my liege, sent by the Earl of Berwick with the
warrant, for which he waits."
"He need wait no longer then, for it is there. Two hours before noon the
traitor dies; we give him grace till then, that our good subjects of
Berwick may take warning by his fate, and our bird in the cage witness
the end of the gallant so devoted to her cause. Bid the knight begone,
my Lord of Arundel; he hath too long waited our pleasure. Ha! whom have
we here? who craves admittance thus loudly?" he added, observing, as the
earl lifted the hangings to depart, some bustle in the ante-room. "Who
is it so boldly demanding speech with us?"
"Her Highness the Princess Joan, Countess of Gloucester, please you, my
liege," replied the chamberlain; "she will not take denial."
"Is it so hard a thing for a daughter to gain admittance to a father,
even though he be a sovereign?" interrupted the princess, who, attended
only by a single page bearing her train, advanced within the chamber,
her firm and graceful deportment causing the lords to fall back on
either side, and give her passage, though the expression of their
monarch's countenance denoted the visit was unwelcome.
"Humbly and earnestly I do beseech your grace's pardon for this
over-bold intrusion," she said, bending one knee before him; "but indeed
my business could not be delayed. My liege and father, grant me but a
few brief minutes. Oh, for the sake of one that loved us both, the
sainted one now gone to heaven, for the memory of whom thou didst once
bless me with fonder love than thou gavest to my sisters, because my
features bore her stamp, my king, my father, pardon me and let me
speak!"
"Speak on," muttered the king, passing his hand over his features, and
turning slightly from her, if there were emotion, to conceal it. "Thou
hast, in truth, been over-bold, yet as thou art here, speak on. What
wouldst thou?"
"A boon, a mighty boon, most gracious father; one only thou canst grant,
one that in former years thou wouldst have loved me for the asking, and
blessed me by fulfilment," she said, as she continued to kneel; and by
her beseeching voice and visible emotion effectually confining the
attention of the courtiers, now assembled in a knot at the farther end
of the apartment, and preventing their noticing the deportment of the
page who had accompanied her; he was leaning against a marble pillar
which supported the canopy raised over the king's couch, his head bent
on his breast, the short, thick curls which fell over his forehead
concealing his features; his hands, too, crossed on his breast,
convulsively clenched the sleeves of his doublet, as if to restrain the
trembling which, had any one been sufficiently near, or even imagined
him worthy of a distant glance, must have been observable pervading his
whole frame.
"A boon," repeated the king, as the princess paused, almost breathless
with her own emotion; "a mighty boon! What can the Countess of
Gloucester have to ask of me, that it moves her thus? Are we grown so
terrible that even our own children tremble ere they speak? What is this
mighty boon? we grant not without hearing."
"'Tis the boon of life, my liege, of life thou canst bestow. Oh, while
in this world thou rulest, viceregent of the King of kings on high,
combining like Him justice and mercy, in the government of his
creatures, oh! like, Him, let mercy predominate over justice; deprive
not of life, in the bloom, the loveliness of youth! Be merciful, my
father, oh, be merciful! forgive as thou wouldst be forgiven--grant me
the life I crave!"
Urged on by emotion, the princess had scarcely heard the suppressed
interjection of the king which her first words had occasioned, and she
scarcely saw the withering sternness which gathered on his brow.
"Thou hast in truth learnt oratory, most sapient daughter," he said,
bitterly; "thou pleadest well and flowingly, yet thou hast said not for
whom thou bearest this marvellous interest--it can scarce be for a
traitor? Methinks the enemies of Edward should be even such unto his
children."
"Yet 'tis for one of these mistaken men I plead, most gracious
sovereign," resumed Joan, intimidated not by his sarcasm. "Oh, my
father, the conqueror's triumph consists not in the number of rebellious
heads that fall before him--not in the blood that overflows his way;
magnanimity, mercy, will conquer yet more than his victorious sword.
Traitor as he seem, have mercy on Nigel Bruce; oh, give--"
"Mercy on a Bruce! May the thunder of heaven blast me when I show it!"
burst furiously from Edward's lips, as he started upon his couch and
gazed on his suppliant child with eyes that seemed absolutely to blaze
in wrath. "Mercy on a branch of that house which has dared defy me,
dared to insult my power, trample on my authority, upraised the standard
of rebellion, and cost me the lives of thousands of my faithful
subjects! Mercy on him, the daring traitor, who, even in his chains, has
flung redoubled insult and treason into our very teeth! Mercy--may the
God of heaven deny me all mercy when I show it unto him!"
"Oh, no, no, my father! My father, in mercy speak not such terrible
words!" implored the princess, clinging to his robe. "Call not the wrath
of heaven on thy head; think of his youth, the temptations that have
beset him, the difficult task to remain faithful when all other of his
house turned astray. Mistaken as he hath been, as he is, have mercy.
Compel him to prove, to feel, to acknowledge thou art not the tyrant he
hath been taught to deem thee; exile, imprisonment, all--any thing, but
death. Oh, do not turn from me; be thyself, the good, the magnanimous
Edward of former days, have mercy on thy foe!"
"I tell thee, never! by every saint in heaven, I tell thee, never!"
shouted the king. "I will hear no more; begone, lest I deem my own child
part and parcel of the treasons formed against me. Trouble me not with
these vain prayers. I will not pardon, I have sworn it; begone, and
learn thy station better than to plead for traitors. Thy husband braved
me once; beware, lest in these pleadings I hear _his_ voice again. I
tell him and thee that ere to-morrow's noon be passed the soul of Nigel
Bruce shall stand in judgment; not another day, not another hour he
lives to blast me with the memory of his treason. The warrant hath been
signed, and is on its way to Berwick, to give his body to the hangman
and his soul to Satan--his death is sealed."
"Oh, no, no, no!" shrieked a voice of sudden anguish, startling all who
heard, and even Edward, by its piteous tones, and the form of a page
suddenly fell prostrate before the monarch. "Mercy, mercy! for the love
of God, have mercy!" he struggled to articulate, but there was no sound
save a long and piercing shriek, and the boy lay senseless on the
ground.
"Ha! by St. George, beardest thou me with traitors in my very palace,
before my very eyes?" exclaimed the angry monarch, as his astonished
courtiers gathered round. "Put him in ward; away with him, I say!"
"Pardon me, your highness, but this is needless," interposed the
princess, with a calm majesty, that subdued even the irritation of her
father, and undauntedly waving back the courtiers, although perfectly
sensible of the imminent danger in which she was placed. "If there be
blame, let it be visited on me; this poor child has been ill and weakly
from many causes, terrified, almost maddened, by sounds, and sights of
blood. I deemed him perfectly recovered, or he had not attended me here.
I pray your grace permit his removal to my apartments."
The king laid a heavy hand on his daughter's arm as she stood beside
him, and fixed a gaze on her face that would have terrified any less
noble spirit into a betrayal of the truth; but firm in her own
integrity, in her own generous purpose, she calmly and inquiringly
returned his gaze.
"Go to, thou art a noble wench, though an over-bold and presuming one,"
he said, in a much mollified tone, for there was that in the dauntless
behavior of his daughter which found an echo in his heart even now,
deadened as it was to aught of gentle feeling, and he was glad of this
interruption to entreaties which, resolved not to grant, had lashed him
into fury, while her presence made him feel strangely ashamed. "Do as
thou wilt with thine own attendants; but be advised, tempt not thine own
safety again; thou hast tried us sore with thy ill-advised entreaties,
but we forgive thee, on condition they are never again renewed. Speak
not, we charge thee. What ho! Sir Edmund Stanley," he called aloud, and
the chamberlain appeared at the summons. "Here, let this boy be
carefully raised and borne according to the pleasure of his mistress.
See, too, that the Countess of Gloucester be conducted with due respect
to her apartments. Begone!" he added, sternly, as the eyes of Joan still
seemed to beseech mercy; "I will hear no more--the traitor dies!"