"And she is in safety, Gilbert?" inquired the Princess Joan, the evening
of the day following the execution, lifting her eyes, swimming in tears,
to her husband's face. They were sitting alone in their private
apartments, secured from all intruders by a page stationed in the
ante-room; and the earl had been relating some important particulars of
the preceding day.
"I trust in heaven she is, and some miles ere now on her road to
Scotland," was his answer. "I fear for nothing save for the beautiful
mind that fragile shell contains; alas! my Joan, I fear me that has gone
forever!"
"Better, oh better, then, that fainting-fit had indeed been death," she
said, "that the thread of life had snapped than twisted thus in madness.
Yet thou sayest her purpose seemed firm, her intellect clear, in her
intense desire to reach Scotland. Would this be, thinkest thou, were
they disordered?"
"I think yes; for hadst thou seen, as I, the expression of countenance,
the unearthly calmness with which this desire was enforced, the
constant, though unconscious, repetition of words as these, 'to the
king, to the king, my path lies there, he bade me seek him; perchance he
will be there to meet me,' thou too wouldst feel that, when that goal is
gained, her husband's message given, sense must fail or life itself
depart. But once for a few brief minutes I saw that calmness partly
fail, and I indulged in one faint hope she would be relieved by tears.
She saw old Dermid gaze on her and weep; she clung to his neck, her
features worked convulsively, and her voice was choked and broken, as
she said, We must not tarry, Dermid, we must not wait to weep and moan;
I must seek King Robert while I can. There is a fire on my brain and
heart, which will soon scorch up all memory but one; I must not wait
till it has reached _his_ words, and burned them up too--oh, let us on
at once;' but the old man's kindly words had not the effect I hoped, she
only shook her head, and then, as if the horrible recollection of the
past flashed back, a convulsive shuddering passed through her frame, and
when she raised her face from her hand its marble rigidity had
returned."
"Alas! alas! poor sufferer," exclaimed the princess, in heartfelt
sorrow; "I fear indeed, if such things be, there is little hope of
reason. I would thou hadst conveyed her here, perchance the soothing and
sympathy of one of her own sex had averted this evil."
"T doubt, my kind Joan," replied her husband; "thy words had such
beneficial power before, because hope had still possession of her
breast, she hoped to the very last, aye, even when she so madly went
with thee to Edward; now that is over; hope is crushed, when despair has
risen. Thou couldst not have soothed; it would have been but wringing
thy too kind heart, and exposing her to other and heightened evils." The
princess looked up inquiringly. "Knowest thou not Buchan hath discovered
that his daughter remained with Nigel Bruce, as his engaged bride, at
Kildrummie, and is even now seeking her retreat, vowing she shall repent
with tears of blood her connection with a Bruce?"
"I did not indeed; how came this?"
"How, I know not, save that it was reported Buchan had left the court,
on a mission to the convent where the Countess of Carrick and her
attendants are immured, and in all probability learnt this important
fact from them. I only know that at the instant I entered the prisoner's
dungeon, Buchan was demanding, at the sword's point, the place of her
retreat, incited to the deadliest fury at Nigel's daring avowal that
Agnes was his wife."
"Merciful heaven! and Agnes, what did she?"
"I know not, for I dared not, absolutely dared not look upon her face.
Her husband's self-control saved her, for he stood and answered as
calmly and collectedly as if indeed she were in the safety he declared;
her father brushed by, nay, well-nigh stumbled over her, as he furiously
quitted the dungeon, glared full at her, but knew her not. But I dared
not again bring her here, it was in too close vicinity with the king and
her cruel father, for her present state of mind must have betrayed every
disguise."
"And thinkest thou he could have the heart to injure her, separated as
she is by death from the husband of her love?"
"Aye, persecute her as he hath his wife and son. Joan, I would rather
lose my own right hand than that unhappy girl should fall into her
father's power. Confinement, indeed, though it would add but little real
misery to her present lot, yet I feel that with her present wild
yearnings to rejoin the Bruce, to fulfil to the very utmost her
husband's will, it would increase tenfold the darkness round her; the
very dread of her father would unhinge the last remaining link of
intellect."
Joan shuddered. "God in mercy forefend such ill!" she said, fervently;
"I would I could have seen her once again, for she has strangely twined
herself about my heart; but thou hast judged wisely, my Gilbert, her
safety is too precious to be thus idly risked; and this old man, canst
thou so trust him--will he guide her tenderly and well?"
"Aye, I would stake my life upon his truth; he is the seer and minstrel
of the house of Bruce, and that would be all-sufficient to guarantee his
unwavering fidelity and skill. He has wandered on foot from Scotland, to
look on his beloved master once again; to watch over, as a guardian
spirit, the fate of that master's devoted wife, and he will do this, I
doubt not, and discover Carrick's place of retreat, were it at the
utmost boundaries of the earth. I only dread pursuit."
"Pursuit! and by whom?"
"By her father. Men said he was close beside me during that horrible
hour, though I saw him not; if he observed her, traced to her lips that
maddening shriek, it would excite his curiosity quite sufficiently for
him to trace my steps, and discovery were then inevitable."
"But did he do this--hast seen him since?"
"No, he has avoided me; but still, for her sake, I fear him. I know not
how or when, but there are boding whispers within me that all will not
be well. Now I would have news from thee. Is Hereford released?"
"Yes; coupled with the condition that he enters not my father's presence
until Easter. He is deeply and justly hurt; but more grieved at the
change in his sovereign than angered at the treatment of himself."
"No marvel; for if ever there were a perfect son of chivalry, one most
feelingly alive to its smallest point of honor, it is Humphrey Bohun."
So spoke Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, unconscious that he
himself had equal right to a character so exalted; that both Scottish
and English historians would emulate each other in handing his name down
to posterity, surrounded by that lucid halo of real worth, on which the
eye turns again and again to rest for relief from the darker minds and
ruder hearts which formed the multitude of the age in which he lived.
The duties of friendship were performed in his preservation of the
person, and constant and bold defence of the character of the Bruce; the
duties of a subject, in dying on the battle-field in service for his
king.
The boding prognostics of the Earl of Gloucester were verified ere that
day closed. While still in earnest converse with his countess, a
messenger came from the king, demanding their instant presence in his
closet. The summons was so unusual, that in itself it was alarming, nor
did the sight of the Earl of Buchan in close conference with the monarch
decrease their fears. As soon as a cessation of his pains permitted the
exertion, Buchan had been sent for by the king; the issue of his
inquiries after his daughter demanded, and all narrated; his interview
with Sir Nigel dwelt upon with all the rancor of hate. Edward had
listened without making any observation; a twinkle of his still bright
eye, an expression about the lips alone betraying that he not only heard
but was forming his own conclusions from the tale.
"And you have no clue, no thought of her retreat?" he asked, at length,
abruptly, when the earl ceased.
"Not the very faintest, your grace. Had not that interfering Gloucester
come between me and my foe, I had forced it from him at the sharp
sword's point."
"Gloucester--humph!" muttered the king. "Yet an so bloody was thy
purpose, my good lord, his interference did thee no ill. How was the
earl accompanied--was he alone?"
"If I remember rightly, alone, your grace. No, by my faith, there was a
page with him!"
"A page--ha! and what manner of man was he?"
"Man! your highness, say rather a puny stripling, with far more of the
woman about him than the man."
"Ha!" again uttered the king; "looked he so weakly--did thy fury permit
such keen remark?"
"Not at that time, your highness; but he was, with Gloucester, compelled
to witness the execution of this black traitor, and he looked white,
statue-like, and uttered a shriek, forsooth, likely to scare back the
villain's soul even as it took flight. Gloucester cared for the dainty
brat, as if he had been a son of your highness, not a page in his
household, for he lifted him up in his arms, and bore him out of the
crowd."
"Humph!" said Edward again, in a tone likely to have excited curiosity
in any mind less obtuse on such matters than that of the Scottish earl.
"And thou sayest," he added, after some few minutes pause, "this daring
traitor, so lately a man, would tell thee no more than that thy daughter
was his wife, and in safety--out of thy reach?"
Buchan answered in the affirmative.
"And thou hast not the most distant idea where he hath concealed her?"
"None, your highness."
"Then I will tell thee, sir earl; and if thou dost not feel inclined to
dash out thine own brains with vexation at letting thy prey so slip out
of thy grasp, thou art not the man I took thee for," and Edward fixed
his eyes on his startled companion with a glance at once keen and
malicious.
"The white and statue-looking page, with more of woman about him than
the man, was the _wife_ of this rank villain, Sir Nigel Bruce, and thy
daughter, my Lord of Buchan. The Earl of Gloucester may, perchance, tell
thee more."
The earl started from his seat with an oath, which the presence of
majesty itself could not restrain. The dulness of his brain was
dissolved as by a flash of lightning; the ghastly appearance, the
maddening shriek, the death-like faint, all of which he had witnessed in
Gloucester's supposed page, nay, the very disturbed and anxious look of
the earl himself, gave truth and life to Edward's words, and he struck
his clenched fist against his brow, and strode up and down the royal
closet, in a condition as frantically disturbed as the monarch could
possibly have desired; and then, hastily and almost incoherently,
besought the king's aid in sifting the matter to the very bottom, and
obtaining repossession of his daughter, entreating leave of absence to
seek out Gloucester and tax him with the fact.
Edward, whose fury against the house of Bruce--whether man, woman, or
child, noble or serf, belonging to them--had been somewhat soothed by
the ignominious execution of Nigel, had felt almost as much amused as
angered at the earl's tale, and enjoyed the idea of a man, whom in his
inmost heart he most thoroughly despised, having been so completely
outwitted, and for the time so foiled. The feud between the Comyn and
the Bruce was nothing to him, except where it forwarded his own
interests. He had incited Buchan to inquire about his daughter, simply
because the occupation would remove that earl out of his way for a short
time, and perhaps, if the rumor of her engagement with one of the
brothers of the Bruce were true, set another engine at work to discover
the place of their concealment. The moment Buchan informed him it was to
Nigel she had been engaged, with Nigel last seen, his acute penetration
recalled the page who had accompanied the princess when she supplicated
mercy, and had he heard no more, would have pointed there for the
solution of the mystery. Incensed he was and deeply, at the fraud
practised upon him at the Karl and Countess of Gloucester daring to
harbor, nay, protect and conceal the wife of a traitor; but his anger
was subdued in part by the belief that now it was almost impossible she
could escape the wardance of her father, and _his_ vengeance would be
more than sufficient to satisfy him; nay, when he recalled the face and
the voice, it was so like madness and death, and he was, moreover, so
convinced that now her husband was dead she could do him no manner of
harm, that he inwardly and almost unconsciously hoped she might
eventually escape her father's power, although he composedly promised
the earl to exercise his authority, and give him the royal warrant for
the search and committal of her person wherever she might be. Anger,
that Gloucester and his wife should so have dared his sovereign power,
was now the prevailing feeling, and therefore was it he commanded their
presence, determined to question them himself, rather than through the
still enraged Buchan.
Calmly and collectedly the noble pair received alike the displeasure of
their sovereign and the ill-concealed fury of Buchan. They neither
denied the charge against them nor equivocated in their motives for
their conduct; alarmed they were, indeed, for the unhappy Agnes; but as
denial and concealment were now alike impossible, and could avail her
nothing, they boldly, nay, proudly acknowledged that which they had
done, and openly rejoiced it had been theirs to give one gleam of
comfort to the dying Nigel, by extending protection to his wife.
"And are ye not traitors--bold, presuming traitors--deserving the
chastisement of such, bearding me thus in my very palace?" wrathfully
exclaimed Edward. "Know ye not both are liable to the charge of treason,
aye, treason--and fear ye to brave us thus?"
"My liege, we are no traitors, amenable to no such charge," calmly
answered Gloucester; "far, far more truly, faithfully, devotedly your
grace's subjects than many of those who had shrunk from an act as this.
That in so doing we were likely to incur your royal displeasure, we
acknowledge with deep regret and sorrow, and I take it no shame thus on
my knee to beseech your highness's indulgence for the fault; but if you
deem it worthy of chastisement, we are ready to submit to it, denying,
however, all graver charge, than that of failing in proper deference to
your grace."
"All other charge! By St. Edward, is not that enough?" answered the
king, but in a mollified tone. "And thou, minion, thou whom we deemed
the very paragon of integrity and honor, hast thou aught to say? Did not
thy lips frame falsehood, and thy bold looks confirm it?"
"My father, my noble father, pardon me that in this I erred," answered
Joan, kneeling by his side, and, despite his efforts to prevent it,
clasping his hand and covering it with kisses; "yet I spoke no
falsehood, uttered naught which was not truth. She _was_ ill and weakly;
she was well-nigh maddened from scenes and sounds of blood. I had
besought her not to attend me, but a wife's agony could not be
restrained, and if we had refused her the protection she so wildly
craved, had discovered her person to your highness, would it have
availed thee aught? a being young, scarce past her childhood--miserable,
maddened well-nigh to death, her life wrapt up in her husband's, which
was forfeited to thee."
"The wife of a traitor, the offspring of a traitress, connected on every
side with treason, and canst ask if her detention would have availed us
aught? Joan, Joan, thy defence is but a weak one," answered the king,
sternly, but he called her "Joan," and that simple word thrilled to her
heart as the voice of former years, and her father felt a sudden gush
of tears fall on the hand he had not withdrawn, and vainly he struggled
against the softening feelings those tears had brought. It was strange
that, angered as he really was, the better feelings of Edward should in
such a moment have so completely gained the ascendency. Perhaps he was
not proof against the contrast before him, presented in the persons of
Buchan and Gloucester; the base villainy of the one, the exalted
nobility of the other, alike shone forth the clearer from their
unusually close contact. In general, Edward was wont to deem these
softening emotions foolish weaknesses, which he would banish by shunning
the society of all those who could call them forth. Their candid
acknowledgment of having deserved his displeasure, and submission to his
will, however, so soothed his self-love, his fondness for absolute
power, that he permitted them to have vent with but little restraint.
Agnes might have been the wife of a traitor, but he was out of Edward's
way; the daughter of a traitress, but she was equally powerless; linked
with treason, but too much crashed by her own misery to be sensible of
aught else. Surely she was too insignificant for him to persevere in
wrath, and alienate by unmerited severity yet more the hearts which at
such moments he felt he valued, despite his every effort to the
contrary.
So powerfully was he worked upon, that had it not been for the
ill-restrained fury of Buchan, it was possible the subject would have
been in the end peaceably dismissed; but on that earl's reminding him of
his royal word, the king commanded Gloucester to deliver up his charge
to her rightful guardian, and all the past should be forgiven. The earl
quietly and respectfully replied he could not, for he knew not where she
was. Wrath gathered on Edward's brow, and Buchan laid his hand on his
sword; but neither the royal commands nor Buchan's muttered threats and
oaths of vengeance could elicit from Gloucester more than that she had
set off to return to Scotland with an aged man, not three hours after
the execution had taken place. He had purposely avoided all inquiries as
to their intended route, and therefore not any cross-questioning on the
part of the king caused him to waver in the smallest point from his
original tale, or afforded any evidence that he knew more than he said.
"Get thee to Sir Edward Cunningham, my Lord of Buchan, and bid him draw
up a warrant for the detention and committal of these two persons
wherever they may be," the king said, "and away with thee, and a trusty
troop, with all speed to Berwick. Make inquiries of all who at that
particular hour passed the gates, and be assured thou wilt find some
clue. Take men enough to scour the country in all directions; provide
them with an exact description of the prisoners they seek, and tarry
not, and thou wilt yet gain thy prize; living or dead, we resign all our
right over her person to thee, and give thee power, as her father, to do
with her what may please thee best. Away with thee, my lord, and heaven
speed thee!"
"My liege and father, oh, why hast thou done this?" exclaimed the
princess, imploringly, as, with a low obeisance to the king and a
gesture of triumph at the Earl of Gloucester, Buchan departed. "Hath she
not borne misery enough!"
"Nay, we do but our duty to our subjects in aiding fathers to repress
rebellious children," replied the king. "Of a truth, fair dame of
Gloucester, thy principles of filial duty seem somewhat as loose and
light as those which counselled abetting, protecting, and concealing the
partner of a traitor. Wouldst have us refuse Buchan's most fatherly
desire? Surely thou wouldst not part him from his child?"
"Forever and forever!" exclaimed the princess, fervently. "Great God in
heaven, that such a being should call that monster father, and owe him
the duty of a child! But, oh, thou dost but jest, my father; in mercy
recall that warrant--expose her not to wretchedness as this!"
"Peace," replied the king, sternly. "As thou valuest thine own and thy
husband's liberty and life, breathe not another syllable, speak not
another word for her, or double misery shall be her portion. We have
shown enough of mercy in demanding no further punishment for that which
ye have done, than that for ten days ye remain prisoners in your own
apartments. Answer not; we will have no more of this."
The Earl of Buchan, meanwhile, had made no delay in gaining the
necessary aids to his plan. Ere two hours passed, he was on his road to
Berwick, backed with a stout body of his own retainers, and bearing a
commission to the Earl of Berwick to provide him with as many more as he
desired. He went first to the hostelry near the outskirts of the town,
where he remembered Gloucester had borne the supposed page. There he
obtained much desirable information, an exact description of the dress,
features, and appearance of both the page and his companion; of the
former, indeed, he recollected all-sufficient, even had the description
been less exact. The old minstrel had attracted the attention of many
within the hostel, and consequently enabled Buchan to obtain information
from various sources, all of which agreed so well that he felt sure of
success.
Backed by the warrant of Edward, he went to the civil authorities of the
town, obtained four or five technically drawn-up descriptions of the
prisoners, and intrusted them to the different officers, who, with bands
of fifty men, he commanded to search every nook and corner of the
country round Berwick, in various directions. He himself discovering
they had passed through the Scotch gate and appeared directing their
course in a westerly direction, took with him one hundred men, and
followed that track, buoyed up by the hope not only of gaining
possession of his daughter, but perhaps of falling in with the retreat
even of the detested Bruce, against whom he had solemnly recorded a vow
never to let the sword rest in the scabbard till he had revenged the
murder of his kinsman, the Red Comyn. Some words caught by a curious
listener, passing between the page and minstrel, and eagerly reported to
him, convinced him it was Robert Bruce they sought, and urged him to
continue the search with threefold vigor.
Slowly and sadly meanwhile had the hours of their weary pilgrimage
passed for the poor wanderers, and little did they imagine, as they
threaded the most intricate paths of the borders of Scotland, that they
were objects of persecution and pursuit. Though the bodily strength of
Agnes had well-nigh waned, though the burning cheek and wandering, too
brightly flashing eye denoted how fearfully did fever rage internally,
she would not pause save when absolutely compelled. She could neither
sleep nor eat: her only cry was, "To the king--bring me but to King
Robert while I may yet speak!" her only consciousness, that she had a
mission to perform, that she was intrusted with a message from the dead;
all else was a void, dark, shapeless, in which thought framed no image;
mind, not a wish. Insensibility it was not, alas! no, that void was woe,
all woe, which folded up heart and brain as with a cloak of fire,
scorching up thought, memory, hope--all that could recall the past,
vivify the present, or vision forth the future. She breathed indeed and
spoke, and clung to that aged man with all the clinging helplessness of
her sex, but scarce could she be said to live; all that was real of life
had twined round her husband's soul, and with it fled.
The old man felt not his advanced age, the consciousness of the many
dangers hovering on their way; his whole thought was for her, to bring
her to the soothing care and protection of the king, and then he cared
not how soon his sand run out. When wandering in the districts of
Annandale and Carrick, before he had arrived at Berwick, he had learned
the secret but most important intelligence that King Robert had passed
the winter off the coast of Ireland, and was supposed to be only waiting
a favorable opportunity to return to Scotland, and once more upraise his
standard. This news had been most religiously and strictly preserved a
secret amid the few faithful adherents of the Bruce, who perhaps spoke
yet more as they hoped than as a fact well founded.
For some days their way had been more fatiguing than dangerous, for
though the country was overrun with English, a minstrel and a page were
objects far too insignificant, in the present state of excitement, to
meet with either detention or notice. Not a week had passed, however,
before rumors of Buchan's parties reached the old man's ears, and filled
him with anxiety and dread. The feverish restlessness of Agnes to
advance yet quicker on their way, precluded all idea of halting, save in
woods and caverns, till the danger had passed. Without informing her of
all he had heard, and the danger he apprehended, he endeavored to avoid
all towns and villages; but the heavy rains which had set in rendered
their path through the country yet more precarious and uncertain, and
often compelled him most unwillingly to seek other and better shelter.
At Strathaven he became conscious that their dress and appearance were
strictly scrutinized, and some remarks that he distinguished convinced
him that Buchan had either passed through that town, or was lingering in
its neighborhood still. Turning sick with apprehension, the old man
hastily retraced his steps to the hostel, where he had left Agnes, and
found her, for the first time since their departure, sunk into a kind of
sleep or stupor from exhaustion, from which he could not bear to arouse
her. Watching her for some little time in silence, his attention was
attracted by whispering voices, only separated from him by a thin
partition. They recounted and compared one by one the dress and peculiar
characteristics of himself and his companion, seeming to compare it with
a written list. Then followed an argument as to whether it would not be
better to arrest their progress at once, or send on to the Earl of
Buchan, who was at a castle only five miles distant. How it was
determined Dermid knew not, for the voices faded in the distance; but he
had heard enough, and it seemed indeed as if detention and restraint
were at length at hand. What to do he knew not. Night had now some hours
advanced, and to attempt leaving the hostel at such an unseasonable hour
would be of itself sufficient to confirm suspicion. All seemed at rest
within the establishment; there was no sound to announce that a
messenger had been dispatched to the earl, and he determined to await as
calmly as might be the dawn.
The first streak of light, however, was scarce visible in the east
before, openly and loudly, so as to elude all appearance of flight, he
declared his intention of pursuing his journey, as the weather had
already detained them too long. He called on the hostess to receive her
reckoning, commanded the mules to be saddled, all of which was done, to
his surprise, without comment or question, and they departed
unrestrained; the old man too much overjoyed at this unexpected escape
to note that they were followed by two Englishmen, the one on horseback,
the other on foot. Anxiety indeed had still possession of him, for he
could not reconcile the words he had overheard with their quiet
departure; but as the day passed, and they plunged thicker and thicker
in the woods of Carrick, and there was no sign of pursuit, or even of a
human form, he hailed with joy a solitary house, and believed the danger
passed.
The inmates received them with the utmost hospitality; the order for
their detention had evidently not reached them, and Dermid determined on
waiting quietly there till the exhausted strength of his companion
should be recruited, and permit them to proceed. An hour and more passed
in cheerful converse with the aged couple who owned the house, and who,
with the exception of one or two servants, were its sole inhabitants.
The tales of the minstrel were called for and received with a glee which
seemed to make all his listeners feel young again. Agnes alone sate
apart; her delicate frame and evident exhaustion concealing deeper
sufferings from her hosts, who vied with each other in seeking to
alleviate her fatigue and give bodily comfort, if they could offer no
other consolation. Leaning back in a large settle in the chimney corner,
she had seemed unconscious of the cheerful sociability around her, when
suddenly she arose, and advancing to Dermid, laid a trembling hand on
his arm. He looked up surprised.
"Hist!" she murmured, throwing back the hair from her damp brow. "Hear
ye no sound?"
All listened for a time in vain.
"Again," she said; "'tis nearer, more distinct. Who comes with a troop
of soldiers here?"
It was indeed the heavy trampling of many horse, at first so distant as
scarcely to be distinguished, save by ears anxious and startled as old
Dermid's; but nearer and nearer they came, till even the inmates of the
house all huddled, together in alarm. Agnes remained standing, her hand
on Dermid's arm, her head thrown back, her features bearing an
expression scarce to be defined. The horses' hoofs, mingled with the
clang of armor, rung sharp and clear on the stones of the courtyard.
They halted: the pommel of a sword was struck against the oaken door,
and a night's lodging courteously demanded. The terror of the owners of
the house subsided, for the voice they heard was Scotch.
The door was thrown open, the request granted, with the same hospitality
as had been extended to the minstrel and the page. On the instant there
was a confused sound of warriors dismounting, of horses eager for
stabling and forage; and one tall and stately figure, clad from head to
foot in mail, entered the house, and removing his helmet, addressed some
words of courteous greeting and acknowledgment to its inmates. A loud
exclamation burst from the minstrel's lips; but Agnes uttered no sound,
she made one bound forward, and dropped senseless at the warrior's feet.