niece, Sir Walter Stewart gave the convoy to Ramsay as far as the
Royal Castle-gate, after which he returned towards his hostel. As
he was pursuing his solitary way thither, he heard the clashing of
swords; and, on moving quickly down the deserted street, he discovered,
by the faint light that came from a new moon, two men pressing hard
in fence against one, who was defending himself with great courage,
with his back to a wall. Though he had no knowledge of the combatants,
he could not stand by and see such foul play.
"For shame! for shame, gentlemen!" cried he. "What! two upon one!"
"Gentlemen, indeed!" cried he that was assailed, in a contemptuous
tone, during the moment of breathing afforded him by Sir Walter's
interference--"Gentlemen indeed!--Tailors and scaramouches, else am
I not the Earl of Huntly!"
"Again dost thou dare so to miscal the gentlemen of the court of his
most Royal Majesty of Scotland?" cried one of the individuals, whom
Sir Walter immediately discovered to be the pot-valiant Torfefan. "By
all the gods of fire, thunder, and battle, thou shalt eat this good
bilboa of mine. Have at thee, then, earl, or carl, or devil, if thou
likest it!"
"Nay, then, my Lord of Huntly, I will myself relieve thee of this
bold bird," cried the knight; "do thou deal with the other."
"Thanks for thy rescue, Sir Walter Stewart," replied Huntly, now
recognizing his friend. "But thou hast left naught to me but the very
shred of the skirt of the garment of this broil--the vile cabbage--the
very tailor himself."
"Trust me, thy man, though but the ninth-part of one, is as good as
mine," replied Sir Walter.
The combat was now renewed upon fairer terms, and, in a few moments,
Torfefan's sword was sent spinning into the air, and, falling from
its flight, it rang upon the stones of the causeway, and was shivered
into pieces, whilst its owner was prostrated on his back by his
over-anxiety to withdraw from the fury of his adversary's onset. Sir
Walter's sword-point was immediately at his throat; and, at that
very moment the weapon of his noble ally had pierced a fleshy part of
his opponent, as he had turned to run away, which act of discretion,
however, it did not prevent, for it rather pricked him on to a more
active exertion of speed.
"Spare my life, good Sir Walter Stewart!" cried Torfefan, in an agony
of fear. "Most noble Knight, spare the life of a fellow-courtier!"
"Get up, sir; I have no intention of taking it," replied Sir
Walter. "'Tis enow for me that I have thus exorcised the spirit of the
pottle-pot out of thee. 'Twas that which made thine otherwise peaceful
sword leap from its scabbard against thy betters. Get thee up, I say,
and go home."
"Thou art right, Sir Knight," replied Torfefan, rising humbly upon
his knees, and gradually gaining his legs. "I am at all times mild
and peaceful, as so brave a man, and so perfect a master of fence
ought to be, save when the flask hath somewhat inflamed my brain,
and then, indeed, I am as dangerous as a devil. 'Twas well that thou
camest, else my Lord of Huntly, whom otherwise I so highly respect,
had certainly died by my murderous hand."
"'Twas well, indeed, that thy bloody Bacchanalian rage was staid in
time," said Sir Walter Stewart, ironically. "In this bout, thou hast
so well proved thy title to bravery, as well as to science in fence,
that who shall dare henceforth to deny these thy perfections? So take
the advice of a friend, Signor Torfefan, and get thee straightway to
bed, lest the dregs of that same pottle-pot, working in thee still,
should draw down upon thee some more serious fracture than that of
thy bilboa-blade."
"Ha! true," said Torfefan; "that was a loss indeed! But murderers
will suffer at last; and if thou didst but know the blood which that
same lethal weapon hath shed in my hands, and the lives which it hath
sacrificed, thou would'st say, Sir Knight----"
"I would say that thou should'st forthwith hasten to thy bed,"
interrupted Sir Walter. "If the King should hear of this brawl----"
"Gad so, that's true, Sir Walter!" cried Torfefan; "thank thee for the
hint. Were those reptiles, Cochran, Rogers, and the rest, to hear of
this, they might work mine absolute destruction. Ah, that's the worst
feature of our King's court, Sir Walter! The worst misfortune that
has happened, I say, to us gentlemen of the court, is the admission
to it of such vile scum as these Cochrans, and Rogers, and Leonards,
and such like base mechanics. My very broil this blessed night, may
be said to be owing to my permitting that lily-livered hog in armour,
Hommil, to company with me. But while I am prating, these villains may
get sight of me, and make their own story out of me. So I'll tarry here
no longer. Good night, Sir Walter Stewart; you are a brave gentleman,
well fitted to company with the King."
"What a cowardly boasting knave!" said Sir Walter, after he was gone.
"Yet, to such vermin are all the crumbs of royal favour thrown, to
the utter starvation of those who are of noble breed!" cried Huntly,
with bitterness. "I would fain drink one flask of wine with thee,
Stewart, at thy hostel, ere I go home, to wash down the indignation
and loathing, which the very sight of these scoundrel caitiffs hath
brought into my throat. Let me go thither with thee straightway."
"Willingly, my lord," replied Sir Walter, and, arm and arm together,
they proceeded to the hostel.
"Stewart," said the Earl of Huntly, after they were seated at their
wine, and leaning across the table to address his friend in a half
whisper, though they were the only guests in the room at that late
hour; "thou hast so much of the good will of great and small, that
no one grudges thee the favour the king shows to thee; and there
are few who have much jealousy of Ramsay either, seeing that he
was whipping-boy to James, and, moreover, that he is a gentleman of
good descent. But neither lords nor commons, knights nor burgesses,
can long tolerate the undue elevation and preferment of wretches, so
worthless, as those who block up the royal presence from the approach
of better men."
"'Tis unfortunate that it should be so," said Sir Walter; "but has
it never occurred to your Lordship, that the nobles of Scotland may
have some small share of the blame, by absenting themselves from
court as they do, so that the King lacks all opportunity of having
their several merits brought under his eye."
"You would not have the high-blooded war-steed to throw himself down
in the same stye with obscene swine?" replied the Earl. "I would as
soon thrust myself into a den of badgers, as sit down to partake of
a king's feast, with such company as that arrogant mason Cochran,
and the other dunghill companions whom James so much delights to
honour. The court must be cleared of all such, aye, and swept, and
garnished, and perfumed too, before I shall dare to trust my nostrils
within its precincts."
"No one can say that such feelings are not quite natural, my lord,"
replied Sir Walter Stewart; "but yet, I fear that the indulgence of
them, can do nothing else but increase the disease which you would
so fain cure. 'Tis pity that some few of the nobles do not so far
overcome them, as to appear now and then at court. As a soft answer
turneth away wrath, so gentle conduct will often effect that which
may defy the sternest boldness."
"Nay, but how are we used when we do appear?" demanded the Earl. "Even
Albany and Mar are treated as aliens; and if the very royal brothers
of the monarch are scarcely noticed, in comparison with those nauseous
toads who crawl about the king's footstool, what can we of the humbler
peerage expect?"
"There is great reason in what you say, my lord," observed Sir Walter;
"but hush! who comes here?"
A tall thin figure, in black trewse, with a doublet of black, slashed
with flame-coloured silk, the body strangely covered with silver stars,
and having the signs of the zodiac on the broad belt that confined it,
with a black cloak hanging from his shoulders, which had on it the
sun and moon and seven stars, and his head shaded by a broad hat,
that bore a large plume of feathers, all of the same gloomy hue,
stalked into the common room. From the small quantity of illumination
which the single lamp, that burned on their table, threw around it,
the person that came was but indistinctly visible, in the obscurity
that especially prevailed at the lower end of the apartment; but when
he came slowly forward within the influence of the light, Sir Walter
Stewart, and his friend the Earl of Huntly, recognised the pale, thin,
sharp, and prominent features, the cadaverous hue, the dark eyebrows,
the piercing eyes, and the long black locks and beard of Andrew
the Flemish Astrologer. He came as if in a walking dream; he stopped
within a few feet of the table where they sat--started, as if suddenly
returning to the consciousness of the realities around him--darted an
inquiring look, first at Lord Huntly, and then at Sir Walter Stewart,
and then slowly inclining his head in silent and sombre salutation,
he turned from them, and stalked away, without uttering a syllable.
The Earl, and the Knight, could not for some time shake off the
superstitious dread, that involuntarily crept over both of them at the
sight of this man, who had thus so strangely and mysteriously visited
them. His deep knowledge of the science, to which he pretended, was
admitted by all, and his powers were supposed to extend over other
regions besides those of the heavens. Their hearts were so chilled
by his very aspect, that both felt quite unfitted for renewing their
conversation; and, without making one single remark on this strange
intrusion, each drained the full cup that stood before him, and,
bidding one another good night, the serving men of the hostel were
called, and they separated, to seek their respective places of repose.
A TEMPEST.
Clifford.--What a dreadful tempest out of doors?--Forgive my
interruption, Serjeant; but ere you go farther with your interesting
story, I think we had better get in some more wood and peats, lest
the fire should get hopelessly low, a thing that is very likely to
happen where people are so engaged as we are.
Grant.--The Serjeant's stories might well make one forget every
thing else.
Clifford.--Come, Mister Serjeant, whilst the fire is mending, and
the Earl and the Knight are retiring to their repose, you may have
leisure to wet your whistle a little.
Serjeant.--I shall not be sorry to do that, sir; my mouth is a little
dry to be sure. Keep us all, such a night of wind and rain! How the
blast thuds against the windows!--That is awful indeed! God help the
poor man that may be out in such a night! 'Tis well for us to be in
bigged land.
Grant.--As you say, it is well for us to be under a roof, Archy; and
yet I wish that the roof of this old house may not be blown away. How
furiously the tempest howls along!
Author.--'Tis fearful to listen to it; yet I suspect that this is
nothing to the blasts which its walls must sometimes endure.
Serjeant.--Ou! bless you, sir! The wind comes down the trough of
this glen, at times, enough, one would think, to blow every house
and living thing out of it, stones and rocks and all, like peas out
of a pop-gun. But this house has stood many a blast, and I hope it
will weather out this one yet.
Author.--It came on very suddenly. It is not half an hour ago since
all was quiet, and hear how the wind rages and the rain rattles now.
Clifford.--Our friend Willox must be abroad with his kelpie's bridle.
Author.--Aye--or Andrew the Flemish Astrologer may have done it.
Clifford.--Andrew the Astrologer! yes, I daresay he was quite equal
to kicking up such a rumpus among the elements. I would fain know
more of that fellow.
Serjeant.--Be assured, sir, I shall tell you all I know about him in
due course of time. Meanwhile I am ready to take up the clue of my
discourse whenever you please.
Clifford.--You may do so when you like, Serjeant; for, as I suppose
that this terrible night puts all hope of an early start in the
morning out of the question, we may e'en sit up as late as we like.
Serjeant.--If the rain holds on at this rate, the rivers will all be
up, and the mosses swimming, so that our travelling further to-morrow
will be impossible.
Clifford.--Come away, then, Serjeant, proceed with your legend,
and let the storm roar and rattle as it will.
THE LEGEND OF CHARLEY STEWART TÀILLEAR-CRUBACH
CONTINUED.
Sir Walter Stewart was received next day, by King James, with all
that kindness which he was used to lavish upon his favourites, among
whom the accomplished knight held by no means the lowest place in his
estimation. Apartments were immediately allotted to him near the royal
person, and his time became almost entirely occupied by his duties as
a courtier. He failed not, however, to take all opportunities that
occurred, of cultivating his talent for music, under the auspices
of Sir William Rogers, and his fascinating niece. Notwithstanding
the knight's bold confidence to the contrary, the lady's designs
against his heart might have been very rapidly successful, had
not the baseness of her motives inclined her to waver from time to
time, between the balance of rival advantages, which were offered
to her by an encouragement of Cochran, who had declared himself to
be her lover. Thus it was that she often scared Sir Walter Stewart
at the very moment when, to all appearance, he seemed most likely
unconsciously to gorge the bait, and thus it was that several years
glided imperceptibly away, without the lady finding herself one bit
nearer to the attainment of either of her objects. Still, however, Sir
Walter would ever and anon return within the sphere of her attraction,
and the fair Juliet always the more easily managed to conjure him back
thither, that they were frequently brought together, to sing and to
play in presence of the royal pair, in those little private meetings
which were held almost nightly in the Queen's apartment. As for Sir
William Rogers, he did all he could to fix his niece's determination
towards securing an alliance with Sir Walter Stewart, not only from
his unconquerable abhorrence of the unrefined mason, on the one hand,
but also from his conviction, that his own ambitious views were fully
as likely to be helped forward by the lady's union with the gallant
knight, for whom moreover he had an especial respect, because of his
genius and accomplishment in that divine art, to which he was himself
so enthusiastically attached.
The royal party was one night assembled, as usual, in the apartment
of Queen Margaret, who, seated in a gorgeous chair, richly attired,
as became her station, and attended by Ramsay, and some of her
maids of honour, and with her angelic countenance lighted up with
unfeigned rapture, listened to the mingled voices and minstrelsy
of Sir William Rogers, Sir Walter Stewart, and the lovely Juliet
Manvers. The King was engaged with Cochran, at a table at one end
of the room, in looking over some plans, which had reference to the
buildings then going on within the castle. Any one who had witnessed
them, whilst so employed, would have said that neither his Majesty,
nor his architect, were much occupied in the subject which was the
ostensible object of their consideration, for whilst the ears of
the monarch seemed ever and anon to draw off his attention to the
music, the heavy eyes of Cochran were perpetually wandering towards
the person of the songstress. Ere the music had been long continued,
each of them yielded to the irresistible impulse which had moved him,
and, whilst the King drew a chair, and seated himself opposite to the
performers, Cochran placed himself behind it, and, with that vulgar
and unpolished air, which the magnificence of his dress rendered
only the more apparent, leaned awkwardly over the back of it, and
rivetted his gloating gaze upon the lady's charms. The piece had come
to its close, and the royal pair were bestowing their commendations
liberally upon those who had executed it, when three loud and solemn
taps were heard at the door of the chamber. King James started, and
at once assumed an air of intense and serious anxiety, and the Queen,
and all present, were more or less disturbed at this interruption.
"I had forgotten!" exclaimed the King, as if speaking to himself
alone.--"Enter! thou art at all times welcome!"
The door slowly opened at his word, and the tall thin figure of Andrew
the Flemish Astrologer stood in the doorway, habited as he has been
already described, and with a long white rod in his right hand. With
his left hand upon his breast, he made a low and solemn reverence
to the King, and then pointing his rod over his shoulder, he seemed
silently to indicate his desire that his Majesty should follow him.
"Lead on!" cried the King, with an awe-stricken voice and air, whilst
he arose from his chair, and hastily put on his hat and cloak. "If
we are called by the stars, we are at all times ready to give due
obedience to them," and, with these words, he immediately retired
with the Astrologer.
Ramsay, Stewart, Rogers, and Juliet Manvers, made their several
reverences to the Queen, in which they were clumsily joined by
Cochran, and all took their leave. They were no sooner out of the
Royal presence, than Cochran, rudely thrusting himself before Ramsay
and Sir Walter Stewart, bustled busily up to the lady, as she hung on
her uncle's arm, so as to engage the unoccupied place next her, to the
exclusion of every one else. Sir Walter was somewhat chafed at this
rudeness, and might have forgotten himself, had not his rising anger
been checked by the voice of one of the Queen's ladies, who called
him by his name. The Knight stopped to ascertain what she wanted.
"Sir Walter Stewart," said the lady, "the Queen commands thee to
return, for a brief space, to her apartment, that she may again hear
thee sing that French ballad of thine own composition, which so much
pleased her Majesty two nights ago. Her Majesty would fain have the
words, and catch the notes of it."
"I humbly obey her Majesty's command," replied the Knight, returning
with the lady immediately.
On entering the Queen's apartment, he made his reverence to her
Majesty; and she, having again signified her wishes to him in a very
gracious manner, she motioned him to take up a lute, and seat himself
on a stool near her chair; and after having done as she desired,
he began to sing the ballad she had named, and to accompany himself
on the instrument.
In the meanwhile the King followed the solemn, step and apparition-like
figure of the Astrologer till he brought his Majesty to an angular part
of the castle-wall that, skirting the giddy precipice of lofty rock on
which the fortress stands, looked out over the country to the south and
west. But that which was an extensive and magnificent prospect by day,
was at this moment shrouded in the shades of night. There he took his
stand, and pointed upwards with his rod. The moon was in its second
quarter, and shed a pale and partial light. A strange and portentous
arch of black and very opaque clouds, rested its extremities on the
verges of the northern and southern horizon, and spanned the heavens
through the zenith. Behind this, all to the eastward, was one dark
vault, impenetrable to the eye, whilst the western edge of the arch
was tinged with bright rain-bow hues, and the whole sky below it,
upon that side, was serene and cloudless. As the king gazed upwards in
wonder, not unmingled with dread, a bright flash of lightning suddenly
illumined the whole of the black and solid concave of clouds behind
them, and the walls of the castle were shaken by a tremendous peal
of thunder. The heart of the royal James quailed within him. The
peal was reverberated from the bold front of Dumyot, with a harsh
and crashing sound, and then, after visiting and rousing up every
echo among the Ochills, it rolled fearfully away up the valley of the
Forth, until it died amid the distant western mountains. Filled with
superstitious dread, the King grasped the left arm of the Astrologer,
who stood unmoved, with his rod extended in his right hand.
"Holy Virgin Mother, Messire Andrew! what do these dread signs
portend?" cried James, with deep anxiety of voice and manner.
"These!" exclaimed Andrew, in French, and in a wild and enthusiastic
tone, that would have sounded as contemptuous in the King's ear,
but for the intensity of his desire to have his fears and doubts put
to rest; "these are but the mere auxiliaries of Heaven's appalling
oratory. See!--Know you not yonder stars which now approach each
other to a conjunction so threatening?"
"Mars and Venus approaching to strange and fearful conjunction indeed,"
replied the King, shuddering. "What can it bode?"
"And see ye not that they are in the ascendant, whilst Jupiter is
sinking fast?--Now, they are almost in contact--and now!"
"Heaven in its mercy defend us, what a dreadful peal!" cried the King,
as the thunder again burst terribly over his head. "And see, the thick
and inky veil begins to rend asunder into separate clouds, like some
vast army breaking its general mass into its several legions. And
behold now, how they divide and subdivide, careering swiftly like
squadrons of horsemen over the vault of the heavens. And now, look
how strangely and capriciously the broken-up clouds have here veiled,
and there revealed, the different portions of the sky!"
"Aye!" said the Astrologer, solemnly, "and now the mystic dance
is done. Each several fragment of vapour hath taken his place. The
characters are fixed; and now 'tis man's fault if he read not enough of
Heaven's will in so wide-spread and so plainly written a book. There
we can see the Hydra, and there the Greyhounds--there the greater,
and there the lesser Dog. But where is the Lion? And where the
Northern Crown?"
"Alas, Messire Andrew! thou lookest as if thou wer't dismayed by
these fearful prodigies," exclaimed the King again, with an anxiously
inquiring eye. "What is it that you dread they may portend?"
"It is grievous for me to translate to your Majesty the meaning of
these direfully ominous portents," replied Andrew, gravely, after a
long pause, during which he seemed gradually to call down his spirit
from the heavens, where it had been soaring for sometime amid all
the wonders they displayed. "Yet is it better for you to know their
fearful warnings, so far as mortals may interpret them," continued
he, rising into a wild kind of inspiration. "Danger is threatened
to the King!--to the King of Scotland! Beware of the princes and
lords of the land! Those in whom thou takest the most pleasure may
prove thy greatest bane! Commotions and wars are to be looked for and
dreaded! Beware! beware! Oh, King! lest the Scottish Lion be devoured
by its whelps!"
"The Scottish Lion devoured by its whelps!" re-echoed the King, in
the muttered voice of dismay. "Danger from the princes and nobles
of the land! Danger from those in whom we take most pleasure! What
doth all this import? And in especial, what meaneth this last strange
enigma?--What!--the Queen!--Speak Messire Andrew? Or would it point at
those who most enjoy my favour?--Why dost thou not answer me?--Wars
and commotions--the powerful influence of Mars is plain--but that of
Venus!--say!--speak! Surely, surely that doth not touch the loyalty
of our Queen?"
"The moment of divination has passed away for this night," said the
cunning Astrologer, in a low hollow voice, like that produced from
an over-exhausted spirit. "I am now weak and blind as other men. Yet
said I nothing of her most gracious Majesty Queen Margaret, whom God
long preserve! The planet your Majesty speaks of hath two several and
distinct influences--one, the which may operate as touching things
more immediately under the dominion of woman's passion, and the other,
as denoting a mere point of time. This latter interpretation would
seem to me, at this moment, to be by far the more likely, for, as
Mars would predict battles, his conjunction with the Star of Evening
would rather appear to me to mark that they will arise in the evening
of your Majesty's reign, which may God and St. Andrew render long
and prosperous!"