‘Away! away! thou traitor strang!
Out of my sicht soon mayst thou be!
I granted never a traitor grace,
And now I’ll not begin with thee.’
It was with no agreeable feelings, that Maxwell received a summons to
attend the Council at Holyrood the morning after the fray. Ere he had
well slept off the fatigues and dissipation of the previous night,
he was disturbed by a pursuivant in the royal livery, with the lion
emblazoned on his surcoat, who required his immediate presence at the
palace, and from whose rigid sense of duty he found it difficult to
extort permission to summon ‘Dick-o’-the Cleugh’ as a witness in his
favour.
Maxwell reflected that the borderer’s straightforward testimony would
serve to exonerate him from any share in the disturbance, except the
measures which put a stop to it; and by dint of argument, remonstrance,
and a bonnet-piece or two, he succeeded in sending a message to
Bothwell himself, who, for reasons of his own, was only too ready to
despatch his henchman in reply.
As they proceeded together towards the palace, attended by the
pursuivant and four stout men-at-arms, ‘Dick-o’-the-Cleugh’ could by no
means be brought to consider their past broil in the light of a breach
of the peace. On the contrary, he esteemed it from beginning to end as
the simple and natural consequence of a jaunt to the capital, and was
fully persuaded that their present expedition must result in a vote of
praise to all concerned.
Yet the borderer’s iron nerves seemed affected as they entered the
precincts of the Abbey. He was unusually restless, and glanced hither
and thither, as though in expectation. Certain female tones in the
garden by no means restored his composure; and while Maxwell, with a
thrill of offended pride, that was yet longing to forgive, recognised
Mary Carmichael’s well-known voice, Dick nudged him vigorously with his
elbow, and whispered--
‘Ye’ll hae to speak up for the twae o’ us, Mr Maxwell. I was aye dashed
wi’ the women-folk; an’ it’s like they’ll no let us away the day
without gettin’ a sight o’ the Queen and her leddies. Man, I would like
fine to see them in their braws!’
Ere Walter could reply, a gentleman-usher beckoned him silently to
advance, while two stout men-at-arms, crossing their axes in front of
his follower, gave ‘Dick-o’-the-Cleugh’ to understand he must wait
till he was sent for. Unusual vigilance seemed to pervade the palace.
The guard was doubled on the staircase and in the galleries, whilst a
strong body of cavalry occupied the court.
As Maxwell’s conductors halted at the door of the council-chamber, the
former felt his wonted composure sadly disturbed by the appearance of
Mary Carmichael, who was crossing from the garden towards the Queen’s
apartments. She started and blushed vividly when she met his eye,
and then, observing him to be under escort, turned pale with obvious
apprehension. She stopped, too, as if she would fain speak with him;
but after an imploring glance that seemed to entreat his forgiveness,
and assure him of her sympathy, hurried away.
So strangely constituted is the human mind, even in those who most
pride themselves on their philosophy, that Maxwell felt his heart
lighter than it had been for a week, and entered the awful presence
of the council without the slightest appearance of dismay; and yet he
had not exchanged a syllable with her, had only caught her eye for an
instant, and heard the rustle of her garments as she passed. Surely
there is some strange magic in our nature that works below the surface,
and encircles the bravest and the strongest in its spells.
In the centre of the room, which Maxwell now entered, stood a
massive oak table, covered with papers and parchments, prepared
for the sign-manual of Mary Stuart. Around it were seated those
Scottish noblemen whose turn it was to assist the deliberations of
their sovereign, thwarting indeed the free-will, and impeding her
resolutions, yet constituting and considering themselves the trusty
advisers of the crown.
The Duke of Chatelhérault, in right of his high rank and royal
lineage, acted as president; and on his noble brow might be traced
an expression of puzzled vexation as he followed in vain Secretary
Maitland’s rapid and masterly explanation of the business in hand. That
astute diplomatist, carrying his colleagues triumphantly with him,
was furnishing a brilliant display of rhetorical fireworks, to prove
that the measure he now advocated (which had indeed for its object the
placing of additional power in Lord James Stuart’s hands) was the only
possibility of saving the country; and the haughty Hamilton, dazzled
rather than enlightened by his eloquence, looked as dissatisfied as a
man generally does who is ‘convinced against his will.’
The Queen’s brother had assumed a modest and deprecating air, as who
should say, ‘I seek not authority, but only wish rigidly to fulfil the
duties that are thrust upon me’--a sentiment he had already expressed
to the council when they sat down. The others listened in different
attitudes of attention or approval, according as their interests or
their convictions led them to agree with the speaker; whilst Mary
herself, whose chair was drawn a little apart from the table, looked up
from her embroidery ever and anon in the face of her half-brother, with
an expression of perfect confidence and affection. Though her noble
intellect might detect many a flaw in her secretary’s arguments, she
was too thoroughly a woman not to be a _dishonest reasoner_; and of all
the intriguers who backed Lord James in his efforts at supreme power,
none supported him so fearlessly and confidingly as the Queen.
David Riccio sat, so to speak, under her Majesty’s wing. His evident
favour with his mistress extorted for him a certain outward deference
and cold civility from the nobles; but he was already inclined to
put himself too forward, without reflecting that the key of a lady’s
_escritoire_ is but a frail weapon to meet a two-handed sword, and a
velvet doublet a poor defence against the blow of a dudgeon-dagger.
When Maxwell was admitted, the State Secretary had just concluded his
peroration, and was shuffling his papers together on the table with an
air of business-like satisfaction. He looked up at this new arrival,
however, with calm indifference, and spreading a blank sheet of paper
before him, appeared ready to enter at once upon a new affair with
fresh energy and attention.
Lord Ruthven, whose temper was none of the sweetest, and whose liking
for the warden was of that kind which would fain have had a yard and a
half of green turf, and the same measure of cold steel, between them,
scowled upon Bothwell’s kinsman with all the ferocity of which his
stern features were capable--a compliment returned by Maxwell with a
stare of undaunted defiance. Morton stole a rapid and sinister glance
at the Queen, while his beard curled with his habitual sneering smile.
Huntly, Argyle, and the rest, settled themselves into comfortable
attitudes, as though the more important business of the morning were
now disposed of.
The Duke of Chatelhérault, as the aggrieved person, was the first to
speak. With a haughty affectation of indifference, he asked--
‘Who is this witness? Is he of gentle birth?’
And being informed by Maitland that he was a kinsman of Earl Bothwell,
his Grace replied, indignantly--
‘An impartial witness ye have brought before the council! Why not
examine the earl himself? if, indeed, he acknowledges any authority but
border-law. It is well that the Hamiltons can right themselves with
their own good swords.’
Maitland cut short his further objections by desiring Maxwell to
proceed with his account of the fray, while the Queen looked up from
her work as if about to expostulate, but checked herself with a
half-smothered sigh.
Maxwell told his tale simply and frankly. It was obvious that the fray
had originated in a brawl begun by the Hamiltons, who had insisted on
forcing their way into Mistress Alison’s house. Seeing that bloodshed
was unavoidable, he had hurried off to alarm the civic guard, leaving
the earl’s henchman at the door. When he returned, the skirmish, as
Lord James could corroborate, was at its height. The henchman could
speak to what took place during the narrator’s absence; he had craved
permission to bring him to Holyrood for that purpose.
His manly, straightforward evidence seemed to make a favourable
impression on the council. Maitland looked up from his notes, and,
glancing at the duke for approval, desired the borderer to be summoned.
Honest Dick entered the council-chamber with an undaunted front, till
he caught sight of the Queen, when he blushed up to his ears, and made
a profound and exceedingly awkward obeisance. Then he looked about as
if in search of something, and finally stood bolt upright, like a man
prepared to be ‘shot at.’
‘Your name?’ said the duke, haughtily.
Dick reflected a few moments, and then answered, with the air of one
who makes an admission under protest--
‘Dick-o’-the-Cleugh.’
‘Your calling?’ added the president, severely.
‘Just a rider,’ answered Dick, after another pause.
The nobles glanced significantly at each other, and Huntly observed,
with a smile--
‘That is another word for thief in your country, is it not?’
Dick looked extremely demure and unconscious, as he replied--
‘Na, it’s broken men they ca’ thieves on the border--just like
Catherans an’ Gordons an’ that in the North.’
The council could not forbear a laugh, and even the Queen bent over her
work to conceal her amusement.
‘Faith, Huntly, he shivered his lance fairly against thy breastplate
this time,’ said Lord Seton; and Huntly, throwing his portly person
back in his chair, vowed good-humouredly that the definition was a
sufficiently precise one at either extremity of the kingdom.
The borderer’s examination then proceeded.
‘Was it by your chief’s orders that you defended the door in the High
Street last night?’
‘I took nae orders yestre’en frae the warden,’ replied Dick, ‘forbye to
see to the naigs about our back-coming.’
‘Would you have ventured to draw upon the Earl of Arran--upon my son,’
asked the duke, ‘without your chief’s express commands to slay him if
you came across him?’
‘I ken your Grace fine,’ answered the borderer, not very directly,
‘seein’ you’re the grandest nobleman in Scotland; but if yon was the
Earl of Arran, an’ a’ your Grace’s blood fight like yon camsteary
chiel, I wad like ill to keep the causeway anither nicht frae the
Hamiltons.’
‘What was the origin of the disturbance?’ here interposed Secretary
Maitland, seeing that the discussion produced no obvious results. ‘Who
began the brawl, man, and first bared steel?’
‘I could not say,’ replied Dick, looking profoundly ignorant. ‘I’m
thinkin’ the stramash was a’ in gude fellowship, till his honour here,
the Lord James, an’ the city guard struck in an’ spoilt all.’
‘Why, you yourself were at half-sword with a score of them when I came
up,’ said Lord James, laughing, in spite of himself, at the borderer’s
coolness.
‘Oo! that was just a ploy!’ answered Dick, with a grin of delight at
the recollection. ‘I’ve seen waur licks than yon gi’en an’ ta’en in
Bewcastle Markit, just for gude-will ye ken, an’ a tass or twa o’
brandy.’
‘Let him go,’ said the duke, ‘till we send for him again. It is not
against this faithful knave, your Majesty and my lords, that I appeal
for justice, but against the Earl of Bothwell.’
Again Morton shot a lurid glance at the Queen, whose white fingers were
travelling fast to and fro through her embroidery.
‘The earl had entered the house peacefully enough when I left,’ began
Maxwell, but he was sternly and peremptorily commanded to hold his
peace, whilst a whispered consultation was carried on by the chief
nobility present, in which Lord James alone took no part.
The Queen, with an angry spot on each cheek, continued to work very
fast.
‘It is but a part of the plot against Her Majesty’s person,’ said the
duke, after a while, ‘a plot which my son himself has discovered, and
which on his recovery he will prove on the Earl of Bothwell’s body with
his blade. Meantime, there lies my glove; if the Hepburn has a friend,
let him take it up!’
Maxwell interposed, eagerly.
‘To any one of my own degree,’ he began--but an imploring glance from
the Queen at her brother had roused that statesman from his apathy, and
he interfered.
‘Take back your glove, my Lord Duke!’ said he. ‘This is no affair
of private brawl, but a matter in which the safety of the crown is
involved. My lords, I move for a committee of inquiry on the spot.’
The duke bit his glove through, ere he replaced it on his hand, and
then, with moody brow and angry eye, listened in silence to the
conference.
‘I move that James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, be committed to ward till
such time as he can purge himself from the charges brought against
him by the Earl of Arran,’ said Lord Ruthven, after another brief
consultation, with a smile of triumph on his pale, gaunt face.
With the exception of Seton and Argyle, who seemed to think the warden
was receiving scant justice, and a weak remonstrance from Lord James,
which yielded gracefully to the urgency of the case, the council agreed
upon this precautionary measure, and it was carried accordingly.
Secretary Maitland made out the warrant for the earl’s committal; it
wanted but the Queen’s signature to become valid.
Mary rose from her chair and drew up her majestic figure.
‘Nay, my lords,’ said she; ‘it is surely unjust to condemn the absent
without proof. Let the warden return to his charge on the border. He
may render himself at any time, in less than twenty-four hours from
Hermitage.’
‘You cannot refuse to ratify the deed of your council!’ urged Ruthven,
fiercely. ‘Nay, Madam, you _dare_ not,’ he added, with growing
insolence; and would have said more; but Mary shot a glance at him,
before which even his rugged nature quailed.
‘Your Majesty’s confidence in the earl is greater than that of your
advisers,’ observed Morton, not deigning to conceal a sneer. ‘Already
he boasts of his influence over the Queen, and vows that steel gauntlet
shall not wrest him from Holyrood, though a white glove can lure him
from Hermitage.’
The colour rose on Mary’s brow, and her bosom heaved quickly. It was
evident the Queen was wavering.
‘It is but a measure of precaution,’ argued Maitland, in his plausible
off-hand tones, spreading at the same time the warrant before his
sovereign. ‘After all,’ he added, ‘it may be but a mere brawl about
a wench! The Earl of Bothwell has ever been given to such follies
overmuch.’
The Queen signed the paper hastily; then threw the pen on the table,
and walked in silence from the council-chamber.