sternest means were used by the new against them. Knox had declared that
the toleration of a single mass was more dangerous to Scotland than
10,000 armed soldiers; and in the spirit of this precept, so long after
the Reformation as 1615, a poor Jesuit was dragged from his altar in an
obscure cellar, and hanged by King James's authority in the streets of
Glasgow.
It was while the minds of the people were in the state we have
described--excited by the terrible death of the king, inspired by the
discourse of the firebrand on the cross, and only half glutted by the
persecution of the poor old prebend of St. Giles, that, guarded by
Morton's and Lindesay's band, Konrad of Saltzberg was led up Merlin's
Wynd, and into the High Street, where the masses of men in a state of
fury and ferment, swayed to and fro from side to side of that
magnificent thoroughfare, like the waves of an angry sea. The moment he
appeared, there was given a yell that rent the air; and a rush was made
from all quarters towards the new victim, of whose participation in the
deed at the Kirk-of-Field, a terrible account was instantly circulated.
*CHAPTER V.*
*THE PAPISTS' PILLAR.*
Oh! I will hail
My hour when it approaches; life has been
A source of sorrow, and it matters not
How soon I quit the scene, for I have roved
A friendless outcast in the thorny world,
Upon it, but not of it; and my death
Is but escape from bondage.
_The Spell of St. Wilten._
We have likened the dense mass that filled the High Street to a sea, and
so like the waves of a sea, when agitated by a stormy wind, was that
mass urged in one direction towards this new victim, whom they demanded
of both Morton and Lindesay to be given up to their summary vengeance.
The windows were crowded to excess; and at the great square casement of
his mansion, overlooking the Netherbow, was seen the grave and serious
face of Knox the Reformer, with his portentous beard and Geneva cap, and
beside him Master George Buchanan, with his stern visage and towering
brow. They were observing the fray below, and making their caustic
remarks on "yat terrible fact of yesternicht."
A deadly struggle seemed about to ensue; faces became flushed with
passion, and eyes lit with energy--swords were drawn, bows bent, and
matches blown.
"Truncheon me those knaves!" cried Lord Lindesay, as the people pressed
upon his band and impeded their march; "use the bolls of your hackbutts!
Back with these rascally burghers--how! dare they assail my banner in
open day?"
"They are ripe for a fray, my lord," said Morton; "and in sooth, 'tis
matter for consideration, whether by resistance we should shed the blood
of our own countrymen, to lengthen by an hour the existence of a foreign
knave, who must hang at all events."
"Right, Lord Earl--but to die thus! unhouselled and unprayed for--by the
hands of a furious mob--to be torn piecemeal--to be hunted like an
otter"----
Lindesay could not conclude, for the confusion increased every moment,
and the dense and well-armed multitude demanded incessantly, and with
stentorian clamour, that the regicide should be given up to their fury.
Lindesay, who now became animated by a sentiment of compassion, on
beholding one man in a situation so terrible, vainly endeavoured by the
influence of his rank, his known determination and aspect, his
stentorian voice and gigantic sword, to overawe the crowd, and convey
his captive to King David's tower; but every where the craftsmen barred
his way with levelled pikes and clubbed hackbutts. As yet, not a shot
had been exchanged, or a blow struck; for the vassals who guarded
Konrad, being quite indifferent as to the issue, behaved with admirable
coolness. On seeing this, the populace demanded the prisoner more
loudly than ever, and became more energetic and exasperated by the
delay.
Gagged and bound, the unhappy Konrad found the impossibility alike of
demanding either protection from his guards or mercy from their
assailants--to fight or to escape; and a cold perspiration burst over
him as the soldiers swayed to and fro, when the people pressed upon
their iron ranks.
Ten thousand scowling faces were bent upon him, and twice that number of
hands were raised against him. His heart never sank; but the mild
precepts of Father Tarbet were forgotten, and, with an intensity
amounting to agony, he longed to be free and armed, to indulge that
momentary and tiger-like hatred of all mankind that swelled up within
him, that he might sell his life as dearly as possible, and strike for
vengeance ere he died! In that terrible moment of confusion and dread he
never thought of prayer; but the image of Anna rose to his memory, and
while he thanked Heaven that now she was probably safe at home in their
native Norway, the recollection that he was desolate, and she was lost
to him for ever, nerved him the more to encounter his terrible fate.
Lord Lindesay threatened them with summary vengeance from himself, and
ultimately from the queen and lord provost; but he might as well have
addressed the wind, for, by their nightly watches and constant brawling,
the burghers were better trained to arms than were the vassals of the
landowners, and his threats were unheeded.
"Come on, my bold callants!" cried a fat citizen in a vast globular
corselet, a morion, and plate sleeves with gloves of steel, brandishing
a ponderous jedwood axe with his right hand, while opposing with his
left arm a light Scottish target to the levelled spears of Lindesay's
band. "Come on, with a warrion! Are sae mony bearded men to be kept at
play like bairns by these ox-goads o' the Byres?"
"Weel spoken, Adam!--Armour! armour!--Strike for the gude toun!" cried a
thousand voices to the host of the _Red Lion_, who was looming about
like a vast hogshead sheathed in iron; and thus encouraged, by sheer
weight of body he burst through the ranks of Lindesay's vassalage,
striking up their levelled lances. The mob followed in his wake, and
the guards were immediately scattered, disarmed, and their prisoner
dragged from his shelter.
Torn and whirled from hand to hand, Konrad was soon released from all
his bonds; but still escape was impossible. Many a bow was drawn, and
many a blade uplifted against him; but the very presence and blind fury
of the people saved him; and madly he was hurled from man to man, till,
alike bereft of sense of sight and sound, he sank breathless beneath
their feet.
"Now, by the might of Heaven!" said old Lord Lindesay, "'tis a foul
shame on us, Earl of Morton, to sit calmly here in our saddles, and see
a Christian man used thus. Fie!--down with the traitors!" and he
spurred his horse upon the people, only to be repelled by a steady stand
of pikes.
Konrad was loaded with mud and filth; and every new assailant was more
fierce than the last. Howls, yells, and execrations filled the air, and
he was bandied about like a football, till one well-aimed blow from the
boll of a hackbutt struck him down, and, covered with mud and bruises,
and bathed in blood, he lay upon the pavement motionless, and to all
appearance dead.
They deemed him so, and, consequently, a momentary cessation of their
cruelty ensued, till a voice cried--
"Fie! away wi' him to the Papists' pillar! Gar douk him in the loch!
Harl him awa'! Gar douk! gar douk and droun!"
A shout of assent greeted this new proposition. The inanimate form of
Konrad was raised on the shoulders of a few sturdy fellows, who bore him
along the street with as much speed as its crowded state would permit;
and closing, like a parted sea, the mob collapsed behind, and followed
in their train. They bore him up the Lawnmarket, then encumbered by
innumerable sacks of grain and wooden girnels, farm horses, and rudely
constructed carts; for at that time the meal, and flesh, and butter
markets, were held there. Turning down Blyth's close, under the lofty
windows of the palace of Mary of Lorraine, they hurried to the bank of
that steep lake which formed the city's northern barrier, and the vast
concourse followed; the arch of the narrow alley receiving them all,
like a small bridge admitting a mighty river.
The rough and shelving bank descended abruptly from the ends of the
lofty closes, which (when viewed from the east or west): resembled a
line of narrow Scottish towers overhanging the margin of the water,
which was reedy, partly stagnant, and so much swollen by the melted
snows of the past winter, that, on the northern side, it reached an
ancient quarry from which the Trinity Church was built, and on the
southern to the Twin-tree, an old double-trunked thorn that overhung the
loch, and had for centuries been famous as a trysting-place for lovers,
as it was supposed to exercise a supernatural influence on the pair who
sat between its gnarled stems.
"Fie! gar douk!" cried the vast concourse that debouched from all the
adjoining wynds and closes along the sloping bank. "To the pillar--to
the pillar! Truss him wi' a tow to the Papists' pillar, and leave him
there to rot or row;" and this new proposal was received with renewed
applause.
The Papists' pillar was a strong oak stake fixed in that part of the
loch where the water was about five feet deep. It had been placed there
by the wise bailies of Edinburgh at this time, when certain ablutions
were much in vogue, and considered so necessary for witches, sorcerers,
scolding wives, and "obstinate papists;" for in every part of Europe
ducking was the favourite penance for offences, against morality; and
nothing afforded such supreme delight and intense gratification to the
worthy denizens of the Lawnmarket, and their kindly dames, as the
sousing of an unfortunate witch, a "flyting wife" of the Calton, or a
hapless Catholic, in the deep and execrable puddle that was named the
North Loch--and so frequently were exhibitions of the latter made, that
the stake was unanimously dubbed _the Papists' Pillar_.
To this the inanimate Konrad was fastened by a strong cord, encircling
his neck and waist; and there he was left to perish, wounded, bleeding,
and insensible--covered with bruises, and merged nearly to the neck in a
liquid rendered fetid and horrible by all the slime and debris of the
populous city that towered above it, being poured down hourly from its
narrow streets, to increase the mass of corruption that grew and
festered in its stagnant depths.
On accomplishing this, the mob retired; for the conveyance of the bodies
of the murdered king and his attendants through the streets, excited all
the morbid sympathy of the vulgar: the entire populace now rushed
towards the other end of the city, and all became still as death where
Konrad lay.
The coolness of the sudden immersion partially revived him, and the
bleeding of the wound on his head ceased; but his senses were
confused--his perception indistinct--and he hung against the column in a
state bordering on insensibility.
There was a rushing sound in his ears; for still the roar of that vast
multitude rang in them: there was a sense of pain and languor pervading
his whole frame; a faint light shone before his half-closed eyes, and he
was conscious of nothing more.
The noon passed away; evening came, and cold and pale the watery sun
sank behind the summits of Corstorphine, involved in yellow haze. The
clouds gathered in inky masses to the westward; a few large drops of
rain plashed on the dark surface of the glassy water; there was a low
wind rushing among the uplands; but Konrad neither saw nor heard these
precursors of a coming storm.
And there he lay--helpless and dying!
A great and ravenous gled wheeled in circles round him. These circles
diminished by degrees, until it had courage at last to alight on the top
of the column, where it screamed and flapped its wings, while eyeing him
with eager and wolfish impatience. So passed the evening.
Night--the cold and desolate night of February, came on, and the hungry
gled was still sitting there. * * *
In the morning, the inexorable host of the _Red Lion_ and others, who
had made themselves so active in his persecution, went to the place
where they had bound him.
The water had ebbed several feet; the stake was still standing there
among the dark slime and sedges--but the cords were cut, and the
unfortunate had disappeared.
*CHAPTER VI.*
*REMORSE.*
All day and all the livelong night he pour'd,
His soul in anguish, and his fate deplored;
While every moment skimm'd before his sight,
A thousand forms of horror and affright.
_Tasso._
Bothwell was sitting alone in his apartments at Holyrood. The fire
burned cheerfully in the sturdy iron grate, and threw a ruddy glow on
the gigantic forms of Darius and Alexander, who seemed ready to start
from the gobeline tapestry into life and action. The Earl's sword and
dagger hung on one knob of his chair; his headpiece and a wheel-lock
caliver on the other; for there were dangerous rumours abroad in the
city, and he knew not the moment in which he might be required to use
them.
Let us take a view of him as he sat gazing fixedly into the fire, that
glowed so redly between the massive bars.
A change had come over his features since the preceding night. They had
acquired a more severe style of manly beauty. His noble brow was more
pale and thoughtful in expression, and was already marked by those lines
which are indicative of sorrow and remorse. But there were times when
his keen dark eye assumed a diabolical glitter, and the redness of the
fire shed an infernal brightness on his face. His lip was curled by
bitterness; his brows were knit; and then nothing could surpass the
scorn and misanthropy pervading the aspect of the fierce and haughty
regicide.
Yes! he knew himself a destroyer; though, strange to say, he felt his
personal importance increased by the awful reflection that he was so.
He had more than once slain men in mutual strife; but never till now did
he feel himself a--murderer.
_Murderer!_ he repeated it in a low voice and then started, looking
round fearfully as if he dreaded the figures might hear him. He
frequently caught himself muttering it, coupled with his own name. They
seemed synonymous. His mind was full of incoherence and dread, and a
regret so intense, that at times he smote his breast and wrung his hands
in agony, or turned to a flask of Burgundy to drown all recollection;
and so much was he absorbed in the fierce current of his own corroding
thoughts, that he heard not the rising storm that shook the turrets of
the palace, howled through the arcades of its ancient courts, and tossed
the branches of its venerable trees.
A step rung in the antechamber; the tapestry was lifted, and the slight
figure of Hepburn of Bolton, still sheathed in armour, appeared. His
helmet was open, and the paleness of his features was painful to look
upon.
"Well!" said his chieftain; "what say they in the city?"
"Every where, that the Lord Moray has slain the king, in pursuance of
his ancient feud with the house of Lennox."
"This is well! I hope thou and Hob Ormiston have been spreading the
report with due industry!"
"We have lacked in nothing!" replied Bolton, gloomily, as he drank a
deep draught of the Burgundy; "but there is noised abroad a
counter-rumour, that thou art not unconcerned in the deed."
"Hah!" ejaculated the Earl, drawing in his breath through his clenched
teeth, while a frown of alarm contracted his brow, "Who value life so
cheaply as to bruit this abroad?"
"The vassals of the Lord Morton, with whom certain archers of my band
have been carousing at Ainslie's hostel overnight, have accused thee,
and so strongly, that I sorely suspect treason somewhere, and that their
lord hath prompted them."
"He dares not!" rejoined the Earl, half assuming his sword, and setting
his teeth.
"Thou knowest how false and subtle all men deem him."
"He dare not prove so to me--I tell thee, John of Bolton, he dare not!"
replied the Earl, in a fierce whisper, starting to his feet. "I would
level to the earth his castle of Dalkeith, and spike his head amidst its
ruins. There is the bond, the damning deed we signed at Whittinghame,
that will cause us all to hang together in our armour, lest we hang
separately without it. Ha! ha! take another horn of the Burgundy. Thou
seest, Bolton, how it gives me both wit and spirit. Any other tidings?"
"None, save of a horrible apparition that last night haunted the Lord
Athol's lodging, near the Kirk-of-Field."
"And what about our Norwegian?"
"He hath been bound to the Papists' pillar, and left to drown."
"Now, God's malison be on these rascally burghers!"
"By this time he must be dead, for the rain hath fallen heavily, and
thou knowest how fast the loch fills; besides, the host of the _Red
Lion_ shut the sluice at the Trinity House, so long ere this all must be
over."
"One other life!" said the Earl, gloomily.
Hepburn gave a bitter laugh, and there was a momentary pause.
"By Heaven, Bolton! I will not permit this stranger to perish if I can
save him. Come--'tis not yet midnight! The deed may in some sort
atone"----
"True--true! but there will be some danger, and much suspicion"----
"Danger--so much the better! Suspicion--I hope we are above it! In a
brawl about a rascally courtesan, how readily did I draw my sword with
that blockhead d'Elboeuff; while to-day I stood by yonder Tron, and saw,
on one hand, a consecrated priest of God insulted, pilloried, and beaten
down senseless in his blood--a priest who yesternight celebrated the
most holy of all Christian sacraments; on the other, I saw an innocent
man dragged away to a merciless and dreadful death; and, like a child or
a woman, I stood paralysed, without giving a word or a blow to save
either. Coward that I was! Oh, how deeply would old Earl Adam, who
fell by James's side on Flodden Field, blush for his degenerate
grandson!"
"Be it so; I will doff some of this iron shell, and, if thou wilt lend
me a pyne doublet, will go with thee. Hark! what a driech storm
without; and how the windows dirl in the blast!" and, as he spoke, the
rain, blown with all the violence of a furious east wind, came lashing
on the lofty casements of the palace, and hissed as it plashed drearily
on the pavement of its empty courts.
"Summon French Paris!" cried the Earl; "I must first speak with him."
*CHAPTER VII.*
*THE RESCUE.*
The lightning's flash
Scarce ran before the thunder's sudden crash;
Down on the lake, the rain sonorous rush'd;
O'er the steep rocks, the new-born torrents gush'd.
_Bayley's Rival._
As the night closed, Konrad partially revived, and became alive to the
horror of his situation. Corded by the wrists and neck to a stake, with
the water almost up to his chin; faint, exhausted by the wound on his
head, and the innumerable blows he had received, he was so very feeble
that he thought himself dying, and endeavoured to remember a prayer; but
his mind was a chaos, and he found himself alike unable to account for
his predicament, and to free himself from it.
Darker, and darker still, the clouds gathered over the lofty city that
towered up to the south; and the rain-drops plashed more heavily on the
surface of the water, till the circles became mingled, and the shower
increased to a winter torrent; for the month was February only, and,
though the first of spring, the cold was intense.
The gled shook its wings, and croaked on the post above his head, and
Konrad feared it might suddenly stoop and tear out his defenceless eyes.
Poured along the gorge between the Calton Hill and the city, the chill
wind from the German sea swept over the rippled water; and then came the
glare of the lightning to render the darkness of the night more
appalling. Pale, blue, and sulphury, it flashed in the north and east,
dashing its forky strength between the masses of cloud, gleaming on the
darkened water, and revealing the bleak outline of the Calton--the high
and fantastic mansions of the city, among whose black summits the
levin-bolts seemed playing and dancing--to be tossed from chimney to
turret, and from turret to tower--leaping from hand to hand, ere they
flashed away into obscurity, or cast one lurid glare on the gorge behind
the church that, for four hundred years, covered the grave of Mary of
Gueldres and of Zutphen.
Then the thunder rumbled in the distance; and, as if the air was rent,
down gushed the rain upon the midnight lake; and Konrad, as he felt his
senses and strength ebbing together, became aware that the water
rose--that, with all his feeble struggles, he would ultimately drown in
that lake of mud, where so many have perished; for, so lately as 1820,
the skeletons of these unfortunates have been found in the bed, where of
old the water lay.
Still the dusky gled sat on its perch, and, by the occasional gleams of
the lightning, he could perceive its sable wings flapping above his
unsheltered head, like those of a shadowy fiend; and oft it stooped
down, as if impatient of its feast. Whenever its unearthly croak rang
on the passing wind, he could not resist the inclination to raise his
hands to protect his eyes--but his arms were pinioned below water.
Powerless, he resigned himself to die without a murmur--save one prayer
for Anna. His last thoughts were of her--for the love of poor Konrad
surpassed the love of romance.
Strange visions of home and other years floated before him; he heard the
wiry rustle of his native woods, and the voice of Anna mingling with the
music of the summer leaves. Then came a state of stupefaction, in which
he remained, he knew not how long.
A sound roused him; it was a scream from the gled, as, scared from its
perch, it spread its broad wings to the wind, and vanished into
obscurity like an evil spirit. The stars were veiled in vapour; the
moon was sailing through masses of flying cloud, and, by its fitful
light, Konrad, as he unclosed his heavy eyes, could perceive a boat
approaching. It contained two figures, which, as they were between him
and the light, appeared in dark and opaque outline.
They were Bothwell and Hepburn of Bolton; both were masked as usual to
the mustache, and wore their mantles up to their chins.
"If we are not too late," said the first, as they approached; "perhaps
this act of mercy may be an atonement--yea, in somewise a small
atonement--ha! heardst thou that cry?"
"What cry?"
"By the blessed Bothan, I heard it again!" said Bothwell, in a voice of
agony. "Now God me defend!" he added, making the long-forgotten sign of
the cross, while a cold perspiration burst over him; "but where is the
Norwegian? I see but the stake only!"
"Here--here! his head is above water still. Now praise Heaven! Dost
thou live yet?"
Konrad uttered a faint sound; upon which both gave an exclamation of
joy, and, urging the boat towards the stake, succeeded in raising him
up, cutting the cords, and drawing him on board; but so benumbed and
lifeless, that he sank across the thwarts and lay there insensible.
Meanwhile, Bolton and the Earl, after pulling a few dozen of strokes,
beached the boat (which they had stolen from the ferryman) among the
thick sedges and reeds that fringed the northern bank of the loch.
Bothwell sprang ashore, and gave a low whistle. There was a reply
heard, and French Paris came out of the ancient quarry before mentioned,
(the site of which is now covered by the Scott monument,) leading four
horses. Konrad was assisted ashore, and seated upon the bank.
"Now, Paris," said the Earl; "thy hunting bottle!" The page unslung a
round leather flask from his waist-belt, and handed it to the Earl, who
filled a quaigh with liquid, saying--
"I trust the cordial of which I spoke--that rare reviving compound made
by the queen's physician--was mixed with this. Drink, sir, if thou
canst, and in three minutes thou wilt be another man."
Konrad, who was still unable to speak, quaffed off the proffered
draught, and immediately became revived; for a glow shot through every
vein, and warmed his quivering limbs.
"Another," said the Earl, "and thou wilt still further bless the skill
of Monsieur Martin Picauet as a druggist and apothegar. Now, Bolton, our
task is done, and we must hie to Holyrood ere daybreak; for this is not
a time for men of such light account as we, to be roving about like the
owls. To thee, Paris, we will leave the rest. Thou art well assured of
where this crayer of Norway lieth."
"At the New haven, immediately opposite the chapel of St James."