The Wolfe of Badenoch and the Earl of Moray.
The Wolfe of Badenoch having once made up his mind to accompany Sir
Patrick Hepborne to the tournament of St. John’s, allowed but little
time to be lost by his people in preparation; and his sons and their
attendants, with his own splendid retinue, were speedily assembled on
the lawn beyond the land sconce. Hepborne’s more moderate cortège was
also quickly mustered there, and in less than an hour the two leaders
were at the head of their united trains, marching off with bugles
sounding, and banners and pennons flying.
Leaving the lake by the same route by which Sir Patrick had approached
it, they travelled northwards through the apparently ceaseless forest,
that varied only in the undulations of the surface it grew upon, and in
the trees it produced. The pines were very soon, in a great measure,
exchanged for magnificent birches and oaks, spreading themselves far
and wide over the country, and forming the vast forest of Drummyn.
There they skirted the Findhorn, which thundered through the romantic
chasm, yawning between confined and precipitous crags, until they found
themselves on the summit of a bold cliff overhanging the river, from
the base of which it swept in one grand and broad line through the
centre of a beautiful plain of about a mile in diameter, dividing it
from south to north into two nearly equal parts. These were the Meads
of St. John, and there the stream seemed gladly to slumber in a
comparatively gentle current, after its boisterous and laborious
passage downwards from its native mountains. Ledges of rock did indeed
push themselves here and there from its enamelled margins, and served
to diversify them, as did those groups of wide-spreading oaks of
enormous growth, forming in most places a broad bowery fringe to either
shore; but there was nothing to disturb the perfect continuity and
level of the grassy surface of the meadows, except one or two bosky
groves, carelessly planted by the hand of nature. The high banks
retreating on both sides, to bend round and embrace the Meads,
presented an irregularity of form and slope; while the forest,
extending itself everywhere over the upper grounds, sent down some of
its most magnificent representatives to grace their sides. About a mile
or more to the left, perched on a gentle eminence, arose the venerable
Castle of Tarnawa, looking far and wide over its woody domain. Towards
the northern extremity of the Eastern Mead, stood the little chapel
dedicated to St. John the Baptist, giving name to the lovely valley
that now stretched in rich verdure beneath their eyes; and over the
farther boundaries of the meadows appeared the fertile plain of Forres,
the broad expanse of the Frith, and the distant mountain-range beyond.
But these, the mere ordinary and permanent features of the scene,
though exquisitely beautiful in themselves, were at this time rendered
tenfold more interesting by the animation that everywhere pervaded the
Meads of St. John, where the whole population of the North had
assembled. Midway down the long stretch of the river was erected a wide
bridge, formed of enormous pillars and beams of wood, intended to give
temporary passage between the opposite banks during the ensuing sports;
and it was spanned above by several triumphal arches, which people were
then employed in decorating with boughs of holly and other evergreens.
A promiscuous and motley assemblage of booths, tents, log-houses, and
huts, in number beyond all possibility of reckoning, were seen
scattered like a great irregular village all around the base of those
semi-circular banks embracing the eastern side of the Meads. These
fragile tenements were occupied by the populace not only of the
neighbouring town and surrounding country, but by many who had come
from very distant parts of Scotland, some to establish a mart for their
wares, others to exhibit feats of strength, or agility, or juggling,
and the greater number, perhaps, to behold the spectacle, or assist in
the labours incident to the preparation for it.
The lists were then erecting in the centre of the eastern meadow,
while, on the western side of the river, were observed a number of
pavilions, within the recess of a beautiful glade retiring among the
wooded banks. These were brought thither by knights who came to attend
the tournament, the accommodations in the Castle being quite unequal
for more than a chosen few. Such as were already erected had each a
banner or pennon flying before it, and others were pitching with great
expedition. In the midst of the whole was the pavilion of the Earl of
Moray, of much greater magnitude than any of those around it, while his
banner unfurled itself to the breeze from the top of a tall pine fixed
in the ground for the purpose.
Such were the most prominent objects, then, in the Meads of St. John;
but the whole vale swarmed with living beings. Groups of men and horses
were seen moving over it in all directions, and the very earth seemed
in motion.
“By the Holy Rood,” cried the Wolfe, “but it is a noble sight. Methinks
my brother-in-law, Earl John, must have had his hands in the King’s
purse ere he could have ventured on such a show as this. Come, Sir
Patrick, let us hasten to see how things may be in the Castle.”
They followed a steep and winding path that led them down through the
wood into the valley below, and quickly crossed the level ground
towards the bridge. This they found guarded by a strong party of
spearmen and archers. The captain on duty came forward—
“Sir Knights,” said he courteously, “so please ye to honour me with
your names and titles, that they may be passed forward to the Earl’s
pavilion for his inspection.”
“Morte de ma vie,” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch pettishly, “but this is
ceremony with a vengeance. What! shall I not have liberty to approach
me to mine own brother-in-law, until I shall have sent him my name! and
am I, or is my horse, to be kept on the fret here until the return of a
tardy messenger from yonder tents? What a fiend, dost thou not know me,
Sir Captain? dost thou not know me for the Earl of Buchan?”
“My Lord Earl,” replied the captain of the guard with perfect
reverence, “I did indeed know the attence, but mine orders are so
imperative, that albeit it doth indeed much erke me to be so strict
with thee, yet must I of needscost subject thee to the same rule that
hath been laid down for all.”
To prevent further words, Hepborne hastened to give his name and
quality, and the number of his retinue, to the captain of the guard;
and observing the growing impatience of the Wolfe, he managed to avert
his coming wrath, by expressing a desire to ride towards the lists, to
see what was going forward there, hoping that, by the time they had
examined all the operations in progress, the passage of the bridge
would be open to them.
Having contrived to make the Wolfe waste nearly half-an-hour in this
way, Hepborne returned with him to the bridge, where they were informed
by the captain of the guard that the Earl of Moray was coming in person
to meet them; and accordingly they beheld him riding across the bridge
towards them, followed by an esquire and a very few attendants. He was
unostentatiously dressed in a light hunting garb; his figure was
middle-sized, his complexion fair, and his countenance fresh, round,
and of a mild expression.
His horse’s hoofs had no sooner touched the sod of the meadow than he
dismounted, and giving the rein to his esquire, advanced to meet his
brother-in-law. The Wolfe of Badenoch leaped from his saddle, and
moving one step forward, stood to receive him. Sir Patrick Hepborne and
the five Stewarts having also dismounted, were at his back.
“Brother,” said the Wolfe, after their first salutations were over,
“this is Sir Patrick Hepborne.”
“Sir Patrick,” said the Earl graciously, “I rejoice to see thee here;
welcome to thy country, and to these my domains; I regret to understand
that I must cast away all hope of seeing thine honoured father upon
this occasion, and I yet more grieve at the cause of his present
unfitness for mixing in sports in which he was wont to shine as a
bright star. Nevoys,” continued he, saluting Sir Alexander Stewart and
his brothers, “I rejoice to behold ye thus waxing so stout; an ye
thrive thus, even the very youngest of ye will soon be well able to
bear a shock. What sayest thou, Duncan, my boy? Your pardon, Sir
Patrick, for a moment, but I must speak a little aside here with my
brother, the noble Earl of Buchan; I shall be entirely at thy command
anon.”
The two Earls retired a few paces to one side, and Moray’s face
assuming an air of great seriousness, he began to talk in an under tone
to the Wolfe of Badenoch, whose brow, as he listened, gathered clouds
and storms, which went on blackening and ruffling it, until at length
he burst out into one of his ungovernable furies.
“Ha! by the beard of my grandfather, and dost thou think that I care
the value of a cross-bow bolt for the split-crowned magpie?” cried he.
“Excommunicate me! and what harm, I pr’ythee, will his excommunication
do me? But, by’r Lady, he shall suffer for it. He has already had a
small spice of what the Wolfe of Badenoch can do when he is roused,
and, by all the fiends, he shall know more on’t ere long.”
“Talk not so loud and vehemently, I beseech thee, brother,” said the
Earl of Moray; “publish not the matter thus.”
“Nay, but I will tell it,” roared out the Wolfe; “I will publish the
insolence of this scoundrel Bishop to the whole world. What think ye,”
continued he, turning round to his sons and Sir Patrick—“what think ye
of the consummate impudence of the rascally Alexander Barr? He hath
dared to void his impotent curse on the Earl of Buchan and Ross—on the
son of the King of Scotland—on the Wolfe of Badenoch. My brother here,
the Earl of Moray, hath just had an especial messenger from the
croaking carrion, to tell him the news of my excommunication; but the
red fiend catch me, an I do not make him rue that he ever told the tale
beyond his own crowing rookery. Ha! let us to the Castle, brother—let
us to my sister Margery, I say. Depardieux, but thou shalt see that the
hypocritical knave’s anathema shall be but as seasoning to my food.
Trust me, I shall not eat or drink one tithe the less of thy good cheer
for it.”
“Most noble Earl of Buchan, and my most excellent brother,” said the
Earl of Moray, with a hesitating and perplexed air, “it erketh me
sore—it giveth me, as thou mayest readily believe, extreme grief—to be
compelled to tell thee that I cannot with propriety receive thee at
present among the nobles who now house them within my walls, nor would
the heralds admit of thy presence at the ensuing tournament, whilst
thou liggest under the bann of the Holy Church, even were I bold enough
to risk for thee the Church’s displeasure against me and mine. Let me,
then, I pray thee, have weight with thee so far as to persuade thee to
ride straightway to Elgin, to make thy peace with the Bishop. Much as I
have on my hands at the present time, verily I will not scruple to
haste thither with thee, if thou dost think that I mought in any manner
of way further an accommodation, so that this dread reproach may be
forthwith removed from off thee. We can then return together speedily,
ere yet the matter shall have been bruited abroad (for, so far as I am
concerned, it is as yet a secret); and thou shalt then, much to my joy
and honour, take thy due and proper place by the side of thy brother
Robert, Earl of Fife and Menteith, at the head of mine illustrious
guests, and——”
“Ha! what!” cried the Wolfe of Badenoch in a fury; “thinkest thou that
I will hie me straight, to lout myself low, and to lick the dust before
the feet of that lorel Bishop, who hath had the surquedrie to dare thus
to insult me? By my trusty burly-brand, I shall take other means of
settling accounts between us. But methinks he is right hasty in his
traffic. No sooner have I settled one score with him, than he runs me
up another in the twinkling of an eye. But, by all the furies, he shall
find that I shall pay him off roundly, and score him up double on my
side. And so, brother, thou dost think that I carry such leprous
contamination about my person, as may altogether unfit me for the
purity of thy virtuous house? Gramercy for thy courtesy! But by the
Rood, I do believe that something else lurketh under all these
pretences. Thou hast seen my dotard father the King lately; thou hast
held council with him I ween; and, I trow, my interests have not been
furthered by the advices thou hast whispered in the Royal ear. I still
lack the best cantle of my Lieutenantship in lacking Moray Land, and a
bird hath whistled me that John Dunbar, Earl of Moray, hath not been
backward in urging the monarch to refuse it to me. If this be so,
Brother Earl——”
“I swear by my knighthood,” cried the Earl of Moray earnestly
interrupting him, and speaking at once with calmness and firmness—“I
swear by my knighthood, that whoso hath told thee this, hath told thee
a black falsehood; and I gage mine honour to throw the lie in his
teeth, and to defy him to mortal debate, should it so please thee to
yield me his name.”
“Well spoken, brother John,” cried the Wolfe, apparently satisfied with
the solemnity of the Earl of Moray’s denial. “But thou art pretty safe
in thy darreigne; I did but suspect thee, and, in sooth, appearances
were infernally against thee. But I must take it upon thy word and
abide the event. Yet do I know of a truth that thou wert with the
King——”
“That do I most readily confess,” replied the Earl of Moray mildly. “I
did indeed journey to Scone on my private affairs, and, among other
things, to crave His Majesty’s gracious permission to hold this same
tourney, and to petition for his royal presence here. But State
reasons, or infirmity, or perhaps both causes conjoined, keep him back
from us; nathless he hath sent his banner hither to wave over the
lists, to show that at least we have his royal good-will with us. I
most solemnly vow that I did never meddle or make with the King in any
matter of thine.”
“The red fiend ride me then,” cried the Wolfe hastily, “but thy
reception of me hath been something of the coolest. Methinks that,
putting myself in thy case, and thee in mine, I should for thee have
defied all the lorel coistrils that ever carried crosier. Ha! by’r
Lady, ’tis indeed a precious tale to tell, that the Earl of Buchan was
refused herborow within the Castle of his brother of Moray.”
“Again I repeat that it doleth me sore,” said the Earl of Moray, “that
I should be compelled to put on the semblance of inhospitality, and,
above all, towards thee, my Lord of Buchan, with whom I am so nearly
and dearly allied. But in this case, were I even to set the Bishop’s
threats at defiance in order to receive thee, thou must be aware that
it would only expose thee to certain disgrace; for, of a truth, thy
presence would quickly clear my hall of all the noble guests who are to
feast within its walls. Would, then, that I could incline thee to
follow my counsel, and that thou wouldst be content to ride with me to
Elgin, to appease the Bishop’s wrath, that he may remove his Episcopal
curse. We should be back here long ere cock-crow, and——”
“Thou hast had my mind on that head already, brother John,” cried the
Wolfe, interrupting him, in a rage. “By the mass, but it is a cheap
thing for thee to make trade and chevisaunce of another’s pride; but,
by the blood of the Bruce, I promise thee, I shall give up no title of
mine to swell that of the lossel drone of a Bishop; so make thyself
easy on that score. What! to be trampled on by a walthsome massmonger,
and then to go cap-in-hand, that he may put his plebeian foot on my
neck! My horse there—my horse, I say. What stand the knaves staring
for? I bid thee goode’en, my Lord of Moray. I’ll to Forres then, to inn
me, sith I may not put my leprous hide within thy pure and unsullied
walls. God be with thee, Sir Patrick Hepborne;” and so saying he sprang
into his saddle.
“But,” said the Earl of Moray, “though I cannot receive thee at
present, my Lord of Buchan, I shall be right glad to do all the honour
I may to Sir Alexander Stewart and the rest of my nevoys.”
“Gramercy for thy courtesy,” cried the proud and fierce Sir Alexander;
“sith thou dost hold my father as a polluted and pestilential guest,
thou shalt have none of my company, I promise thee.”
“Ha! well said, son Alexander,” shouted the Wolfe joyously; “well said,
my brave boy; by my beard, but thou hast spoken bravely. To Forres
then, my merry men.”
And without abiding farther parlance, the hasty Wolfe of Badenoch, with
Sir Alexander and the younger Stewarts, rode off at a hand-gallop,
followed by their retinue. Sir Andrew, however, remained quietly
behind, and manifested no inclination to accompany his father.
“And now, Sir Patrick Hepborne,” said the Earl of Moray, “I have to
crave thy pardon for having been thus so long neglectful of thee on a
first meeting; but, I trow, I need hardly apologise, since thou hast
thyself seen and heard enow, I ween, to plead my excuse with thee. This
matter hath in very sooth most grievously affected me. It hath truly
given me more teene and vexation than I can well tell thee. But I shall
to Forres by times i’ the morning, and then essay to soothe my Lord of
Buchan into greater moderation and a more reasonable temper than he
hath just displayed. Meanwhile the Countess Margery doth abide for us
in the pavilion. Let us then hasten thither, so please thee, for she
will not leave it to go to the Castle until I rejoin her, and verily it
waxeth late, and the nobles and barons will ere this be assembling in
Randolph’s Hall.”
The Earl now led the way across the bridge, and thence towards the
pavilions. As they approached the great one, before which his banner
was displayed, a group of squires, grooms, and caparisoned palfreys
appeared promenading in front of it.
“Yea, I see that her palfrey is ready,” said the Earl; “nay, yonder she
issues forth to meet us.”
He dismounted, and Hepborne, following his example, was straightway
introduced by him to the Countess, who received him with great kindness
and courtesy.
“Nevoy,” said she to Sir Andrew Stewart, who approached to salute her,
“I do most sincerely grieve at the cause of my brother the Earl of
Buchan’s absence. I hope, however, it will be but short, sith I trust
the holy Bishop Barr will not be inexorable, and that thy father will
join our festivities ere long. But where are thy brethren?”
“We shall talk of that anon,” said the Earl, wishing to get rid of an
unpleasant subject; “meanwhile let us not lose time, for it waxeth
late, and our presence at the Castle is doubtless looked for ere now.
Get thee to horse, then, my sweet lady spouse, with what haste thou
mayest.”
Hepborne advanced and gave his arm to the Countess, and having assisted
her into her saddle, the whole party mounted to accompany her to
Tarnawa. During their short ride through the forest, Hepborne enjoyed
enough of the conversation of the Earl and Countess to give him a very
favourable impression of both. The lady, in particular, showed so much
sweetness of disposition that he could not help contrasting her in his
own mind with her brother, the savage and ferocious Wolfe, to make up
whose fiery and intemperate character to its full strength, Nature
seemed to have robbed her soft and peaceful soul of every spark of
violence that might have otherwise fallen to its share in the original
mixture of its elements. Sound reason and good sense, indeed, seemed in
her to be united with a most winning kindness and sweetness of manner,
and it was quite a refreshment to Sir Patrick to meet with society so
tranquil and rational after that of the ever-raging and tempestuous
spirits with whom he had been lately consorting. The Countess failed
not to notice the handsome page, Maurice de Grey; but her attentions to
him were of a very different description from those of the Lady Mariota
Athyn, which had so afflicted him at Lochyndorbe. She spoke to him with
gentleness, and having been made aware of his family and history by
Hepborne, manifested the interest she took in the boy in a manner so
delicate that he was already disposed to cling to her as willingly as
he had before wished to avoid the Lady Mariota.
As they approached the straggling hamlet, through which lay the
immediate approach to the Castle, its inhabitants, as well as the
peasants from the neighbouring cottages, were collected together. Men,
women, and children came crowding about them for the mere pleasure of
beholding the Earl and his Countess, and the grateful hearts of these
poor creatures burst forth in showers of blessings on the heads of
their benefactors.
“God bless the noble pair!”—“There they come, God bless them!”—“May the
blessing of St. Andrew—may the holy Virgin’s choicest blessings be
about them!”—“What should we poor folk do an ’twere na for them?”—“What
should we do if anything should come over them?”—“Heaven preserve their
precious lives?”—“May Heaven long spare them to be a comfort and a
defence to us all!”—“God bless the noble Earl, and Heaven’s richest
blessings be showered on the angel Countess!”
Such was the abundant and gratifying reward these noble and generous
hearts received for well fulfilling the duties of the high station
their lot had placed them in. They replied graciously to those simple
but sincere benisons, and though in haste, the Countess more than once
reined up her palfrey as she passed along the lane they opened for her,
to make inquiries after the complaints, distresses, and wants of
particular individuals; and where the matter admitted of her relief,
she failed not to give an order to attend at the Castle at her daily
hour of audience.