It was a bright, hot summer day, the sky without a cloud, the air
without a breeze. The sports of the morning were over, the hounds had
returned to their kennel, the slaughtered stag was brought in, the
horses were in the stable, the hunters seeking repose. The old palace
of Falkland, where James V. drew the last breath of a life which had
become burdensome, rose stately amidst its gardens and woods; and the
old trees, but few of which now remain in the neighbourhood, then
spread their wide branches over the velvet turf; in some places
approaching so near to the building, as, when the wind waved them, to
brush with their long fingers the palace walls. James himself had gone
in about an hour before, rejoiced with the success, but fatigued with
the exertions, of the chase; and all the ladies of the court were
screening their beauty in the shady halls, from the glare of the full
sun.
It has often struck me, in looking at the finer paintings of Claude de
Lorraine--and they are not all really fine--and in contemplating the
calm, quiet, sunny scenes they represent, that the painter must have
chosen, by preference, that hour when, under the summer skies of
Italy, all nature seems to be taking a mid-day slumber. Such was the
aspect of the scene about the palace of Falkland on the day of which I
speak. Looking towards the wood, and with one's back towards the
palace, so as to shut out its memorial of active life, one might have
fancied that one was in the midst of some primeval solitude, or else
that the whole world, oppressed with the heat, was sound asleep. No
moving object was to be seen; not a forester or keeper was within
sight; the deer were hidden in the coverts of the wood; the very birds
seemed to avoid the glare; and the court servants themselves--those
busy toilers--were all enjoying the repose afforded by the weariness
of their lords.
At length, however, after the scene had remained thus quiet for about
half an hour, a very young but very handsome man sauntered forth from
one of the smaller doors of the building, crossed the warm green in
front, turned to one of the old trees, stood for a moment under the
shade, and then walked languidly to another, near an opposite angle of
the palace. He seemed seeking a place for repose, but difficult to
please, for he again left that tree and strolled to its green
neighbour, where, stretching himself on the grass, he laid a book,
which he carried with him, open on the ground, and supporting his
head with his arm, gave himself up to thought. Oh, the thoughts of
youth--the gay, the whirling, dream-like thoughts of youth! How
pleasant is the visionary trance which boys and girls call meditation!
True, youth has its pains as well as pleasures, both eager, intense,
and thrilling; but it wants the fears and doubts of experience, that
bitterest fruit of long life. The cloud may hang over it for an hour,
but the breath of hope soon wafts it away, and it is not till the
storm comes down in its full fury that youth will believe there are
tempests in the sky.
There he lay and thought, with the branches waving gently over him,
and the chequered light and shade playing on his face and on the open
pages of the unread book beside him. The air was very sultry, even
beneath the shadow of the trees, and he untied the cord which confined
his silken vest at the neck, displaying a skin almost as fair as a
woman's, although exercise, it would seem, was not wanting to give a
browner hue; for even then he looked fatigued as well as heated, and
there was dust upon his hair and upon his dress, as if he had ridden
far and long that day. Weariness, and the hot summer air, with the
playing of the shadows over his face, seemed to render him sleepy. His
eyes looked heavy for a moment or two, the eyelids closed, opened
again, closed once more, and there he lay, sound, sound asleep, not
unlike what we may fancy was the shepherd boy of Latmus, when under
the influence of the fair queen of night.
Some quarter of an hour had passed, and he still lay sleeping there,
when round that angle of the building near which the tree grew, came
walking, with a slow pace, a man of middle age, with an ungraceful
gait, and of an ungainly appearance. He was habited in a suit of
green, with a large ruff round his neck, and a tall crowned gray hat
and feather; but he wore neither cloak nor sword, and instead of the
latter, bore a small knife or dagger, stuck into his girdle on the
left side. He, like the youth, seemed to have come out of the palace
for fresher air than could be found within; and he, too, appeared in a
meditative mood, for he walked with his eyes bent down, and his hand,
in no very courtly fashion, scratching his breast. Nevertheless, from
time to time, he gave a glance around; and the second time he did so,
his eye fell upon the sleeping youth beneath the tree. With a quiet
step he approached his side, but was instantly attracted by the open
book, and took it up.
"Ay," murmured he, in a low tone, "love songs! That's just it; fit
food for such a wild, empty-pated callant's brain."
Thus saying, he laid down the book again, and gazed upon the young
man's face.
Suddenly he saw something which seemed to displease him mightily. His
cheek flushed, his brow contracted, and he set his teeth hard. Then,
bending down his head, he peered into the open bosom of the lad, and
even partly drew back the collar of his shirt. It was done quietly and
gently, but still it in some degree roused the sleeper, for he lifted
his hand and brushed his throat, as if a fly had settled on him. The
other started back instantly, but the young man did not wake; and the
one who watched him continued to gaze at him sternly, with many a
bitter feeling, it would appear, in his heart. His lip quivered; and
for a moment he held his hand upon the hilt of his dagger, with a
somewhat ominous look, and a cheek which had become pale. Then,
however, he seemed to have made up his mind as to what he should do;
and, stepping quietly back over the soft green turf, he approached one
of the doors of the palace, which was close at hand, and tried to open
it. It was locked, however, and turning on his heel again, with a low
muttered blasphemy, he went round the angle of the building by the way
which he had followed when he came.
Neither the sleeper, nor he who had lately stood beside him, was aware
that there was another eye upon them both; but the instant the latter
had departed, the door which he had tried in vain opened suddenly, and
the light beautiful form of Beatrice Ruthven darted forth, crossed the
green sward with the quick spring of a roe deer, and stooping over the
sleeping youth, without care or ceremony, she tore from his neck a
thick blue silk ribbon worked with gold.
The young man raised himself suddenly on his arm, looking surprised
and bewildered; but Beatrice laid her finger on her lips, merely
saying, in a low but emphatic tone, "Into the palace like lightning,
mad boy!" and away she sprang towards the building again, passed the
door, ran through the first passage, and up a narrow staircase to the
entrance of a room on the first floor. There she paused and listened
for a single instant, then threw the door open without ceremony and
ran in.
Anne of Denmark was seated at a table, writing; but the sudden opening
of the door made her lift her fair face with a look of some surprise
and displeasure; and she said, in a reproving tone, "Beatrice! What
now?"
Without reply, the fair girl darted forward in breathless haste, and
laid the ribbon on the table before the queen.
"Quick, madam! put it in the drawer," she said, in a low, hurried
tone. "Your majesty will see why in an instant;" and without waiting
for any answer, she hurried from the room by the same way she had
come, and closed the door.
There were several drawers in the writing table at which the queen was
seated; and opening one with a hand which trembled slightly, while her
cheek glowed a good deal, she placed the ribbon in it, closed it
again, and tried to resume her writing; but not more than one minute
had passed ere the step of the king was heard upon a staircase at the
opposite side of the apartments from that by which Beatrice had
entered, and a moment after James himself appeared, with a heavy scowl
upon his brow.
Anne of Denmark looked up, not without some timidity, though she was
by nature very intrepid. There was no expression, however, upon her
countenance which could betray the agitation within; and seeing the
look of anger and malice on James's face, she boldly took the
initiative, saying, "What is the matter, sir? You seem disordered."
"No, no, my bonny bairn," said James, "there's nothing the matter;
but I was just thinking what clever chiels those Italians are; and I
want to see that ribbon which I bought for you of the merchant man."
"Certainly, sir," replied the queen, rising, with an unconcerned look,
for she wished to test how far James's suspicions went; "you shall see
it in a moment."
"No," cried the king, hastily, thinking that the queen was going to
quit the chamber. "You had it in this room, madam, not so long ago
that you need go to seek it. It's here you keep all your gauds and
ornaments."
"Well, sir," answered Anne of Denmark, "I have no doubt that it is
here still; but I cannot even open the drawers of this table, to look
for it, without rising. I know not what is the matter with your
majesty, but your conduct is very strange."
"I just want to see the ribbon, madam, that is all; and I think it
must be in this chamber--if anywhere," was James's reply.
"Doubtless," answered Anne of Denmark, so far agitated as to open the
wrong drawer by mistake.
"It's no there," said the king, looking into the drawer. "There's
naething there but gloves, and bracelets, and such like clamjamfry."
"I see it is not, sir," replied the queen, turning over the things
with her hand; "but it may be somewhere else. Do you think any one has
stolen it?" And she opened the drawer in which it really was.
James did not reply to her question; but not a little astonishment was
painted on his rude coarse countenance, when Anne of Denmark drew
forth the ribbon and laid it in his hand. He continued to gaze at it
for a considerable time, and then put it closer to his eyes, to
examine it more carefully all over, as if he doubted that it was
really that which he had bestowed upon the queen. There it was,
however, precisely the same in every respect; and at length he gave it
her back again, and turning sharply on his heel, quitted the room,
muttering, loud enough for her to hear, "De'il tak me, if like be not
an ill mark."
A minute or two after, he was seen walking past the tree under which
Alexander Ruthven had been sleeping; but by that time the young
gentleman was gone.[4] One of the ordinary servants of the court
passed his majesty, bowing low, a moment after; and the king called
him up, saying, as he approached, "Go your ways, and rout me out
Doctor Herries and the man retiring," James continued to walk up and
down till he was joined by the person whom he had sent for. They then
turned to the farther part of the gardens, much to the disappointment
of Beatrice Ruthven, who saw all that passed from the window of a room
immediately below that of the queen, and who had hoped to gather, at
least from their demeanour, some indications of what was passing in
regard to her brother. I will not say that she would not have listened
eagerly to their conversation if the opportunity had presented itself;
and perhaps the circumstances in which she was placed might be some
justification of an act otherwise mean and pitiful; for, as the reader
will see in the subsequent chapter, she had accidentally obtained
information of designs the most treacherous against one dear brother,
of whose high principles and noble conduct she could not entertain a
doubt.
The king and his companion, however, walked away to the other side of
the garden, as I have said, and stayed there for nearly half an hour,
while Beatrice remained in anxious and painful thought. Her head
rested on her hand, as she sat near the open window; and she had taken
no note of how the time passed, when at length the sounds of people
speaking as they walked by below, caught her ear. She would not move
in the slightest degree; she even held her breath, lest she should
lose one sound, and the next instant she distinguished the king's
peculiar tone. The words as yet she could not hear, and still less
those of Herries in his reply, though she recognised his voice at
once.
The next instant, however, the sounds rose louder, and James was heard
to say, "No, no, that will never do. We should lose our grip of the
old bird, while wringing the neck of the young one; and there would be
such a dust about it, that we should never see our way clear after."
"There, I think, your majesty is right," said Herries; "but if you
will be advised by me there is a way to----"
Beatrice lost the conclusion of the sentence, for they moved on
towards the other end of the terrace. She knew, however, that none of
the royal apartments lay in that direction, and that the only door by
which the king could enter led through the great hall, where he must
necessarily encounter a number of the servants and followers of the
court, a thing which James rarely desired. She approached somewhat
nearer the window then, calculating that the two who had passed would
return by the same way; nor was she disappointed, for, in a very few
minutes, she heard the voices again, and the words of the king soon
became audible. They were of no great importance, indeed, and conveyed
no information but that which she already possessed--namely, that both
her elder brothers were the principal objects, for the time, of
James's hatred and suspicion.
"The de'il helps they Ruthvens, I think," said the monarch. "The one
brother conveys himself away just at the minute when we have got all
ready for him; and the other sends a token I would swear to, fleeing
through the walls of Falkland like a conjuror."
This was all that Beatrice heard, but after they had passed the
window, Doctor Herries replied, "The devil always helps his own,
sire."
"And that's well said," answered the king, "for we have information to
be relied upon, that this Earl of Gowrie, when in the city of Padua,
had long and familiar dealings with a reputed sorcerer and magician,
some of whose infernal arts he has doubtless acquired or contracted.
Such matters are difficult of proof, for deeds of darkness hide
themselves from the light. But time discovers many things, and
Sathanus deals with his pets as we do with the birds and beasts which
we keep for our food. He pats them on the back till his time comes,
and then he cuts their weasands."
Doctor Herries smiled, for he was not so credulous in matters of
demonology as his master; but by this time they had reached one of the
smaller doors of the palace, which stood open, and they went in.