SEQUEL TO THE INVASION.
_Ayliffe._--'Tis bold--'tis very bold!
_Restalrig._-- I tell you, sir,
There be more Arrans and more Lennoxes
On Scottish ground than you in England wot of.
_Earl Gowrie--A Tragedy._
Four days after the battle, _i.e._, the 14th of September, Holyrood
Day, or the Festival of the Exaltation of the Cross, a time when
children were wont of old to commence nutting in the woods, the town
of Stirling, the great abbey of Cambus Kenneth, and all the
strongholds in their vicinity, were crowded with fugitives; and
masses of retreating soldiers occupied all the passages, fords, and
roads towards the north. Mary of Lorraine, with her suite, and the
Regent Arran, attended by many officers of state and barons of his
house held a solemn and somewhat bitter council, to deliberate on the
future, in that vaulted chamber of the castle of Stirling wherein, a
hundred and eighteen years before, Queen Jane had brought James II.
into the world, and in which the traitor Walter, son of Murdoch Duke
of Albany, passed his last night on earth, the 18th of May, 1426. On
this day many met who deemed each other had perished on the field.
Hither came the Lord Kilmaurs, now fifth Earl of Glencairn, wearing a
black scarf over his armour as mourning for his father's fall; hither
came also the regent's brother, John Abbot of Paisley, lord high
treasurer; William Commendator of Culross, the comptroller of
Scotland; and David Panater, the classic bishop of Ross, who was
still secretary of state; Lord Errol, the high constable; the Earls
of Cassilis, Mar, and many others, including the lairds of Fawside
and Preston.
Arran was pale, and his eye was red and feverish. He still wore the
suit of hacked and dinted mail, which he had never put off since the
day on which he fought the fatal battle. It had lost all its
brilliance; and he was now without his splendid orders of St. Andrew,
St. Michael, and the Golden Fleece, all of which he had lost in that
dreadful _mêlée_ when his main body closed with the English under the
Earl of Warwick.
"Taunt me not, my lords," said he bitterly, in reply to the angry
remarks of some who were present; "I feel too keenly my own position
and this crisis of the national affairs. Alas!" he added, striking
his gauntleted hand on the oak table, "I can never more hold up my
crest in Scotland; and it is a crest, sirs, that has never yet
stooped, even to those kings with whom we have been allied."
"Say not so, my lord," said the gentle Mary of Lorraine, on whom the
countesses of Yarrow, Huntly, Mar, and Athole were in attendance, and
who felt a sympathy for the somewhat unmerited shame that stung the
proud heart of Arran; "do not blame yourself for having fought this
field of Pinkey."
"I do not blame myself for having fought, but for having lost it,
madam."
"After this admission, my lord, even your enemies can have nothing
more to urge."
"Nay," said the fierce young Earl of Glencairn, while his eyes shot a
baleful gleam, "lay the blame on those hireling Germans of Pieter
Mewtas and those heretical Spaniards, whose graves I hope to dig in
some deep glen between the Torwood and the Tweed. What availed our
old-fashioned battle-axes, our mauls and maces, spears and bows,
against gunpowder and the close-volleyed shot of culverins and
arquebuses?"
"The English are loitering in Lothian still," observed the Earl of
Cassilis, "and the dead are yet unburied on the field."
"Woe is me!" added the abbot of Paisley, who fought there among the
band of monks, "how close and thick the slain were lying!"
"Yea, my lord abbot; Duke Somerset's plunderers may win a bushel of
golden spurs for the Lombard Jews in London, if they choose to glean
among the dead men's heels--my brave father's among the rest," said
Glencairn; "for, shot dead by a Spanish arquebuse, he fell by my
side, when together we attempted to ford the water of the Esk."
"But _you_ escaped, my Lord Kilmaurs," said Arran significantly; for
he knew well the secret treason of the father and son, and cordially
hated them both.
"Escaped by favour of the patron saint of Scotland," added the abbot
of Paisley, to soften the taunt of which he dreaded the result.
"Escaped by favour of a sharp sword and fleet horse," rejoined
Glencairn sourly; "for I may assure ye, sirs, that the patron saint
of Scotland seemed to have other business on hand than attending to
any of us on that day--my unworthy self in particular."
"Or it might be that the smoke of the gunpowder bewildered him, as it
did his grace the regent," was the taunting surmise of Cassilis.
"And now, my brave Fawside," said Arran, turning to Florence, as he
felt the earl's insolence, and wished to change the conversation,
"what recompense can I give you for your services--for your valour on
that fatal tenth of September."
"I have performed no services superior to those of other men, my
lord," said Florence modestly.
"Do you consider bearing to me the letters of Henry of Valois; that
covering our retreat at Inveresk, and routing by three desperate
charges the demi-lances of Vane and the Spaniards of Gamboa; that
saving the life of the Countess of Yarrow, and assisting to escort
the queen to Stirling, are no services?"
"Lord regent, they were but duties which every loyal gentleman owed
to the crown, and nothing more."
"I dispute while I admire your modest spirit. You shall be a knight,
as your father was; though that is but a meagre recompense as
knighthoods go in these days of ours. Have you no boon to ask?"
Florence glanced timidly towards the Countess of Yarrow, and was
silent, though his poor heart was beating with love and anxiety.
Claude Hamilton detected the glance, rapid and covert though it was,
and frowned so deeply, that Arran, though unable to understand what
new turn matters had taken between these troublesome and hereditary
enemies, was too politic to notice it, but held out his right hand to
the old baron, saying,--
"And thou, stout kinsman, I rejoice to see thee safe, for I heard
somewhat of a dangerous wound."
"Nay, Arran, I am free even of a scratch."
"'Twas not your fault, laird, if you escaped so well."
Preston felt the compliment these words conveyed, and bowed low in
reply. These conversational remarks over, the regent and others were
about to resume the consideration of the present warlike and
political crisis, when the constable of the castle entered hurriedly
to announce "a messenger from Edinburgh, with tidings for my lord
regent."
"Admit him instantly," exclaimed Arran, starting from his seat; and
all eyes were turned towards the door.
The messenger appeared, clad still in his riding-cloak, armour, and
muddy boots, the spurs of which bore traces of blood, for he had
ridden hard and fast.
"The Master of Lyle!" exclaimed Arran. "Speak, sir, are the English
advancing hither!"
"Nay, my lord regent--the reverse," replied the master smiling.
"Retreating?"
"Yes, as I myself have seen," replied Lyle gaily enough, though he
was one of the traitor faction, or had been so until the merciless
slaughter of Pinkey soured his heart against England. "This day at
noon the Duke of Somerset broke up from his camp and commenced his
homeward march, drawing together all his ravagers and foraging
parties, while his fleet, under the Lord Clinton, has already left
the Firth of Forth, and sailed towards their own seas."
This intelligence, which other messengers soon confirmed, caused the
utmost rejoicing in the minds of all save Arran, who, covered with
shame and mortification by his late defeat, was longing for another
trial of strength with the foe, while Mary of Lorraine was desirous
of peace at any price, as she felt sure that _now_ the Scots would
never break their ancient league with France; and that the fatal
events of the 10th September, would soon place the regency of the
realm in her own hands, and thus enable her to advance the interest
of the House of Guise and the Church of Rome.
To keep Florence near her own person, as she found him useful,
faithful, and liked his society, she made him captain of her guard,
in place of Livingstone of Champfleurie; but the Countess of Yarrow
was no longer at court, as Claude Hamilton, in his capacity of tutor
or guardian, appointed by the will of her father the earl, had
removed her to Edinburgh. Thus Florence felt an irrepressible gloom
over him, a moodiness of spirit, which not even the dazzling favour,
or seductive society of Mary of Lorraine could relieve.
The English Protector had fortunately neither the enterprise nor
firmness of mind to improve the victory he had won, by making a rapid
march to Stirling,--a movement by which he might perhaps have secured
the great object of his wanton and daring campaign, the person of the
young queen, before she could be sent to France. Instead of this
decisive advance, which, at all events would have complicated and
protracted the war, he wasted his time in petty ravages throughout
the Lothians; and on hearing tidings of a conspiracy formed against
him in England, he made all preparations for a sudden retreat, and
finally did so, on the 18th September, thus remaining exactly one
week after the battle was won.
The events of this campaign, together with an inroad made on the 8th
September, by the Lord Wharton, and Mathew Stuart, the outlawed Earl
of Lennox, who with five thousand men, ravaged all the Western
Borders and stormed the stronghold of Castle-milk, destroyed the town
of Annan, and blew up its church, increased the general indignation
of the people at the rash attempts to force them into a matrimonial
alliance with England; and now, by the affectionate energy of Mary of
Lorraine, prompt measures were at once adopted for the transmission
of the little queen to France.
This proposal was warmly received by Monsieur d'Oysell the ambassador
of Henry II., who assured the Scottish peers that the House of Valois
would never fail in maintaining the ancient alliance which had
subsisted between the two countries since the days of Charlemagne.
"And be assured, my lords," added Mary of Lorraine, who had all the
boldness which characterized the House of Guise, "that the dauphin of
France, heir of the first kingdom in Europe, is a more suitable
consort for Mary of Scotland than this English king, whose
pretensions to her hand have been supported by every violence and
barbarity of which the worst of men are capable."
Soon after these proceedings, the Sieur Nicholas de Villegaignon, in
the same ship which brought Florence from France, anchored in the
Firth of Forth, to receive the queen, who, with her train, had been
removed to the sequestered priory of Inchmahoma, or "the Isle of
Rest" in the Loch of Menteith.
"Thus," according to one of our historians, "England discovered that
the idea that a free country was to be compelled into a pacific
matrimonial alliance amid the groans of its dying citizens, and the
flames of its cities and seaports, was revolting and absurd!"
Such was the _sequel_ to the campaign of 1547.