On the second morning after his throning, Kenric, assuming again his
clothes of deerskin, walked over to Kilmory Castle, and there held
counsel with his steward concerning the way in which he was to pay
tribute to his overlord the King of Scots. As a newly-elected king it
was necessary for him to offer homage to King Alexander in person. But
he did not yet know in which of the royal castles his Majesty might be
found, and he had need to cross over to Arran to make inquiries of Sir
Piers de Currie, who, as he knew, had lately had audience with the King.
Sir Oscar Redmain, in giving him his instructions, asked him if his son
Allan might accompany him to Scotland.
"There is no youth in all Bute whom I would rather take with me," said
Kenric, "for I have now no comrade of my own years since my brother
Alpin is no longer alive; and methinks that Allan might well become to
me the true friend that he ever was to Alpin. If he will come with me
even now I will take him across to Castle Ranza, and we may then speak
of our approaching journey."
Allan was then out in the fields, but he was soon found, and the two
lads, armed with bows and dirks, went together down to the bay of St.
Ninian's. Four fishermen there launched a boat for them, and rowing out
under the little island of Inch Marnock, they then hoisted sail and sped
across the Sound of Bute with a fresh western wind.
Not long were they in crossing the channel between Bute and Arran, and
at the northwest of the latter island they steered round into the
beautiful and quiet Loch Ranza. At the head of this inlet of the sea,
and standing out upon a narrow neck of land commanding the bay, was Sir
Piers de Currie's castle. Like many of the smaller fortresses of that
time, the castle of Ranza was built, not of stone, but of heavy oak
timbers of double walls that were filled in between with stones and
turf, and so wondrously strong and thick that fire alone might destroy it.
Landing at a little stone pier, Kenric and Allan went up to the castle
front. Allan blew his hunting horn. The guard ordered the drawbridge to
be lowered, and the two lads entered. They were met at the inner gates
by the Lady Grace de Currie and her five young boys and girls, who
accompanied them into the great drinking hall. Then as they were taking
the hospitality that was offered them, Kenric told of how the three
island kings had come to Bute, and how his father and Alpin had been slain.
Much concerned was the lady of Ranza at all this -- for she had heard
but a fisherman's account of what had befallen the house of Rothesay --
and more than all was she grieved at the late illness of her dear friend
the Lady Adela.
"So now," said Kenric when he had modestly spoken of his kingship, "I
would see your husband, for, as I hear, he has newly been to Scotland,
and can tell me where I may meet King Alexander."
"Sir Piers," said she smiling, "went forth at sunrise with his men, and
is even now upon the mountains in search of sport. I fear he will not be
back ere morning, for you know his habit of wandering for days together
among the hills. So I beg you, my lord Kenric -- and you also, Allan --
rest you here in our castle until Sir Piers returns."
"Yes, Kenric, stay, and I will show you my new bow, and you shall see
how well I can now aim," said little Fergus (the same who in the
aftertime fought so valiantly at Bannockburn).
"No," said Kenric, "I cannot stay, for on the morrow I must even be back
in Bute to take my seat at the assize that has been called, and I would
not willingly neglect the first duty that has fallen to me."
"Why, then," said Allan Redmain, "let us both to the mountains, my lord.
There is no pass or crag in the north of Arran that my foot has not
trod, and it will go hard if we find not Sir Piers in a few hours' time."
Thereupon Kenric and Allan, leaving their four men at the castle, walked
round by the shore side to Glen Catacol, and through a gloomy pass that
led far up into the craggy mountains, where the eagle reigned on high
and the red deer ran wild and free.
Now Allan Redmain was a most venturesome youth. He was taller by a head
than Kenric, strong of limb and surefooted as a mountain goat. Heedless
of the danger into which he was taking his king, he led the way into the
wildest fastnesses of Ben Bharrain, by paths that even the hunted stag
might fear to tread.
In vain did they search for any sign that would bring them to Sir Piers
de Currie and his band of hunters. No sound of rallying horn, no voice
of man reached their ears, but only the drumming cry of the wild grouse
or the short sharp bark of the fox; and when, after much scraping of
bare knees, they scaled the steep mountain's peak and stood upon the
lofty height, where the heather grew crisp and short, they sat down and
let the cool wind blow against their flushed faces. Then with keen eyes
they scanned each crag and fell, searching in gully and glen, in hollow
and on height. But though they saw many herds of deer, yet of huntsmen
they saw no sign.
"Methinks, Allan," said Kenric, "that 'tis but a foolish thing we have
done to come on this fruitless journey. One might wander for a week upon
these barren wastes and yet never encounter those whom we seek. Better
had we remained in Castle Ranza. What say you to our returning?"
"Could we but get a shot at a good stag," said Allan, "our journey might
yet be well repaid."
"And wherefore kill a stag, if we must needs leave his carcase for the
carrion crows? If 'tis practice with your bow you want, why, have we not
that in abundance on our own island?"
"Ah, but to be up here as it were among the very clouds!" said Allan.
"Beats not your heart with quicker joy, Kenric, when you breathe the
keen mountain air -- when your eyes rest upon so vast a stretch of sea
and land as we now behold? I know no pleasure so sweet as this."
"Methinks," said Kenric, "that were Sir Piers de Currie here, and I had
fulfilled my purpose in crossing to Arran, then this joy you speak of
were not greater than my own. But when I go out hunting, Allan, I like
to hunt; when I come over to ask a question of our neighbour, it is not
to my humour to be thus stranded upon a hilltop. So now, if it please
you, we will return to Ranza."
"Nay, I go not from these mountains ere I have once drawn the bow," said
Allan. "'Tis a chance that I do not have too often; and now that we are
so far I would go to yonder gully where but a while ago we saw that vast
herd of deer enter. Come."
"Methinks, Allan Redmain," said Kenric, "that 'tis you who have come
with me to Arran, not I with you, and I beg you to at once return with me."
Allan was about to turn round upon Kenric with an angry word, when
suddenly he minded that the lad was his lord and king.
"Oh, my lord, my lord!" he cried, "pardon me -- I beg you pardon me, for
in truth I had forgotten your kingship. It was wrong in me thus to
oppose my will to yours."
"Nay, Allan, believe me, I would not have you thus regard me at all
times as your master, but rather as your friend. Nevertheless, if my
office is to be remembered, then methinks it is well that we should
search for Sir Piers, and not think of hunting after stags. Now take me
back to Castle Ranza by the nearest way."
Allan then turned and led the way across the eastern shoulder of the
mountain and down a wild ravine towards Glen Catacol. In the bed of the
ravine there coursed a turbulent torrent, swollen by the rains of the
night before. They walked along a narrow goat track from which the rocky
ground sloped sharply downward into the stream. From beyond a turning in
this path they heard the swelling roar of a waterfall.
Scarce had they made this turning, when, above the noise of the
cataract, they heard the yelping of a deer hound. Kenric was now in
advance of his companion, and they were just above the point where the
waterfall turned over into a deep chasm.
"A stag! a stag!" cried Kenric as he promptly took an arrow and fixed it
to his bowstring.
Allan followed his example. Kenric knelt down on one knee and levelled
his arrow. Allan made ready to shoot over Kenric's shoulder. A noble
stag, with wide-spreading antlers of twelve points, seemed almost to be
flying towards them along the narrow path. An arrow was half buried in
his bleeding flank; a pair of shaggy deer hounds were behind in mad pursuit.
"Now!" cried Kenric.
The bowstrings twanged, and the two arrows speeding in their deadly
flight plunged side by side into the stag's broad chest. The noble
animal stumbled, regained his footing, and ran on. Nearer and nearer he
came, panting, moaning, glaring with wild and frightened eyes. To his
right was a steep wall of rock, to his left a fall of thirty feet into
the surging waters below the cataract. At his heels were the dogs, in
front of him the two youths ready with another charge of arrows. There
was no way of escape.
"Lie down, my lord! -- quick, lie down!" cried Allan, firing his dart.
The arrow rattled upon the stag's antlers. The stag bounded forward with
one of the hounds upon his back, then stumbled upon his knees. Kenric
rose and ran to dirk him ere he should have time to regain his feet.
"Comeback, come back!" shouted Allan.
But Kenric, little heeding the danger, or not hearing the cry of warning
amid the roaring of the water, was about to draw his dirk, when the stag
fell over with the weight of the second hound. One of his antler points
caught in the string of Kenric's bow.
Then Allan Redmain saw a sight that filled him with dismay. Kenric,
still holding his bow that was entangled in the stag's horns, lost his
footing; the stag rolled over; and Kenric fell, with his legs astride of
the animal's belly. Then all four -- Kenric, the stag, and the two dogs
-- struggling each with his own purpose, slipped swiftly down the
sloping precipice, and plunged into the deep and surging linn below the
foaming waterfall.
Allan Redmain, alone now upon that narrow path, uttered a loud cry as he
saw his young master disappear through the mist of spray that rose from
below the cataract. Well did he know that even if Earl Kenric had not
been killed, he yet was unable to swim.
Thoughts more dreadful than he had ever known coursed through Allan's
mind at that moment. Kenric the young king, the only hope of Bute,
killed? and he, Allan Redmain, had not saved him!
He looked around for help. In that desolate place what help could he
expect? But he tarried not long to think of how he should act. At the
risk of his own life he was bound to do what he could. Grasping his
longbow in his two hands and using it as a skid, and digging his heels
firmly into the stony ground of the sloping precipice, he went down foot
by foot, now swaying this way and now that as the loose stones slipped
before his feet. Down, down he went until he came at last to the level
top of a steep rock that stood over the brink of the deep linn.
In the eddying water that swirled and boiled as in a cauldron at the
base of the cataract he saw one of the stag hounds struggling, trying
vainly to keep its head above the surface; but nowhere Kenric, nowhere
even the stag. He lay down upon the rock and drew himself to its edge
that he might look below into the water at its base. But the water
rushed past in bubbling sweep, and yet there was no sign.
Then, still in hope that he might yet find the young king, he rose to
his feet and threw himself headlong into the linn. Deep, deep he sank,
and the strong undercurrent tossed about him, seized him in its fearful
grip, and swept him downward in its course. Rising to the surface he
tried with all his strength to swim against the current to the spot
where Kenric had fallen in.
Not long had he thus endeavoured when his strength failed him. He felt
himself being drawn under. It came to be a matter of saving his own life
now -- saving it that he might live to carry the sad news home to
Rothesay. So he turned round with the stream and swam towards a great
flat rock in mid-current. As he neared it a strange sight met his eyes.
On the rock was the dead stag. A stream of crimson blood trickled down
from its broad chest, staining the white rock. Sitting upon the stag,
with folded arms and dripping hair, and eyes fixed in dreamy admiration
upon the tumbling waters of the White Lady Falls, was Kenric the king.
The great cataract curled over the topmost rocks in a smooth brown
volume, turned into pure white foam as it fell and bounded with roaring
noise into the deep chasm below. A cloud of spray rose from the depths,
and where the sunbeams crossed it there was a beautiful arc of light
showing all the colours of the rainbow. Kenric seemed to be lost in
contemplation of the wild scene.
Suddenly he turned his head and looked up the frowning hillside. Above
the noise of the falling water he had heard his name called. He stood
up, and holding on with one hand to the stag's spreading antler, with
the other he shaded his eyes and searched for a sign of Allan Redmain.
The goat track was hidden from his view; but at the spot where he had
first seen the stag running he now saw a party of five men, who, with
their leader, Sir Piers de Currie, were following the trail of the
wounded animal.
Kenric then knelt against the dead stag, and, thrusting his fingers into
his mouth, gave a shrill whistle.
At that moment Allan Redmain clambered upon the rock at his side,
emptied his horn of the water that was in it, and blew as lusty a blast
as his enfeebled breath could send forth.
Kenric started back at the sound like one who had seen a ghost, for he
had known nothing of Allan's movements until this moment. But now he
quickly understood what his friend had done for his sake, and he put his
hand upon Allan's shoulder lovingly.
Within a little while the two lads were rescued from their perilous
situation. With the help of the ropes that the men of Ranza had brought
to bind the deer upon their ponies' backs, first Kenric, then the dead
stag, and lastly Allan Redmain, were taken off the rock. The two hounds
were, however, lost.
Saving for a few bruises and scratches, neither Kenric nor Allan had
received much hurt. But this accident, which might have proved so
disastrous to the isle of Bute, bound the Earl Kenric and Allan Redmain
together in a close fellowship, which lasted until they were both
gray-haired old men.