THE MASTER OF THE ORDNANCE.
"The bride into her bower is sent,
The ribald rhyme and jesting spent;
The lover's whispered words and few,
Have bade the bashful maid adieu;
The dancing floor is silent quite,
No foot bounds there--Good night! good night!"
JOANNA BAILLIE.
Evening was closing, when a brilliantly-attired cavalier caracoled
his horse from the palace porch, past the high Flemish gables of an
ancient edifice, which was then the Mint of Scotland, past the strong
round archway known as the Water Gate, because it led to the great
horsepond of the palace, and throwing a handful of groats (twenty to
king James's golden penny) among the poor dyvours who clustered round
the girth cross of the Holy Sanctuary, rode up the Canongate. It was
Sir Roland Vipont, the master of the king's ordnance.
Compared to the bustle it had exhibited at noon, the street, though
many still thronged it, seemed lifeless and empty. The windows were
closed, the balconies deserted, the banners, pennons, and tapestry
hung pendant and motionless, and the gay garlands were withering on
the stone cross of St. John of Jerusalem. Casting a hasty glance
around him to discover whether he was observed (for the political,
feudal, and court intrigues of the time made it necessary that his
visit to the family of Ashkirk should be as little noted as
possible), he dismounted.
A low-browed pend, or archway, opening from the street, and
surmounted by a massive coat of arms within a deep square panel, gave
admittance to the paved court of the mansion. He led his horse
through, and was buckling the bridle to one of the numerous rings
with which, for the convenience of mounted visitors, the walls of the
court were furnished, when a man, who for some time before had been
standing in the shadow of the archway, roughly jostled him.
"How now, sirrah?" exclaimed Vipont, feeling for hie poniard, "what
mean you by this?"
"Pardon me--my foot tripped," replied the other, in a husky voice.
"Who are you," asked Vipont, suspiciously, "and what make you here,
sir?"
"In the first place, I am no friend of yours; in the second, my
purpose matters nothing to any man--so, keep your way, in Heaven's
name, and let me keep mine, or it may fare the worse with you."
"This is language rarely addressed to me."
"Thou!" said the other, scornfully, "and who art thou?"
"Devil choke thee, rascal!" exclaimed the soldier, angrily; "I am
master of the king's ordnance."
"To be master of your own temper would be better; but, like your
brass culverins, it seems apt to go off upon occasions."
"Hark you, sir; if you deem this witty, you are labouring under a
delusion; and, had I not matters of more importance in hand, by the
holy mass! I would break every bone in your body."
The other made no immediate reply, but his eyes gleamed like two red
coals beneath the black bonnet, which he wore drawn over his brows;
but he was so well muffled up by the cape of his large mantle, that
Sir Roland strove in vain to discover some clue as to whom he might
be, that was prowling by night near the mansion of the Setons; and
there was something so startling and cat-like in the aspect of his
eyes, that the soldier recoiled a pace.
"Sir Roland," continued the stranger, sarcastically, "you had acted a
wiser part in staying by James's side at Holyrood to-night, than in
forfeiting his fickle favour by visiting those who are his avowed
enemies."
"Thou liest, sirrah!" said Vipont, striking him on the shoulder with
his clenched hand. "The Setons of Ashkirk are loyal as any in the
land, and I will meet hand to hand, and body for body, any false
traitor that gainsays me. But keep your own way, in the devil's
name, and trouble me no more--so, a good even, sir."
"I bid thee joy of thy wooing, fair sir," replied the other,
scornfully, as the master of the ordnance entered, and closed the
gate behind him. It was Redhall who spoke, and a sigh of rage and
bitterness escaped him as Vipont approached the turnpike tower of the
mansion. "Painted wasp!" he exclaimed, as he walked hurriedly away,
"by Him who died upon the rood, that blow shall cost thee dear!"
Within an apartment which was completely hung with the richest arras,
though the floor was bare, the Countess of Ashkirk, her daughter, and
the ladies, were seated at various occupations. The old lady was
slowly and laboriously endeavouring to decipher, word by word, one of
those curious old tomes which, at times, issued from the shop of
Chepman and Millar, two ancient bibliopoles, who established, in the
Cowgate, the first printing-press in Scotland, in the time of James
IV., who granted them the privilege of "imprenting all bukes" within
the realm.
Alison Hume and the black page were playing at chess, the fair young
girl looking almost like a divinity when contrasted with the
frightful African boy; while Jane Seton and her dark-eyed kinswoman,
Sybil Douglas, influenced by that spirit of industry which then
pervaded all ranks, were plying their busy hands in embroidering a
velvet cover for a large vellum missal, which they were working in
flowers of gold and silk, and which was to be a donation from Jane to
her friend Josina Henrison, the lady superior of St. Catherine's
Convent, near the Burghloch.
The light of the setting sun streamed through the windows, and fell
upon their dark hair, as it mingled together, and edged their white
necks and nimble fingers with dazzling whiteness. A bell tolled at a
distance; they paused, and looked up.
"Eight o'clock," said the countess; "the bell is ringing for the
_compline_, at St. Marie of Placentia."
"And _he_ tarries yet," said Jane, in a low voice, to Sybil.
"Do not speak reproachfully, cousin," replied Sybil, gently; "he is
not always master of his own actions, and thou knowest well----"
The black page touched her arm, laid a finger on his great nether
lip, and pointed towards the street.
"Dear Sabrino," said Jane, "what dost thou hear?"
"Horse!" replied the page, briefly.
"Sabrino, thou hast the very ears of a bratch hound," said the
countess. "Now spurs are jingling under the pend--'tis he,"
continued the old lady, whose cheek flushed, and eyes filled with
joyous expectation. A manly step, and the clear ringing of silver
spurs, were heard ascending the stone staircase of the mansion; a
hand covered with a steel gauntlet drew back the heavy arras, and the
lights flashed on the glittering doublet and jewelled baldrick of Sir
Roland Vipont as he sprang blithely in.
"Heaven keep you, Lady Ashkirk, and you, my dear Jane, and all fair
ladies!" said he, bowing, and kissing all their hands. "Hail to
thee, merry Alison, and thou, my sad little Sybil! why, I have not
been long absent, and yet thou seemest quite a woman, now!"
"Welcome home--a thousand welcomes to thee, Roland, and a thousand
more!" said the countess, forgetting her starched dignity in her
native kindliness of heart, and kissing him on the forehead--for
though he was tall, they were nearly of a height--while Jane grew
pale with excitement, and then blushed with pleasure to see her
suitor looking so handsome in his rich attire--browned by nine
months' exposure to a continental sun, and appearing, if possible,
more graceful and athletic than ever. "Welcome, Roland," continued
the countess, passing her hand fondly over his broad, clear, open
forehead, his arched eyebrows, and his thick glossy hair; "we have
all heard how thou hast been proving thy prowess on the crests of
King Francis and his knights, and letting the gay tilters of Paris
and Versailles feel the weight of a tough Lowland spear in a true
Scottish hand."
"True, madam," replied the young man, laughing, and showing a set of
teeth which any of the fair belles present might have envied; "it
would have gladdened your haughty Douglas spirit, Lady Ashkirk, to
have seen King Francis with twenty Scottish knights keeping the old
wooden bridge of St. Michael at Paris for three days against our own
King James, with the best chivalry of Burgundy, Brabant, and Alsace,
and with all comers who chose to try their hardiment against us. By
my faith, sweet Jane, the knot of ribbands your dear hands wove in my
helmet were the mark of many a sword and many a spear during these
three brawling days; but they seemed to possess a charm, for thrust
of lance and blow of blade were levelled at them in vain. But what
think ye of the new queen we have brought you home? Is not the fair
Magdalene a mirror of beauty? and may not France and Scotland too be
proud of her? Jane, what sayest thou?"
"Hum!" said Jane, a little piqued at her lover's excessive admiration
for the queen; "methinks she is very passable."
"Passable! Ah, surely you can afford to praise her more than that.
I think she is like la belle Isonde, in Sir Thomas Malory's 'Romance
of King Arthur,'" replied Vipont, drawing near Jane, while, as if
instinctively, the other persons present withdrew to the extreme end
of the apartment, and conversed with the countess. "Now tell me,
thou merry wag, thy opinion of her."
"I do not think her by one half so charming as my own little self,"
replied Jane, archly; "and thou, who oughtest to have only eyes for
me, should see in her an exceedingly plain woman. When thou seemest
so much pleased with her, what surety have I that I was not forgotten
by her admirer, amid all the gaieties, the fêtes, and splendour of
King Francis' court?"
"Forgotten, Jane!" responded the young man, tenderly, while his dark
eyes filled with a soft expression. "Those who see and love thee
will never forget! Have not our hearts been entwined for years, and
am I not thy gallant brother's oldest and earliest friend? Have we
not grown together from infancy to childhood, from childhood to
maturity? and now, in the full flush of our love and joy, you hint
that I might forget you!"
"I cry you mercy! what an exordium; I spoke but in pure raillery and
jest, dear Roland."
"But why jest thus? Ah no, my gentle Jane, never for an instant were
your fair face and sunny smiles absent from my mind, and their memory
spurred me on to encounter a thousand difficulties, and enabled me to
surmount a thousand dire temptations that beset the path of others;
and thus I am come back to you more loving if possible, more true,
and more impassioned than ever!"
"Oh, Roland, I can believe it well!" sighed the girl, as her lover,
borne away by the depth of his passion (though speaking in a low
voice), pressed both her hands to his heart, regardless that the eyes
of others saw them.
"Behold what I have brought you from this far-famed city of Paris,"
said he, as he clasped around her delicate throat a circlet of
magnificent diamonds.
"Ah! my poor Vipont," exclaimed Jane; "you must have ruined yourself
to bring me this. What a sum it must have cost!"
"Eleonora of Austria, the Queen of France and sister of the great
Charles V., took it from her own fair neck and bestowed it on me as a
gift for my Scottish bride; and joyously I thought of you, Jane, when
I knelt to receive it from her hands. It was at a passage of arms
held near the Porte Papale, just without the walls of Paris, and on
the festival of St. Denis, when with a single lance I kept the
barrier for an hour, successively prostrating in the dust six Italian
knights who had come to France in the train of the Milanese
ambassador. By my faith, sweet flower, I covered myself with glory
and popularity that day; for it so happened that Sforza, duke of
Milan, is the sworn foe of Francis I., and the hearts of the people
were all with the victorious Scottish knight."
"And did King James see thee, Sir Roland?" asked the young ladies,
who crowded round the delighted girl to observe her splendid gift.
"He sat by the side of Queen Eleonora, and when the sixth cavalier
was unhorsed, sprang up from his seat, and throwing his blue bonnet
into the air, exclaimed, 'Now, God be with thee, my valiant Vipont,
thou hast well sustained our Scottish name to-day, and I will never
forget it.' But his rewards are yet to come, fair ladies," added
Vipont, as he sighed secretly and glanced at Jane Seton.
"Roland," said the countess, who was beginning to reflect that she
had been too long silent; "believe me, those who put their trust in
princes are ever deceived. I heard our good King James IV say so
when I was but a girl."
"He referred then to his brother-in-law of England, whom the laws of
neither God nor man could bind; but judge not so of James V., lady.
As yet I am but the captain of his ordnance, with the pittance doled
out to me monthly by the clerk of his exchequer. Many a fair promise
he hath made me of some small portion of those solid gifts--the
towers and acres of wold and woodland, which he lavishes on Hamilton
the Inquisitor, on Abbot Robert the Treasurer, his eminence the
cardinal, and others, but, to our sad experience, Jane, we find them
as yet unperformed."
"Better it is that they are so," said the countess, "for then, as
Beaton and the abbot do, ye should brook the patrimonies of the
proscribed and banished knights and nobles of my father's name."
"True, lady countess; but James is so winning and courteous in
manner, so generous and heroic in disposition, that no true Scottish
man can behold him without feeling a glow of admiration and loyalty,
and at times methinks I could lay down my life for him (ah! I see
thou holdest up thy finger), were it not, Jane, dedicated to thee. I
could cheerfully battle to the death against all that are his
enemies."
"Even the Douglases and the Setons of Ashkirk," said the countess,
coldly. "Oh, thou hast become an apt bravo of this commons' king, I
fear me!"
"Noble lady," replied Roland, bitterly, "there, as I take God to
witness, thou tasketh me sorely. I could not bend a weapon against
the house of Douglas, for this dear being," and he took Jane's hand
in his, "is the inheritor of their blood; and yet to fail the king
even in that particular would be to prove me a mansworn knight and
false traitor!"
"Thou art ever by his side, Roland," said Jane, "and can say how he
is affected towards us--the Setons of Ashkirk."
"Implacable as ever! Thou rememberest, mine own ladyekin, of the
solemn vow he swore, when, by the troopers of Angus, Sir David
Falconer was slain by his side, under the ramparts of Tantallon--that
solemn vow made above a crucifix and dagger, _never while he lived to
forgive a Douglas, or one of the Douglas' blood_. There is no hope,
for that oath I know the king will keep, even though his holiness
Paul III. should offer to absolve him from it."
"And let him keep it!" said the countess, with bitterness and scorn;
"it matters little. There are spears by the Liddle and archers in
Douglasdale who may one day absolve him, as his grandsire was
absolved on the field of Sauchieburn. Let us remember the deeds of
that day, and the old prophecy that a lion should be killed by its
whelps. The Master of Angus, the knights of Glenbernie, Drumlanrig,
Lochlevin, and Kinross," continued the countess, reckoning them on
her fingers, "with two hundred gentlemen of the surname of Douglas,
all died at Flodden, beneath the banner of King James IV., and thus
it is his son rewards us!"
"Oh, lady countess, hush! and pardon me, but there seems something
hateful in your hostility to James V."
"By the Holy Rood, and the blessed St. Bryde to boot! I have no
patience with thee, friend Roland. I warrant thee in secret a sworn
foe to Angus."
"On my honour, no!"
"And my mind misgives me sorely anent ye and my daughter, having both
had the misfortune to be born on a Friday."
"I pray you hear me," said Roland, with a secret smile. "So happy
was James on beholding the Scottish shore, that, in a burst of
gratitude to heaven and love for his people, he was not disinclined
to relax those severe statutes under which the exiled peers and
barons of the house of Douglas writhe and languish----"
"Say writhe, Sir Roland, for I warrant me they will never languish!"
said the tall countess, folding her hands, sitting very upright, and
looking disdainfully.
"Something might have been achieved by his eminence the Cardinal
Beaton, whom I know to be my friend--for I am come, like himself, of
an old Fifeshire family--when lo! the first barge from the shore
brought a packet from Sir Adam Otterburn of Redhall, containing a
woeful relation of raid, hership, and hamesucken, committed on the
Knight of Cessford by the Earl of Ashkirk and a band of Northumbrian
troopers whom he has taken into pay. Alas! lady, is this the verity?"
"Not less so than just!" responded the countess, who shook every fold
of her lofty head-dress with hauteur. "Is not Cessford the
hereditary foe of my son; and God's blood! Rowland Vipont, why
should his sword rest? Nay, my gallant Archibald, the moths will
never eat the silk of that banner which these old hands wove thee!"
Roland made no immediate reply to this outburst of the old Scottish
spirit, but pressed the hand of Jane, and sighed.
"This event, however, is most unfortunate, Lady Ashkirk," he said,
after a pause, addressing the countess, and looking with a sad smile
at Jane. "It will have a most serious effect upon our fortunes and
our happiness. On reading the letter of his advocate, James never
spoke, but struck his sword upon the deck and turned sharply away
from us. His look was dark as midnight."
"Redhall was over-officious," said the ladies.
"The unmitigated fool!" exclaimed the countess, shaking her clenched
hand. "I would my son were here."
"Mother of God--nay, at such a time as this?" said little Sybil, with
her dark eyes full of tears. "And think you, Sir Roland, that James
is really so much incensed?"
"So much, that I came this night to visit you by--by stealth."
"Stealth!" reiterated the fiery countess, rising to the full height
of her five feet ten inches, exclusive of red-heeled shoes. "Now,
marry, come up and away with us! Sir Roland Vipont, what will you
have the assurance to tell me next?"
"Forgive me, dear and nobly lady; thou knowest well how poor I
am--how dependent on my sword and the precarious favour of a king,
surrounded by a host of needy and rival competitors. Had I lands and
vassals, as I have not; were I the son of a lord or baron instead of
a poor gentleman archer of the Scottish Guard, it might have been
otherwise with me--and thou, Jane, had long ere this"--he paused and
pressed her hand. "Oh, lady countess, my fate is not in my own
keeping; and too often have I felt bitterly how abject a thing it is
to be dependent on the will of another, even though that other be a
prince."
"Thou hast thy rapier, Roland, and with the blood of that brave
Vipont who brooked the appanage of Aberdour in the days of King
David, dost inherit the spirit thy gallant father gave up to God from
the battle field of Ravenno, when the Scottish Guard stood like a
rampart around Gaston de Foix. Thou hast thy sword, Roland, and all
the realms of Europe are before thee."
"Yes," replied Roland, mournfully; "but then Jane Seton would be left
behind."
"Gallant Vipont, thou art indeed my other son!" said the countess, as
she kissed his cheek and became quite pacified, while Jane's bright
face became radiant with pleasure.
The countess and her niece, Sybil, with Alison Home and Marian Logan,
knowing that they could now be spared, retired to prepare for that
early supper of which our late dinners have now usurped the place,
and the lovers were left alone, seated together hand in hand, for the
first time during nine long months.
They were all eye and ear for each other, as they conversed in voices
that were soft and low, and love carried them back to those days of
gaiety and simplicity before the cold hand of etiquette had
interposed between them. Little Sybil closed the arras as she went
out, and we have no wish, by raising it, to break the spell that love
and pleasure threw around them.