THE FIGHT AT INVERTEIL.
"Let us hasten to receive them,
Placing in the foremost ranks,
Those who bear the arquebuses;
Let the horsemen next advance,
With the customary splendour
Of the harness and the lance."--CALDERON.
With a heart divided between emotions of rage and exultation, the
fugitive messenger rode towards Kinghorn.
The aspect of the tract of country he crossed is very different now
from what it was in those days. Many places that are bare pasture
lands were then covered by dense thickets of natural wood; other
places, that are now fertile and arable, were covered with broom and
whins of such gigantic size that horsemen might have been concealed
among them; while all the straths and glens were filled with the
water which then flowed through innumerable mosses and marshes.
Streams, which were then impassable rivers, have now, by the drainage
of the land and other agricultural improvements, shrunk to mere burns
or mountain runnels; while those which were then burns and trouting
streams, have in many instances totally disappeared; and waters, such
as those of the Boathouse bridge in Linlithgowshire and the Eden in
Fifeshire, which had ferry-boats plying upon them, are now scarcely
deeper or broader than a wayside drain. Thus, when, to save time and
the trouble of riding round in search of fords or bridges, the brave
Leslie, all heavily armed as he was in Italian plate, boldly swam the
winding Loctie and the Ore, near the Spittalcots, he performed two
gallant feats, for then those waters foamed in deep, broad currents
between torn and rugged banks, with a breadth and force very
different from what they exhibit in the present day, even during the
fury of a winter speat.
But before he had entered on the moss and moor that lay between the
Ore and an old mansion named the Temple Hall, which then belonged to
the knights of Torphichen, the waning moon was disappearing behind
the hills, and shed a cold, pale light on the dreary waste that
spread before the solitary rider.
Having lost all traces of the ancient drove-road, which had guided
him thus far, Leslie walked his horse forward with caution, to avoid
the peat-bogs and pitfalls that now surrounded him; while, impelled
either by the dreariness of the solitude on which he was entering, or
by some vague presentiment of danger, he narrowly observed every bush
and hillock as he approached, and listened for any passing sound.
The moon seemed to rest on the summit of the distant hills, the solid
outline of which rose blackly against the blue sky. Light clouds
were floating across her surface; but a clear white light was shed
along the countless ridges of the muir--the moss-covered roots of an
old primeval forest--which resembled the waves of a motionless sea.
A sharp, low whistle on his left, and somewhat in advance of him,
made Leslie look in that direction; and he saw the moonbeams
reflected back from something bright, that too evidently was not
moss-water, but polished steel; while two or three light puffs of
smoke curled upward, showing where the matches of petronels were
being blown for active service.
The moss was full of armed men!
"Fool that I was not to byde me at Balgonie!" thought Leslie, as he
put spurs to his jaded horse, and quickened its speed to a
hand-gallop. By his devious route he had now ridden fully twenty
miles, over a frightful tract of country, full of steep hills and
rocky glens, deep morasses, brawling torrents, and hills covered with
forest and brushwood; he had forded three swollen rivers, and thus,
like himself, his horse was already becoming exhausted.
"Hollo, Balquhan!" cried a mocking voice; "whither so fast? Is your
lady-love sick, or is your house on fire?"
A shout of derisive laughter, together with the explosion of four
long petronels, followed this remark; and Leslie became aware, from
the sudden bound and snort of pain given by his horse, as it shot
away like the wind, that the poor animal was wounded; one bullet had
penetrated its near flank, and another had grazed its ears.
"The devil! 'tis quite an arquebusade! But I am getting used to such
music to-night," thought Leslie, as he gave a wistful glance at the
Temple Hall, which was not far off. All property which belonged to
the Knights of St. John in Scotland afforded a safe sanctuary from
debt and danger, and did so until a recent period; but Leslie knew
too well that his present pursuers would violate the holiest shrine
between Cape Wrath and the English frontier to reach him; and that he
had nothing to trust to but the blade of his sword and the heels of
his horse; for by the number of ambuscades, prepared in every
direction, it became evident that his enemies, whoever they might be,
were bent on his destruction.
Tall lances and bright helmets flashed in the moonlight, as the dark
forms of many a horse and man arose from behind the heather knowes
and clumps of moss and whin to join the chace; and Leslie found that
again the ferocious John of Clatto, with all his band, was riding on
his trail.
Though the balls which had wounded his horse caused a great effusion
of blood, they acted as spurs of fear and pain to accelerate its
speed; and Leslie soon heard the shouts, the clank of arms, and the
rush of galloping hoofs growing fainter and fainter with every bound
that his fierce strong charger made. The banks of the Ore, the
desolate muir, and the grey Temple Hall soon vanished in the
distance; and he saw the spire of Kirkaldy, and its long and
straggling town, rising on the left, from the low flat shore of the
Firth, which lay beyond it, glimmering in the last light of the moon,
and bringing forward, as from a brilliant background, the innumerable
roofs and gables, clustered chimneys, and turretted edifices of the
venerable burgh. Near him rose the hill and castle of Raith, where
Sir John Melville, the great Reformer, dwelt; and nearer still,
embosomed among summer woods, lay the Abbotshall, a seat of the abbot
of Dunfermline, the site of which is still indicated by an old
stupendous yew that grew before its gate. Right in the fugitive's
front lay the broad green links of Kirkaldy, and the glittering
estuary, with the black rocky promontory of Kinghorn jutting boldly
into its waters.
The strength of his horse was failing fast; its eyes were blinded,
and its head was drenched in the blood flowing from its wounded ears;
and he felt certain that, to turn from his straightforward course, to
seek shelter in the neighbouring town, would only serve to exhaust it
more. He knew well that the brave animal was dying beneath him, for
with every convulsive bound of its foam-covered haunches, the
blood-gouts gushed forth upon the sandy turf.
Balwearie, in older times the birthplace of the wizard, Michael
Scott, was left behind; and now the hoarse brawl of the Teil--a
flooded torrent--rang before him. He gave his horse the reins, and
furiously applying the spurs, keeping his head back and his
bridle-hand low, as he urged it to the flying leap. Lightly it rose
into the air, cleared the stream, with all its banks of rock and bed
of stones, but reached the opposite side only to die; for the noble
horse sank down with its forehead on the turf, and after making more
than one fruitless effort to rise, rolled heavily over, stretched out
its legs convulsively, and with that mournful cry which few hear, but
a horse alone can give, expired.
At that moment, with brandished swords and panting steeds, six
horsemen appeared on the opposite bank; and the exhausted Leslie knew
that nothing now remained for him but to sell his life as dearly as
possible.
He was now but two miles from Kinghorn, and after all his exertions,
he felt how hard it was to die; and reflected that, with his life,
the pardon of poor Jane Seton would be futile, or forfeited, as she
would inevitably be put to death before additional tidings of the
king's favour came from Falkland. The very excess of his bitterness
gave him a superhuman courage, and alone, on foot, he resolved to
confront them all; but in doing so, to use every stratagem.
With the rapidity of thought, and unseen by them, he threw himself
close beside his dead horse, the body of which was greeted by a shout
of fierce exultation.
"Awa and on!" cried John of Clatto; "for gif ance he wins the burgh
o' Kinghorn, the tulzie will be owre, and I sall tyne my plea anent
the meithes and marches. On, on, ye fashious fules; hae your naigs
nae mair mettle than the mules o' monks?"
Leslie grasped his drawn sword with both hands, and as the Laird of
Clatto leaped the Teil, with one fierce backhanded stroke hamstrung
his horse the moment its hind heels alighted near him.
With a tremendous curse, this ferocious rider with his steed tumbled
prone to the earth; and as they fell, Leslie sprang up, and by the
same daring manoeuvre, unhorsed another, and slew him as he fell.
Then rushing to the summit of the bank, that he might have all the
advantage the acclivity could afford him, he stood resolutely on his
guard. The rest of the band were yet far off, and by their leisurely
trot it was evident that their horses were breathless and blown.
"John of Clatto!" exclaimed Leslie, as he engaged that person
furiously, each swaying his sword with both hands on the hilt; "thou
unhanged thief and son of a thief! now--now shalt thou receive the
coward's reward."
"Fause coof!" retorted the other, with one of his ferocious laughs,
as with a deadly coolness and activity he dealt his thrusts, while
the force of his parries announced that his eye was sure, and his
wrist was of iron, as he hewed away with his long and trenchant
sword; "Coward? ha! ha! 'tis a name never kent by a son o' auld Symon
o' Clatto. Strike weel and surely, my bauld Balquhan, for by God and
Macgriddel, I sall handsell thy braw harness in thy hettest bluid."
"Dog! it hath been handselled by the swords of better men!" exclaimed
the furious Leslie, as by a single sweeping stroke his heavy sword
beat down the guard of his adversary, breaking his blade like a
withered reed, and, cleaving his helmet through the very cone, killed
him on the spot. A curse was half uttered by its quivering lips, as
the body fell backwards over the bank, and lay half merged in the
water of the Teil. With his great natural courage exasperated to a
terrible pitch by the knowledge that he must inevitably perish at the
hands of these cowards, Leslie fiercely met the horsemen as they
leaped the stream, and in succession fell sword in hand upon him. A
shower of blows rang upon his tempered helmet, his eyes swam, and,
amid a cloud of fire, it seemed as if a myriad of men and horses had
assailed him, and as if as many swords were ringing in his ears, and
flashing before his eyes.
He was soon beaten to the earth, and several men sprang from their
horses to despatch him, when the shots of two petronels were heard,
and two assailants sank heavily, dagger in hand, beside him, tearing
up the grass with their hands and teeth in the agonies of death. A
rush of horses followed, and Leslie found himself free!
Clatto's men had fled; and a young cavalier stood before him richly
clad, with three tall feathers in his bonnet; he was mounted on a
superb black horse, and in each hand had a petronel, from the barrels
of which the smoke was curling. The drawn swords of his six mounted
attendants were gleaming in the bright twilight of the July morning,
for day was already glimmering over the far horizon of the German
Sea. The features of this deliverer were noble, but delicate; his
eyebrows and closely-clipped moustaches were coal-black, his lips
were red, and cut like those of a woman, but his large dark eyes
sparkled with courage and animation.
"Now, by Heaven, 'tis our loving cousin and clansman, Balquhan!" he
exclaimed; for in those days, "when old simplicity was in its prime,"
every man of the same name in Scotland was designated _loving cousin_.
"Sir Norman Leslie," said the lieutenant of the guard, as with
thankfulness and respect he greeted the gallant Master of Rothes, the
son and heir of the earl, his chief, "thou hast saved me from a cruel
and bitter death! what do I owe thee?"
"Two brass bullets at a similar juncture."
"May it never happen!" said the young baron, to which the master
replied with a reckless laugh, in which his followers joined.
"Balquhan," said he, "this gentleman is your cousin--my uncle, John
of Parkhill. Here are three men and two hamstrung horses lying on
the grass! By St. Mary! my true Leslie, thou hast this night handled
the sword as if it had been thine own invention."
"Anent what hath all this been?" asked John Leslie of Parkhill, an
elderly gentleman, sheathing his sword.
"Heaven only knows, sir," replied Leslie, as he caught the bridle of
a riderless horse, and leaping into the saddle began to examine the
petronels that were attached to it.
"They seem to have found you a rough jouster!"
"I am riding on the king's service, with a pardon for the Lady Seton."
"The Lady Seton!" they all repeated, in varying tones of astonishment
and satisfaction.
"Yes, sirs, I am bound for Edinburgh, and have been thrice beset by
horsemen, and thrice have swum a river, the Leven, the Ore, and the
Lochtie!"
"Sheriff of Fife, what say you to this?" said Parkhill to Norman
Leslie.
"That it shall be looked to, and that sharply," replied the young
Master of Rothes, as he replaced his pistols in the holsters; "a
harmless rider, a messenger of mercy on God's own service, to be
molested thus!"
"Besetting the highway--'tis a capital crime."
"Perhaps John of Clatto (for it was he) thought that messengers of
mercy, or of Heaven, seldom ride in coats of mail."
"To thy spurs, Balquhan, and on!" said the master; "the poor dame
Seton will assuredly fall a victim to the malice of the Hamiltons at
midnight--_this midnight_, for see, the day is dawning. They were
setting the stake, and tearing the faggots, on the castle bank, as we
left Edinburgh by the West Port last night."
"I go to the _King's Horn_ hostel," said Balquhan; "would I were
there, for I am drenched like a water-dog, and well nigh wearied to
death. Farewell."
"Take ye care, sir!" cried John of Parkhill.
"Come now, you jest, my cousin," said the lieutenant, jocularly;
"does a Leslie ever fall from his horse?"
"I only mean, beware thee while at Kinghorn, and keep thine errand
secret; for there are several men of the house of Arran in the burgh,
and their nags are stabled at the very hostel thou hast named."
"Nay, nay, uncle of mine," said the fiery Norman, "no Hamilton would
arrest the pardon of any woman; then how much less that of a lady of
high name and gentle blood!"
"Nephew Norman, we know not the tricks of which the Lord Arran and
his faction are capable; and to whom shall we attribute this treble
molestation of our cousin, the king's messenger?"
"True--adieu."
"Adieu, sirs, with many fair thanks for this good service."
They separated, and Balquhan rode on, feeling in his heart that he
could slay all who bore the name of Hamilton; for the idea that
Redhall was his evil genius never once occurred to him.
Those Leslies who had saved him were, nine years after, among the
conspirators who slew the great cardinal in his castle at St.
Andrew's, less to avenge the frightful deaths of the early martyrs,
than as the hired assassins of Henry VIII.; and twenty years after,
the fiery Master of Rothes died in the battle of St. Quentin,
fighting valiantly at the head of thirty Scottish gens d'armes.