THE KING'S HORN.
"Be yet advised, nor urge me to an outrage;
Thy power is lost--unhand me."
_Edward the Black Prince._
The clock of St. Leonard's tower struck three as Leslie entered the
old burgh of Kinghorn, and rode through its steep and straggling,
narrow and deserted wynds, to the hostelry with which the reader is
already acquainted. Though a vast sheet of pale light was spread
across the east, sunrise was nearly an hour distant, and the whole
town was silent as some ruined city in a desert; every door was
closed, and not a single face appeared at the rusty gratings of the
street windows.
It was not until after much noise and vociferation with the drowsy
peddies and stable-boys that Leslie gained admittance to the
inn-yard, and from the yard obtained ingress to the mansion, where
his whole aspect excited fear and suspicion. His armour was dimmed
by water and rusted with dew, cut, hacked, and bloody; the straps
were loose and torn; he was feverish and excited; and there was a
stern determination in his bearing, as he carefully took his
petronels from his saddle-bow, and, ordering the attendants to look
well to his horse against the time of the ferry-boat sailing, entered
the first empty chamber that offered itself.
He looked first to the pardon, which, notwithstanding his frequent
immersions, was dry and secure; he looked next to the wheel-locks of
his fire-arms, which he laid on his pillow ready for immediate
service. Thereafter, he examined his apartment. The window was two
stories from the ground, and a harrow-grating amply secured it. Like
all others in that age, the door was secured by a multiplicity of
bars, all of which he shot into their sockets; and thereafter piled
behind them all the available furniture--a great oak almrie, a
meal-girnel, four chairs, and, lastly, the table.
He then took off his armour, and found that his clothing was almost
dry.
"Come, 'tis well," thought he; "save three pricks and four scratches,
I am not a whit the worse, and have still six hours for sleeping and
dreaming of merry Marion."
And after assuring himself that he could not be taken in flank either
by trap-door or sliding-panels, this brave and wary soldier threw
himself on the bed, and behind his barricades slept soundly and
securely.
The ferry-boat was to sail at ten in the forenoon.
Half-an-hour before that time Leslie awoke, and sprang up quite
refreshed. His first glance was at his barricade.
"Oho! I have been beset even here!" said he, on perceiving that the
door had been forced, and the heavy almrie and girnel pushed about
three inches inwards, by which the chairs had been overturned, thus
baffling the assault, as their fall had scared the intruders.
The sun was shining brightly on the river, and the merchants were
opening their booths and displaying their goods under the stone
arcades of the principal wynd.
"This devilish piece of paper is likely to cost me dear. I find I
must still be guarded," thought Leslie, as he minutely examined his
iron trappings, stuck his petronels in his belt, and, with his
sheathed sword under his arm, descended to the hall of the hostel and
ordered breakfast, but without mentioning the attempt which had too
evidently been made to disturb his privacy. Looking sharply around,
he seated himself at the arched ingle, where a comfortable fire was
blazing, and above which appeared a rude fresco painting, which
represented St. Leonard, the patron of Kinghorn, surrounded by a
swarm of churubs in the forest of Limoges.
"Quick, old hag--my breakfast," said the traveller to the landlady;
"let your rascals look well to my horse, or look well to themselves
if they fail."
The gudewife--a slipshod and sullen-looking crone, with a nose and
chin that were nearly meeting, a coif of the time of James III., and
an enormous bunch of keys--being a little scared by the stern and
distrustful aspect of Leslie, who sat down by the table with his
helmet on, left a buxom damsel to attend on him, and retired. The
young soldier found that his indignation could no way extend to her
substitute; for her cheeks were blooming and her eyes sparkling with
health and good-humour; she wore a very piquant, short linen jacket,
short petticoat, and her brown hair tied up in a blue silk snood,
after the fashion of unmarried girls in Scotland.
A fowl, from among several that were roasting on the spit, cheese,
cakes, and honey, cold beef, eggs and bacon, with the addition of
ale, formed then, as now, the staples for breakfast, and while it was
preparing, Leslie solaced himself by whistling the _March to Harlow_,
and by means of a piece of half-burned wood, decorating with an
enormous pair of moustaches each of the fat little cherubim which
surrounded the figure of St. Leonard; an amusement which neither the
gudewife nor the diminutive gudeman, whom she seemed to rule with "a
rod of iron," dared to interrupt.
"This is for thee, my rosy belle," said Leslie, kissing the plump
cheek of the waiting-maid, after breakfast, "together with this
French crown; as for the rascal, thy master, and the hag, thy
mistress, let them rejoice that I have not burned the house about
their ears, were it but to smoke out certain Hamiltons, who, I am
assured, are within it. Thou hearest me, fellow?" added Leslie, as
he passed the landlord, who, sheepishly, and bonnet in hand, was
standing at the door of the house.
"I do, gude sir, but understand ye nocht."
"Nor do I you; but wherefore was my door forced last night--this
morning, I should say--eh, thou rascally Fifer?"
"I swear to ye, noble sir, that, under God, I ken nocht o't," replied
the poor man, with the utmost earnestness.
"It may be so, for I see that, in thine own house, thou art but Joan
Tamson's man, as the saw has it."
The landlord gave a sickly smile.
"Harkee, gudeman, is thy better-half a Hamilton?"
"To my sorrow, I ken she is, sir," sighed the hosteller, in a
whisper; "for never one of her name enters Fife, between the East and
West Neuk, without lying a week and mair at the _King's Horn_, and
never a bodle will she take for the lawing, for they are a' her
cousins to the hundredth degree, and will scarcely let me call my
soul my ain."
"Then, which of her worthy cousins are here now?"
"Sir John Hamilton of Kincavil," replied the gudeman, setting his
teeth on edge.
"And his room?--"
"Was the next to yours."
"Hum! indeed; and this Sir John extends his patronage to you,
gudeman--eh?"
"He pays like a prince, to be sure; for he had a fancy for my
gudewife in her young days."
"He is a man of taste, Kincavil!" said Leslie, smiling; "but where is
my horse?"
"My son holds it at the gate."
"How, the devil! is that tall fellow thy son?"
"No," replied the little man, with a grin of bitterness; "he is the
son of my wife."
As Leslie slipped another crown into the hand of the host, and was
turning away, a tall, swaggering cavalier--the same whom Roland
Vipont had fought with and wounded near the Water Gate, as related in
a preceding chapter of this history--brushed past him somewhat
unceremoniously.
"Sir John of Kincavil!" said Leslie, with angry surprise.
"Well, sir! at your service," replied the other, swelling up his
rose-coloured doublet, and resting his left hand in the bowl-hilt of
his long rapier, as he assumed a lofty attitude.
"Is this to be taken as an insult?"
"It is to be taken just as you please," replied the other, twirling
his moustache.
"Take care, sir. I am on the king's service."
"Does that entitle you to occupy the whole doorway of the _King's
Horn_?"
"We are not equally armed--you see my coat of mail."
"Oh, that matters little--behold!" said Kincavil, as he opened the
collar of his doublet, and displayed below it a mail shirt of
exquisite workmanship. "We are quite equal, my friend," he added,
clapping Leslie with easy familiarity on the shoulder, while a number
of armed men, who, by their badges, seemed to be his followers,
crowded ominously round them.
"Kincavil!" said Leslie, scornfully, "the next time thou touchest me,
pray do so with a hand that is gloved."
"A thousand pardons," sneered Kincavil, whose insolence was as
proverbial as his deadly skill and admirable swordmanship, "I forgot
thou wert _Falkland bred_."
This was a phrase of the time to signify foppery, affectation, and
refined manner. Leslie's eyes flashed with rage, but he leaped on
his horse, saying--
"I know your object well, villain, to involve me in a brawl; but you
will fail. Taunt me as you please, I will not draw my sword unless I
am molested; and woe unto them who do so. To-morrow I will be a free
man, and at noon will await you, braggart, on the sands of Leith,
near the chapel of St. Nicholas, where seek me if you dare."
A shout of derisive laughter followed him; but, stifling his rage, he
heard without heeding it, and in ten minutes more was on board the
ferry-boat, which he endeavoured to beat across the river against a
strong head-wind.