"A DOUGLAS!"
At the castle of Roxburgh, situated hard by the confluence of the Tweed
and the Teviot, and the scene of many a royal festival in the days of
William the Lion and the Alexanders, the King of England remained for
some time, revolving his plans for the settlement of Scotland; and
there Baliol, now an old man and childless, and unprepared to assert
his hereditary right to the crown and kingdom, made it over to Edward
by formally delivering the crown which had been placed on his head at
Scone, and some of the soil of the kingdom which his ancestors had
enjoyed, and, at the same time, declared him heir to all the estates of
the house of Baliol on both sides of the Tweed.
This ceremony, which was not destined to have much influence on the
course of events, took place in the presence of the Bishop of Durham
and the Abbots of Melrose and Dryburgh; and the king, learning that
the Scots had assembled to oppose his progress, prepared to raise the
banner of Scotland and march against them.
But it was generally the habit of the warriors of Scotland to conceal
their movements; and Edward, having on this occasion only a vague
idea in what direction the Scots were to be found, and becoming eager
for intelligence, ordered that two squires should ride forth and
reconnoitre. Accordingly I was sent, in company with Robert Salle,
the youth of whom I have spoken as attached to Aymery de Pavie when
Governor of Calais, with instructions to discover, if possible, at all
risks, where the Scots were to be found.
Between Salle and myself a close friendship had sprung into existence
during Edward's expedition to Calais; and as both of us had emerged
from obscurity, and as we both owed to our skill and courage what
reputation we enjoyed, we naturally sympathised on many points. But
I did not fully share the antipathy which, in his more dreary moods,
he, as the son of a mason, felt for men who had inherited high names
and great possessions; and as I sometimes, under the influence of
imagination, talked as if there was a gulf between us, we could not
always avoid discussions of a more warm kind than was agreeable. On the
present occasion our tendency in this respect was destined to lead us
into an awkward predicament.
As may be supposed, our mission was not without perils, which only the
utmost vigilance could guard against; and, considering how little we
knew of the country, we certainly should have remembered our danger.
But, young and adventurous, we thought lightly of the hazard as we
rode on through mud and mire. At first we examined every hill and dale
with searching eyes. But, when no human being appeared, we became more
careless, and it was not till after pursuing our way for hours, and
as we were skirting an extensive wood, that I instinctively felt that
danger might be nigh.
"Beshrew me if I like the aspect of this place!" exclaimed I suddenly.
"I would that Copeland, our northern hero, or some man familiar with
the country, were here to guide us safely!"
"By St. George!" replied Salle, "I confess I begin to be somewhat
alarmed; but, be the peril what it may, we hazard nothing but our
lives."
"True," said I; "but life has its sweets, and I am not yet so weary of
mine as to feel indifferent to the possibility of losing it--least of
all, needlessly; for, as the Orientals say, there is no hope of living
again, seeing that man is not a water-melon, and that, when once in the
ground, he cannot grow again."
"And yet," remarked Salle, "I have heard that ancient sages were wont
to say, 'Let no man be envied till his death;' and, for my own part, I
see not how a warrior could better die than for his king and country."
"A noble sentiment, doubtless," said I, "and one to be carefully
cherished; but methinks it is better to live to serve one's king and
country in manhood and age than to die uselessly for them in youth.
Moreover, you know, I have still to penetrate the mystery of my birth,
and that is a motive for wishing to live."
"Tush!" exclaimed Salle querulously; "why harp for ever on that string?
What matters it what has been a man's birth, if his heart is noble and
his hand strong?"
"Little, mayhap," I replied; "still, I would fain have the
consciousness of an interest in the past, and be at the bottom of the
mystery, the solution of which might give me such an interest."
"You never will penetrate your mystery," said he in a conclusive tone.
"Now," replied I, repressing an angry feeling that stirred in
my breast, "I hold not with you; for few secrets can escape an
investigator who pursues the inquiry with determination; and it ever
seems to me that there is a voice telling me that the truth which I
pant to learn will one day be revealed; and, therefore, I continue the
search after it with the ardour of a Knight of the Round Table in quest
of the Sangreal."
"And what, I pray you, was the Sangreal?" asked Salle with a sneer.
"Nothing less than the sacred vessel from which the Redeemer of Mankind
and his disciples ate the last supper," replied I, crossing myself
devoutly; "and which Joseph of Arimathea brought, with the spear used
at the crucifixion, when he came to England to convert the inhabitants
to Christianity, and planted, near the abbey of Glastonbury, the
miraculous thorn which blossoms every year at Christmas."
"And did the Knights of the Round Table succeed in their quest of this
Sangreal?" inquired Salle.
"Yes, in truth did they," answered I, proud of my lore; "it was at
length achieved by a knight named Galahad, aided by Sir Bors and Sir
Percival, both champions of high renown in Christendom."
"On my faith," said Salle, almost contemptuously, "I never heard the
names of these knights before, nor do I hold myself the less cheap that
their names were unknown to me."
"And on my faith," exclaimed I, provoked to anger, "I did not deem that
in England there existed a single aspirant to fame in arms who had not
heard of the Sangreal."
"You forget that I was not reared daintily in kings' palaces," rejoined
he, "but in a camp."
I bit my lip and refrained from replying to the taunt, but, as
I thought of Cressy and Neville's Cross, my heart swelled with
indignation.
It must by this time have been four o'clock, and we had been riding
for hours without catching sight or hearing tidings of the enemy;
when, just as this dialogue terminated, and we were turning a corner
of the wood we had been skirting, we suddenly saw, before our eyes, an
army marching northward. Reining instantly up, we drew back to escape
observation, and as the winter sun, which was setting, flashed upon
crested helms and rows of spears, the spectacle was inspiriting.
"Now," said I, pointing to the retreating host, "let him that is weary
of life try a jeopardy."
"On my faith," replied Salle bluntly, "to me it seems that we are in
sufficient jeopardy where we are;" and, pointing to a horseman who
emerged from the wood, he added, "let us fly."
"It is too late," said I, looking round in alarm. "See you not that we
are circumvented?" And as I spoke we were surrounded on all sides; for
the horseman was a knight, and with him he had not fewer than thirty
lances.
"Who are you?" asked the knight, riding forward and roughly seizing my
rein; "speak, sirrah."
"Sir knight," answered I, endeavouring to be calm, "my comrade rejoices
in the name of Robert Salle, and men call me Arthur Winram; and we are
squires of England."
"On my troth," he exclaimed, eyeing me as if I had been an inferior
being, "you speak boldly for one of your years and condition; and for
your comrade, I trow that he is not dumb, that you, albeit the younger
of the two, should answer so readily for him. But say at once what is
your errand, and speak truly. Otherwise you will fare the worse; for
trees are more plentiful here than carrion, and the Scottish ravens
are not, for the time being, too well provided with food. Now I listen."
"In truth, then, sir knight," began I after a brief pause, "our errand
is simple enough. We come from the camp of the English to look for the
Scots."
"And you have found us," exclaimed the knight with a hoarse laugh; "and
by St. Bride!" added he, "let me comfort you with the assurance that
you shall not leave us at your pleasure."
"Gramercy for your courtesy, sir knight," replied I, my spirit rising.
"And since you so relish our company, albeit our acquaintance is
somewhat of the briefest, deign to say, I pray you, into whose hands we
have had the fortune to fall."
"My name is Douglas," replied the knight sternly; "a name at which
Englishmen are wont to tremble."
"Faith, sir knight," said I, with a smile which I doubt not was
provoking, "if Englishmen ever were afflicted with that failing, they
have had time to recover from it since Dupplin, and Halidon, and
Neville's Cross."
"Varlet!" exclaimed the knight, his anger rising high, "bandy not such
words with me, before whose father's sword Englishmen were wont to fly
as deer before the hounds."
And in truth, as I afterwards learned, the knight was Archibald
Douglas, the illegitimate son of him whom the Scots called "the good
Sir James," and who, while on the way to Palestine with the heart of
Bruce, was slain by the Saracens in Spain; and I, moreover, learned
that the knight himself meditated an early pilgrimage to the Holy Land.
But at the moment I knew nothing of Archibald Douglas save the name,
and that we were his prisoners. Giving us into the custody of his
companions, he charged them to conduct us to a castle, the name of
which I did not catch, to guard us well, and not, as they valued their
lives, to allow us to escape.
"The varlets," he said, "have, if I mistake not, seen more than they
would care to tell, and could give their king--upon whose head may my
curse rest, now and for ever--such intelligence as would enable him to
defeat all our plans." And as the knight spoke he rode off, with the
greater part of his followers, towards the Scottish army, while we,
under the escort of six of his men-at-arms, took our way towards the
castle which was destined to be the scene of our captivity.