DOUGLAS AND GRAY.
And darest thou, then,
To beard the lion in his den,
The Douglas in his hall?--SCOTT.
Clad in a robe of fine scarlet cloth, which was lined with white fur,
and fastened by a brooch or jewel at the neck, and which was open just
enough to show an undershirt and long hose of buff-coloured silk, the
earl of Douglas was seated in a high-backed easy-chair, which was
covered with crimson taffety. His feet were placed on a tabourette, and
close by, with his long sharp nose resting on his outstretched paws,
crouched Souyllard, the snow-white bloodhound, uttering deep growls
from time to time.
Breakfast, which consisted of cold beef, partridge-pie, flour cakes,
wheaten bread, honey, ale, and wine, was spread upon the table, which,
like the rest of the carved oak furniture, and like the castle itself,
seemed strong enough to last twenty generations of Douglases. The
equipage was entirely composed of the beautiful pottery of Avignon,
which was all of a dark-brown metallic tint, like tortoise-shell, but
perforated and in relief.
At the earl's hand, in the old Scottish fashion, stood a flat-shaped
pilgrim-bottle of usquebaugh. It was from Beauvais, and bore a Scots
lion, with the three _fleurs-de-lys_, and the name of _Charle Roy
VII._, for it was a personal gift from the then reigning monarch of
France to Douglas, when last at his hunting-castle in the wood of
Vincennes.
A painted casement, one half of which stood open, admitted the warm
rays of the summer sun through the deep embrasure of the enormously
thick castle-wall, and afforded a glimpse without of the far-stretching
landscape and the windings of the Dee, and, nearer still, the green
islet it formed around Thrave, on the grassy sward of which some noisy
urchins and pages belonging to the feudal garrison were gambolling,
playing at leapfrog, and launching stones and mimic spears at an old
battered quintain, or carved figure of an armed man, which stood there
for the use of those who practised tilting.
As Gray entered in his armour, with his surcoat on and his helmet open,
readier for departure than a repast, the earl, without rising or
offering his hand, bowed with cold courtesy, with a sardonic smile on
his white lip and hatred in his deep-set eyes. He made a signal to a
page who was in attendance to withdraw, and they were immediately left
together. "I said last night that it was ill speaking between a full
man and a fasting," said he; "we are both fasting this morning, so, Sir
Patrick, let us eat, drink, and then to business."
As they were both anxious to come to the point at issue, after a few
morsels of food and a draught of spiced ale, the grim earl spoke
again:--
"I have read the king's letters--that anent the laird of Bombie, and
that which invites me to a conference at Stirling, with a safe conduct
to me and all my followers. By my faith, Sir Patrick, I think their
number, in horse, foot, and archers, will be their best safe conduct.
The first letter demands----"
"The release, the instant release of my kinsman, Sir Thomas MacLellan,
of Bombie, and of that ilk, steward of Kirkcudbright, whom you
unlawfully and most unworthily detain here a prisoner," said Gray, whom
the cool and insolent bearing of Douglas exasperated beyond the point
of prudence. "What if I refuse," asked the latter with an icy smile.
"That the king and council will consider."
"What if he be dead?"
"He is _not_ dead," exclaimed Gray with growing excitement; "last night
I heard his voice, for he addressed me as we entered the barbican."
"Ha!" said Douglas sharply, with a furious glance.
"But dead or alive, lord earl, in the king's name I demand his body!"
"That shall I grant you readily," replied Douglas grimly, as he blew on
a silver whistle which lay on the table. The arras of the doorway was
raised, and there reappeared the page, to whom the earl gave a ring,
which he drew from his finger, and said, "Tell James Achanna to lead
forth the laird of Bombie from the vault, and to obey my orders."
The page bowed and retired; and he observed, if Gray did not, the
terribly sinister expression which at that moment filled the earl's
eyes.
"You said _lead forth_, my lord; hence my kinsman lives, and I thank
you," said Gray with more composure.
"Some men die between the night and morning, others between the morning
and the night;--but now about this conference at Stirling: what boon
does the king hold out as an inducement for a Douglas to risk so much
as an acceptance of royal hospitality?"
"Boon, my lord?"
"By St. Bryde, I spoke plainly enough!"
"'Twas said the restoration to you of the office of Warden of the
Marches towards England, the seat at the Privy Council, and the
commission of Lieutenant-General of the Kingdom."
"In short, all of which I was unjustly deprived, by Crichton's
influence, during my absence in France and Italy," said the earl,
removing the breast from a partridge.
Gray did not reply, for at that moment the castle bell was tolled
slowly, and a strange foreboding seized him. "With the recollection
of the Black Dinner of 1440 before me, by the Devil's mass! I would
require some great boon to tempt me, assuredly," said the earl, with a
laugh which had something diabolical in its sound.
"My lord, there will be the king's safe conduct."
"King's memories are precarious. Since the day of the bloody banquet at
which my kinsman perished, I have been, as it were, a man of granite in
a shirt of steel--immoveable, implacable--and feeling no sentiment but
the longing for revenge!"
The earl, with a sparkling eye and a flushing cheek, spoke as feelingly
as if he had _not_ had a secret hand in the execution of his nephews,
nor won anything by it.
"King James," he added, "has yet to learn what a ten years' hatred is!"
"Ten years?" reiterated Gray, as he thought of Murielle.
"Ten years--we are in the year 1450, and for the ten which have
preceded it, my armour has scarcely ever been off," said the earl; "and
even in my own hall the sword and dagger have never been from my side."
"For the same reason, my lord, you have kept other men's armour on, and
others' weapons on the grindstone," replied Gray; "but endeavour to be
as good and loyal as your fathers were, earl of Douglas--renounce your
evil leagues, and bonds for rebellion, else you may find the king alike
more wise and powerful than you imagine."
"I seek not advice from you, laird of Foulis," said Douglas, with proud
disdain. "Within sound of the bells of Holyrood, or those of St. Giles,
your king may be both powerful and wise; but on this side the Moat of
Urr, I have my doubts of his power or wisdom."
"How, my lord?"
"He would scarcely be wise to venture into the wilds of Galloway,
even with all the forces he and that fangless wolf, his chancellor,
may collect; and never powerful enough to do so, with the hope of
success."----"Daring words, when said of one who is king of all
Scotland."
"But I am lord of all Galloway, and I shall uphold its ancient rights
and laws in battle, as stoutly as Earl Archibald did in Parliament."
"An old story, my lord," said Gray, rising.
"True; in the days of Robert II.," added Douglas, rising also.
"In 1385," observed Gray, with a scarcely perceptible smile.
"I forget."----"Though you forget many things, my lord," said Gray,
rashly and impetuously, "do not imagine that you or they are forgotten."
"Does this imply a threat, my cock-laird of the north country?" asked
Douglas, with profound disdain.
"As you please--I am a plain soldier."
A ferocious expression darkened the earl's face; but Gray drew back a
pace, and laid a hand significantly on his tabard.
"Sir Patrick Gray, I advise you to get your horse and begone!"
thundered Douglas, starting to his feet. "Without there! Order Sir
Patrick's horse to the barbican-gate!"
"But your answer to the king?" said Gray, tightening his waistbelt, and
preparing for a sudden start.
"That I shall convey in person to Stirling."
"And my kinsman----"
"Dead or alive?" said Douglas, with a sullen glare in his eye. Alarmed
by the expression of the earl's face, Gray said earnestly:--
"Lest you might not obey the king's commands, proud lord, or might
scoff at my humble request, I bring you a mother's prayer for her son."
"A mother's?" said Douglas, pausing as they descended the staircase
together.
"The prayer of my father's sister, Marion Gray, for her son's
release."----"It comes too late," muttered the earl under his black
moustache, as they issued into the sunny court-yard of Thrave.