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A PRINCE OF
GOOD FELLOWS
BY
ROBERT BARR
AUTHOR OF
IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS,
TEKLA, ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY
EDMUND J. SULLIVAN
NEW YORK
MCCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
1902
_Copyright, 1902, by_
MCCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
_Copyright, 1901, by_ S. S. MCCLURE CO.
_Copyright, 1902, by_ S. S. MCCLURE CO.
_Copyright, 1901, by_ ROBERT BARR
_Copyright, 1902, by_ ROBERT BARR
Published, May, 1902, R
[Illustration: JACOBUS, V, REX, SCOTORUM.
THE PRINCE OF GOOD FELLOWS]
To
Thomas Spencer Jerome
in his Villa of the Castle on the Island of Capri, this book is
respectfully dedicated, with the hope that some of the facts herein
set forth may aid him during his historical researches.
_A_ TABLE _of the_ CONTENTS
_Page_
THE KING INTERVENES 1
THE KING DINES 29
THE KING'S TRYST 47
THE KING INVESTIGATES 77
THE KING'S GOLD 113
THE KING A-BEGGING 147
THE KING'S VISIT 185
THE KING EXPLORES 213
THE KING DRINKS 243
THE KING SAILS 269
THE KING WEDS 297
LIST _of_ ILLUSTRATIONS
The Prince of Good Fellows _Frontispiece_
_Facing page_
"Out of the way, fellow!" 4
"Headsman, do your duty" 26
"'As you get north of Sterling, Buchanan,' replied
James, with a smile, 'it is customary
to bring the knife with you when you go
out to dine'" 42
"My fair antagonist, I bid you good-night" 74
"The forty-one trees bore their burden" 110
"The figure of a tall man" 126
"With a wild scream Farini endeavoured to support
himself with his gauze-like wings" 144
"The King had composed a poem in thirteen
stanzas, entitled 'The Beggar Man'" 148
"Five stalwart ruffians fell upon him" 162
"'I am James, King of Scotland,' he proclaimed
in stentorian tones" 178
"At last MacNab sprang to his feet, holding
aloft his brimming flagon" 201
"The strangers were most hospitably entertained,
and entered thoroughly into the
spirit of the festivities" 234
"The King, however, appeared to have no forebodings,
but trotted along with great complacency" 246
"The two went outside and took the road by
which they had come" 270
THE KING INTERVENES
Late evening had fallen on the grey walls of Stirling Castle, and dark
night on the town itself, where narrow streets and high gables gave
early welcome to the mirk, while the westward-facing turrets of the
castle still reflected the departing glory of the sky.
With some suggestion of stealth in his movements, a young man picked
his way through the thickening gloom of the streets. There was still
light enough to show that, judging by his costume, he was of the
well-to-do farmer class. This was proclaimed by his broad, coarse,
bonnet and the grey check plaid which he wore, not looped to the
shoulder and pinned there by a brooch, Highland fashion, but wrapped
round his middle, with the two ends brought over the shoulders and
tucked under the wide belt which the plaid itself made, the fringes
hanging down at each knee, as a Lowland shepherd might have worn the
garment. As he threaded his way through the tortuous streets, ever
descending, he heard the clatter of a troop of horse coming up, and
paused, looking to the right and left, as if desirous of escaping an
encounter which seemed inevitable. But if such were his object, the
stoppage, although momentary, was already too long, for ere he could
deflect his course, the foremost of the horsemen was upon him, a well
known noble of the Scottish Court.
"Out of the way, fellow!" cried the rider, and, barely giving him time
to obey, the horseman struck at the pedestrian fiercely with his whip.
The young man's agility saved him. Nimbly he placed his back against
the wall, thus avoiding the horse's hoof and the rider's lash. The
victim's right hand made a swift motion to his left hip, but finding
no weapon of defence there, the arm fell back to his side again, and
he laughed quietly to himself. The next motion of his hand was more in
accordance with his station, for it removed his bonnet, and he stood
uncovered until the proud cavalcade passed him.
[Illustration: "OUT OF THE WAY, FELLOW!"]
When the street was once more clear and the echoing sounds had died
away in the direction of the castle, the youth descended and descended
until he came to the lower part of the town where, turning aside up a
narrow lane, he knocked at the door of a closed and shuttered
building, evidently an abiding place of the poorer inhabitants of
Stirling. With some degree of caution the door was slightly opened,
but when the occupant saw, by the flash of light that came from
within, who his visitor was, he threw the portal wide and warmly
welcomed the newcomer.
"Hey, guidman!" he cried, "ye're late the night in Stirling."
"Yes," said the young man stepping inside, "but the farm will see
nothing of me till the morning. I've a friend in town who gives me a
bed for myself and a stall for my horse, and gets the same in return
when he pays a visit to the country."
"A fair exchange," replied the host as he closed and barred the door.
The low room in which the stranger found himself was palpably a
cobbler's shop. Boots and shoes of various sizes and different degrees
of ill repair strewed the floor, and the bench in the corner under a
lighted cruzie held implements of the trade, while the apron which
enveloped the man of the door proclaimed his occupation. The incomer
seated himself on a stool, and the cobbler returned to his last,
resuming his interrupted work. He looked up however, from time to
time, in kindly fashion at his visitor, who seemed to be a welcome
guest.
"Well," said the shoemaker with a laugh, "what's wrong with you?"
"Wrong with me? Nothing. Why do you think there is anything amiss?"
"You are flushed in the face; your breath comes quick as if you had
been running, and there's a set about your lips that spells anger."
"You are a very observing man, Flemming," replied he of the plaid. "I
have been walking fast so that I should have little chance of meeting
any one. But it is as well to tell the whole truth as only part of it.
I had a fright up the street. One of those young court sprigs riding
to the castle tried to trample me under the feet of his horse, and
struck at me with his whip for getting into his road, so I had just to
plaster my back against somebody's front door and keep out of the
way."
"It's easy to see that you live in the country, Ballengeich," replied
the cobbler, "or you would never get red in the face over a little
thing like that."
"I had some thought of pulling him off his horse, nevertheless," said
the Laird of Ballengeich, whose brow wrinkled into a frown at the
thought of the indignity he had suffered.
"It was just as well you left him alone," commented the cobbler, "for
an unarmed man must even take whatever those court gallants think fit
to offer, and if wise, he keeps the gap in his face shut, for fear he
gets a bigger gap opened in his head. Such doings on the part of the
nobles do not make them exactly popular. Still, I am speaking rather
freely, and doubtless you are a firm friend of the new king?" and the
shoemaker cast a cautious sidelong glance at his visitor.
"A friend of the king? I wonder to hear you! I doubt if he has a
greater enemy than myself in all Scotland."
"Do you mean that, Ballengeich?" inquired the shoemaker, with more of
interest than the subject appeared to demand, laying down his hammer
as he spoke, and looking intently at his guest.
"I'd never say it, if it wasn't true," replied the laird.
It was some moments before the workman spoke, and then he surprised
the laird by a remark which had apparently nothing to do with what had
been said before.
"You are not a married man, I think you told me?"
"No, I am not. There's time enough for that yet," returned the other
with a smile. "You see, I am new to my situation of responsibility,
and it's as well not to take in the wife till you are sure you can
support her."
"What like a house have you got, and how far is it from Stirling?"
"The house is well enough in its way; there's more room in it than I
care to occupy. It's strongly built of stone, and could stand a siege
if necessary, as very likely it has done in days long past, for it's a
stout old mansion. It's near enough to Stirling for me to come in and
see my friend the cobbler in the evening, and sleep in my own bed that
night, if I care to do so."
"Is it in a lonely place?"
"I can hardly say that. It is at the top of a bit hill, yet there's
room enough to give you rest and retirement if you should think of
keeping retreat from the busy world of the town. What's on your mind,
Flemming? Are you swithering whether you'll turn farmer or no? Let me
inform you that it's a poor occupation."
"I'll tell you what's on my mind, Ballengeich, if you'll swear piously
to keep it a secret."
"Indeed, I'll do nothing of the sort," replied the young man
decisively. "An honest man's bare word is as good as his bond, and the
strongest oath ever sworn never yet kept a rascal from divulging a
secret intrusted to him."
"You're right in that; you're right in that," the cobbler hastened to
add, "but this involves others as well as myself, and all are bound to
each other by oaths."
"Then I venture to say you are engaged in some nefarious business.
What is it? I'll tell nobody, and mayhap, young as I am, I can
give you some plain, useful advice from the green fields that will
counteract the pernicious notions that rise in the stifling wynds
of the crowded town."
"Well, I'm not at all sure that we don't need it, for to tell the
truth I have met with a wild set of lads, and I find myself wondering
how long my head will be in partnership with my body."
"Is the case so serious as that?"
"Aye, it is."
"Then why not withdraw?"
"Ah, that's easier said than done. When you once shut a spring door
on yourself, it isn't by saying 'I will' that you get out. You'll not
have forgotten the first night we met, when you jumped down on my back
from the wall of the Grey Friars' Church?"
"I remember it very distinctly, but which was the more surprised, you
or I, I have never yet been able to settle. I know I was very much
taken aback."
"Not so much as I," interrupted the cobbler dryly, "when you came
plump on my shoulders."
"I was going to say," went on Ballengeich, "that I'm afraid my
explanation about taking a short cut was rather incoherent."
"Oh, no more than mine, that I was there to catch a thief. It was none
of my business to learn why you were in the kirkyard."
"By the way, did you ever hear any more of the thief you were after?"
"That's just the point I am coming to. The man we were after was his
youthful majesty, James the Fifth, of Scotland."
"What, the king!" exclaimed the amazed laird.
"Just him, and no other," replied the cobbler, "and very glad I am
that the ploy miscarried, although I fear it's to come on again."
"I never heard the like of this!"
"You may well say that. You see it is known that the king in disguise
visits a certain house, for what purpose his majesty will be able to
tell you better than I. He goes unattended and secretly, and this
gives us our chance."
"But what in the name of the god of fools whoever he happens to be,
would you do with Jamie once you got him?"
"'Deed there's many things that might be mended in this country, as
you very well know, and the king can mend them if he likes, with a
word. Now rather than have his throat cut, our leader thinks he will
agree to reasonable reform."
"And supposing he doesn't agree, are you going to cut his throat?"
"I don't know what would happen if he proved stubborn. The moderate
section is just for locking him by somewhere until he listens to
wisdom."
"And it is in your mind that my house should become a prison for the
king?"
"It seems to me worth considering."
"There seems to me very little worth considering in the matter. It is
a mad scheme. Supposing the king promised under compulsion, what would
be his first action the moment he returned to Stirling Castle? He
would scour the country for you, and your heads would come off one by
one like buttons from an old coat."
"That's what I said. 'Trust the word of a Stuart,' says I, 'it's pure
nonsense!'"
"Oh I'm not sure but the word of a Stuart is as good as the word of
any other man," replied Ballengeich with a ring of anger in his voice,
at which the cobbler looked up surprised.
"You're not such an enemy of the king as you let on at first,"
commented the mender of shoes. "I doubt if I should have told you all
this."
"Have no fear. I can pledge you that my word is as good as a Stuart's
at least."
"I hope it's a good deal better."
"Your plan is not only useless, but dangerous, my friend. I told you
I would give you my advice, and now you have it. Do you think James is
a lad that you can tie to your bench stool here, lock your door, and
expect to find him when you came back? You must remember that James
has been in captivity before, when the Earl of Angus thought he had
him secure in the stronghold of Falkland, and yet, Jamie, who was then
but a lad of sixteen, managed to escape. Man Flemming, I must tell you
about that some day."
"Tell me about what?" inquired the shoemaker.
"Oh well, it may not be true after all," said young Ballengeich in
confusion, "but a friend of mine was gardener at Falkland and knew the
whole story about James's escape. Never mind that; my advice to you is
to shake hands with all such schemes, and turn your back on them."
"Oh, that's soon said," cried the cobbler with some impatience. "'Keep
out of the fire and ye'll not be burnt,' says the branch on the tree
to the faggot on the woodman's back. You see, Ballengeich, in this
matter I'm between the cart-wheel and the hard road. My head's off if
this ploy miscarries, as you've just told me, and my throat's cut if I
withdraw from the secret conclave. It's but a choice between two
hashings. There's a dead cobbler in any event."
"I see your difficulty," said the laird; "do you want to be helped out
of it?"
"Does the toad want to get from under the harrow?"
"When is your next meeting, and where?"
"The meetings are held in this room, and the next will be on Wednesday
night at eleven o'clock."
"Bless my soul!" cried Ballengeich. "Would nothing content you but to
drink the whole bucketful? The rendezvous in your shop! Then whoever
escapes, your head's on a pike."
"Aye," murmured the shoemaker dismally.
"It isn't taking very many of you to overturn the House of Stuart,"
said the laird, looking about the room, which was small.
"There's just one less than a dozen," replied the cobbler.
"Then we'll make up the number to the even twelve, hoping good luck
will attend us, for we will be as many as the Apostles. Between now
and Wednesday you might confer with your leaders, Flemming. Tell them
you know a young man you can trust, who owns exactly the kind of house
that James can be kept fast in, if he is captured. Say that your new
conspirator will take the oath, or anything else they like to give,
and add, what is more to the purpose, that he has a plot of his own
which differs from theirs, in giving at least as much chance of
success, and possesses the additional advantage of being safe. Whether
his plan miscarries or not, there will be no need to fear a reprisal,
and that is much to say in its favour."
"It is everything in its favour," said the shoemaker with a sigh of
relief.
"Very well, then, I will meet you here on Wednesday night at this
time, and learn whether or no they agree to have me as one of their
number. If they refuse, there's no harm done; I shall say nothing, and
the king will know no more about the matter than he does now."
"I could not ask better assurance than that," said the host cordially
as his guest rose.
They shook hands, and the guidman of Ballengeich, after peering out
into the darkness to see that the way was clear, took his leave.
The laird was prompt in keeping his appointment on the following
Wednesday, and learned that the conspirators were glad of his
assistance. The cobbler's tool-box had been pushed out of the way,
and a makeshift table, composed of three boards and two trestles,
occupied the centre of the room. A bench made up in similar fashion
ran along the back wall, and there were besides, half a dozen stools.
A hospitable pitcher of strong drink stood on the rude table, with a
few small measures, cups and horns.
As if the weight of conspiracy had lain heavy on his shoulders, the
young Laird of Ballengeich seemed older than he had ever looked
before. Lines of care marked his brow, and his distraught manner
proclaimed the plot-monger new to a dangerous business. The lights,
however, were dim, and Ballengeich doubted if any there present would
recognise him should they meet him in broad day, and this, in a
measure, was comforting. The cobbler sat very quiet on his accustomed
bench, the others occupying the stools and the board along the wall.
"We have been told," began the leader, who filled the chair at the
head of the table, where he had administered the oath with much
solemnity to their new member, "we have been told that you own a house
which you will place at our disposal should the purpose for which we
are gathered here together, succeed."
"I have such a house," said the laird, "and it is of course, placed
freely at your service. But the plan you propose is so full of danger
that I wondered if you have given the project the deep consideration
it deserves. It will be a hazardous undertaking to get the king safely
into my house, but let us suppose that done. How are you going to keep
him there?"
"We will set a guard over him."
"Very good. Which of you are to be the guardsmen, and how many?"
The conspirators looked one at another, but none replied. At last the
leader said,--
"It will be time to settle that when we have him safely under bolt."
"Pardon me, not so. The time to arrange all things is now. Everything
must be cut and dried, or failure is certain. The moment the king is
missing the country will be scoured for him. There will be no possible
place of refuge for miles round that will not be searched for the
missing monarch. We will suppose that four of you are guarding the
king, two and two, turn about. What are the four, and myself, to say
to the king's soldiers when they demand entrance to my house?"
"The king is but a boy, and when he sees death or compliance before
him he will accede to our demands."
"He is a boy, it is true," agreed the laird, "but he is a boy, as I
pointed out to my friend Flemming, who escaped from the clutches of
the Earl of Angus, out of the stronghold of Falkland Palace, and who
afterwards drove the earl and many of the Douglas leaders into English
exile. That is the kind of boy you have to deal with. Suppose then, he
gives consent to all you place before him? Do you think he will keep
his word?"
"I doubt it," said the cobbler, speaking for the first time. "The
word of a Stuart is not worth the snap of my finger."
"On the other hand, if he does not accede," continued Ballengeich,
"what are we to do with him?"
"Cut his throat," replied the leader decisively.
"No, no," cried several others, and for a moment there was a clamour
of discussion, all speaking at once, while the laird stood silently
regarding the vociferous disputants. Finally their leader said,--
"What better plan have you to propose?"
"The king is a boy," spoke up Ballengeich, "as you have said." At the
sound of his voice instant silence reigned. "But he is a boy, as I
have told you, extremely difficult to handle with violence. I propose
then to approach him peaceably. The fact that he is a boy, or a very
young man at least, implies that his mind will be more impressionable
than that of an older person whose ideas are set. I propose then that
a deputation wait upon his majesty and place before him the evils that
require remedying, being prepared to answer any question he may ask
regarding the method of their amendment. If peaceable means fail,
then try violence, say I, but it is hardly fair to the young man to
approach him at the beginning of his reign with a dirk in the hand.
His answer would likely be a reference to his headsman; that is a
favourite Stuart mode of argument. I have some friends about the
castle," continued the laird. "I supply them with various necessaries
from the farm; and if I do say it myself, I am well thought of by some
in authority. I can guarantee you, I am sure, a safe conduct for your
mission."
"But if safe conduct be refused?" said the leader.
"In that case, no harm's done. I shall divulge the names of none here
present, for indeed I know the name of none, except of my friend the
cobbler."
"Will you head the delegation, and be its spokesman?"
"No. My power to serve you lies in the fact that I am well thought of
in the palace. This power would be instantly destroyed were I known
as disaffected. I would put it on this basis. My friend, Flemming, is
the spokesman of ten others who have grievances to place before his
majesty. Therefore, as a matter of friendship between Flemming and
myself, I ask safe conduct for the eleven."
"Indeed," cried the cobbler, "I wish you would leave my name out of
the affair, since no one else seems eager to put his own forward."
"I put mine forward in making the request," said Ballengeich.
"Aye, but not as one of the deputation."
"Very well," agreed the laird in an offhand manner, "if you make a
point of it, I have no objection to saying that I shall make one of
the concert. I only proposed to keep out of it, because it is always
wise to have an unbiased person to put in his word at a critical
moment, and it seems to me important to have such a person on the
outside. But it shall be exactly as you please; I care little one
way or the other. I have made my proposal, and with you rests the
acceptance or the rejection of it. If you think it safer to kidnap a
king than to have a friendly chat with him, amicably arranged
beforehand, then all I can say is, that I don't in the least agree
with you. Please yourselves; please yourselves. We have but one neck
apiece, and surely we can risk it in the manner that brings us most
content."
"There is wisdom in what the laird says," cried one of the more
moderate party. "I never liked the kidnapping idea."
"Nor I," said the cobbler. "It was but a wild Hielan' notion."
"My project has this advantage," continued Ballengeich with nonchalant
impartiality, "that if it does not succeed, you can then fall back
upon abduction. Nothing in this proposal interferes with the ultimate
carrying out of your first plan."
"It is putting our heads in the lion's mouth," objected the leader,
but in the discussion that followed he was outvoted. Then came the
choosing of the delegates, on which rock the enterprise was nearly
wrecked, for there seemed to be no anxiety on the part of any four
present to form the committee of expostulation which was to meet the
monarch. At last it was decided that all should go, if Ballengeich
could produce a written safe-conduct signed by the king, which would
include eleven persons.
Within three days this document was placed in the hands of the cobbler
by Ballengeich, who told him that it had been signed that morning. And
he added that the king had expressed himself as well pleased to
receive a deputation of his loyal subjects.
The cobbler handled the passport gingerly, as if he were not
altogether assured of its potency to protect him.
"The conference is for Wednesday at midday," said Ballengeich.
"Assemble some minutes before that hour in the courtyard of the
castle, and you will be conducted to the Presence."
"Wednesday!" echoed the cobbler, his face turning pale. "Why
Wednesday, the day of our weekly meetings? Did you suggest it?"
"It was the king's suggestion, of course," replied Ballengeich. "It is
merely a coincidence, and is, I think, a good omen."
"I wish I were sure of it," moaned the cobbler.
Before the bell rang twelve the conspirators were gathered together in
the courtyard of Castle Stirling; huddled would perhaps be the more
accurate word, for they were eleven very frightened men. More than one
cast longing looks towards the gate by which they had come in, but
some places are easier to enter than to leave, and the portal was well
guarded by stalwart soldiers.
As the bell slowly tolled twelve, an official came from the palace
into the courtyard, searched the delegation for concealed weapons, and
curtly commanded them to follow him. Climbing the stone stairway they
were ushered into a large room containing a long oaken table with five
chairs on one side and six on the other. At the head of the table was
a high-backed seat resembling a throne. The official left them
standing there alone, and after he had closed the door they heard the
ominous sound of bolts being thrust into their places. The silence
which followed seemed oppressive; almost suffocating. No man spoke,
but each stood like a statue holding his cap in his hand. At last the
tension was broken, but it would scarcely be correct to say that it
was relieved. The heavy curtains parted and the king entered the room,
clad in the imposing robes of his high state. A frown was on his brow,
and he advanced straight from the doorway to the throne at the head of
the table, without speaking or casting a glance at any one of the
eleven. When he had seated himself he said gruffly,--
"There is a chair for each of you; sit down."
It is doubtful if any of the company, except the cobbler, at first
recognised their ruler as the alleged Laird of Ballengeich; but at the
sound of the monarch's voice several started and looked anxiously one
at another. Again the king addressed them,--
"A week ago to-night I met you in Flemming's room. I appointed this
day for the conference that the routine of your meetings might not be
disturbed, as I thought it well that the last of your rebellious
gatherings should be held in the Castle of Stirling, for I am
resolved that this conclave shall be your final effort in treason. One
of your number has stated that the word of a Stuart is not to be
trusted. This reputation appears to have descended to me, and it is a
pity I should not take advantage of it."
When the king ceased speaking he lifted a small mallet and smote a
resounding bell, which was on the table before him. A curtain parted
and two men entered bearing between them a block covered with black
cloth; this they placed silently in the centre of the floor and
withdrew. Again the king smote the bell and there entered a masked
executioner with a gleaming axe over his shoulder. He took his place
beside the block, resting the head of his axe on the floor.
"This," continued the king, "is the entertainment I have provided for
you. Each of you shall taste of that," and he pointed to the heading
block.
The cobbler rose unsteadily to his feet, drawing from his bosom with
trembling fingers the parchment bearing the king's signature. He
moistened his dry lips with his tongue, then spoke in a low voice.
"Sir," he said, "we are here under safe conduct from the king."
"Safe conduct to where?" cried James angrily, "that is the point. I
stand by the document; read it; read it!"
"Sir, it says safe conduct for eleven men here present, under
protection of your royal word."
"You do not keep to the point, cobbler," shouted the king bringing his
fist down on the table. "Safe conduct to where? I asked. The parchment
does not say safe conduct back into Stirling again. Safe conduct to
Heaven, or elsewhere, was what I guaranteed."
"That is but an advocate's quibble, your majesty. Safe conduct is a
phrase well understood by high and low alike. But we have placed our
heads in the lion's mouth, as our leader said last Wednesday night,
and we cannot complain if now his jaws are shut. Nevertheless I would
respectfully submit to your majesty that I alone of those present
doubted a Stuart's word, and am like to have my doubts practically
confirmed. I would also point out to your majesty that my comrades
would not have been here had I not trusted the Master of Ballengeich,
and through him the king, therefore, I ask you to let me alone pay the
penalty of my error, and allow my friends to go scatheless from the
grim walls of Stirling."
"There is reason in what you say," replied the king. "Are you all
agreed to that?" he asked of the others.
"No, by God," cried the leader springing to his feet and smiting the
table with his fist as lustily as the king had done. "We stand
together, or fall together. The mistake was ours as much as his, and
we entered these gates with our eyes open."
"Headsman," said the king, "do your duty."
The headsman whipped off the black cloth and displayed underneath it a
box containing a large jug surrounded by eleven drinking-horns. Those
present, all now on their feet, glanced with amazement from the masked
man to the king. The sternness had vanished from his majesty's face,
as if a dark cloud had passed from the sun and allowed it to shine
again. There sparkled in the king's eye all the jubilant mischief of
the incorrigible boy, and his laughter rang to the ceiling. Somewhat
recovering his gravity he stretched out his hand and pointed a finger
at the cobbler.
"I frightened you, Flemming," he cried. "I frightened you; don't deny
it. I'll wager my gold crown against a weaver's woollen bonnet, I
frightened the whole eleven of you."
"Indeed," said the cobbler with an uneasy laugh, "I shall be the first
to admit it."
[Illustration: "HEADSMAN: DO YOUR DUTY."]
"Your face was as white as a harvest moon in mid-sky, and I heard
somebody's teeth chatter. Now the drink we have had at our meetings
heretofore was vile, and no more fitted for a Christian throat than is
the headsman's axe; but if you ever tasted anything better than this,
tell me where to get a hogshead of it."
The headsman having filled their horns, the leader raised the flagon
above his head and said,--
"I give you the toast of The King!"
"No, no," proclaimed the boyish monarch, "I want to drink this myself.
I'll give you a toast. May there never come a time when a Scotchman is
afraid to risk his head for what he thinks is right."
And this toast they drank together.
THE KING DINES
"When kings frown, courtiers tremble," said Sir Donald Sinclair to the
Archbishop of St. Andrews, "but in Stirling the case seems reversed.
The courtiers frown, and the king looks anxiously towards them."
"Indeed," replied the prelate, "that may well be. When a man invites a
company to dine with him, and then makes the discovery that his larder
is empty, there is cause for anxiety, be he king or churl. In truth my
wame's beginning to think my throat's cut." And the learned churchman
sympathetically smoothed down that portion of his person first named,
whose rounded contour gave evidence that its owner was accustomed to
ample rations regularly served.
"Ah well," continued Sir Donald, "his youthful majesty's foot is
hardly in the stirrup yet, and I'm much mistaken in the glint of his
eye and the tint of his beard, if once he is firmly in the saddle the
horse will not feel the prick of the spur, should it try any tricks
with him."
"Scotland would be none the worse of a firm king," admitted the
archbishop, glancing furtively at the person they were discussing,
"but James has been so long under the control of others that it will
need some force of character to establish a will of his own. I doubt
he is but a nought posing as a nine," concluded his reverence in a
lower tone of voice.
"I know little of mathematics," said Sir Donald, "but yet enough to
tell me that a nought needs merely a flourish to become a nine, and
those nines among us who think him a nought, may become noughts should
he prove a nine. There's a problem in figures for you, archbishop,
with a warning at the end of it, like the flourish at the tail of the
nine."
The young man to whom they referred, James, the fifth of that name,
had been pacing the floor a little distance from the large group of
hungry men who were awaiting their dinner with some impatience. Now
and then the king paused in his perambulation, and gazed out of a
window overlooking the courtyard, again resuming his disturbed march
when his brief scrutiny was completed. The members of the group talked
in whispers, one with another, none too well pleased at being kept
waiting for so important a function as a meal.
Suddenly there was a clatter of horse's hoofs in the courtyard. The
king turned once more to the window, glanced a moment at the commotion
below, then gave utterance to an exclamation of annoyance, his right
hand clenching angrily. Wheeling quickly to the guards at the door he
cried,--
"Bring the chief huntsman here at once, and a prod in the back with a
pike may make up for his loitering in the courtyard."
The men, who stood like statues with long axes at the doorway, made no
move; but two soldiers, sitting on a bench outside, sprang to their
feet and ran clattering down the stair. They returned presently with
the chief huntsman, whom they projected suddenly into the room with a
violence little to the woodman's taste, for he neglected to remove his
bonnet in the royal presence, and so far forgot himself as to turn his
head when he recovered his equilibrium, roundly cursing those who had
made a projectile of him.
"Well, woodlander!" cried the king, his stern voice ringing down again
from the lofty rafters of the great hall. "Are there no deer in my
forests of the north?"
"Deer in plenty, your majesty," answered the fellow with a mixture of
deference and disrespect, which in truth seemed to tinge the manners
of all present. "There are deer in the king's forest, and yet a lack
of venison in the king's larder!"
"What mean you by that, you scoundrel?" exclaimed the king, a flush
overspreading his face, ruddy as his beard. "Have your marksmen lost
their skill with bow and arrow, that you return destitute to the
castle?"
"The marksmen are expert as ever, your majesty, and their arrows fly
as unerringly to their billet, but in these rude times, your majesty,
the sting of an arrow may not be followed by the whetting of a
butcher's knife."
The king took an impatient step forward, then checked himself. One or
two among the group of noblemen near the door laughed, and there was a
ripple of suppressed merriment over the whole company. At first the
frown on the king's brow deepened, and then as suddenly it cleared
away, as a puff of wind scatters the mist from the heights of
Stirling. When the king spoke again it was in a calm, even voice. "As
I understand you, there was no difficulty in capturing the deer, but
you encountered some obstacle between the forest and Stirling which
caused you to return empty-handed. I hope you have not added the
occupation of itinerant flesher to the noble calling of forest
huntsman?"
"Indeed, your majesty," replied the unabashed hunter, "the profession
of flesher was forced upon me. The deer we had slaughtered found it
impossible to win by the gates of Arnprior."
"Ah! John Buchanan then happened to need venison as you passed?"
"Your majesty has hit the gold there. Buchanan not only needed it but
took it from us."
"Did you inform him that your cargo was intended for the larder of the
king?"
"I told him that in so many words, your majesty; and he replied that
if James was king in Stirling, John was king in Kippen, and having the
shorter name, he took the shorter method of supplying his kitchen."
"Made you any effort to defend your gear?"
"Truth to say, your majesty, that were a useless trial. The huntsman
who will face the deer thinks no shame to turn his back on the wild
boar, and Buchanan, when he demanded your majesty's venison, was well
supported by a number of mad caterans with drawn swords in their
hands, who had made up for a lack of good meat with a plentitude of
strong drink. Resistance was futile, and we were fain to take the
bannock that was handed to us, even though the ashes were upon it.
Ronald of the Hills, a daft Heilan'man who knew no better, drew an
arrow to his ear and would have pinned Buchanan to his own gate,
resulting in the destruction of us all, had I not, with my stave,
smote the weapon from his hand. Then the mad youth made such to-do
that we had just to tie him up and bring him to Stirling on the
horse's back like a sack of fodder."
"Your caution does credit to your Lowland breeding, Master huntsman,
and the conduct of Ronald cannot be too severely condemned. Bring him
here, I beg of you, that he may receive the king's censure."
Ronald was brought in, a wild, unkempt figure, his scanty dress
disordered, bearing witness to the struggle in which he had but lately
been engaged. His elbows were pinioned behind him, and his shock of
red hair stood out like a heather broom. He scowled fiercely at the
huntsman, and that cautious individual edged away from him, bound as
he was.
"By my beard! as the men of the heathen East swear," said the king,
"his hair somewhat matches my own in hue. Ronald, what is the first
duty of a huntsman?"
"He speaks only the Gaelic, your majesty," explained the royal ranger.
"You have the Gaelic, MacNeish," continued the king, addressing one of
his train. "Expound to him, I beg of you, my question. What is the
first duty of a huntsman?"
MacNeish, stepping forward, put the question in Gaelic and received
Ronald's reply.
"He says, your majesty, that a huntsman's first duty is to kill the
game he is sent for."
"Quite right," and the king nodded approval. "Ask him if he knows as
well the second duty of a huntsman."
Ronald's eye flashed as he gave his answer with a vehemence that
caused the chief huntsman to move still farther away from him.
"He says, your majesty," translated MacNeish, "that the second duty of
a huntsman is to cut the throat of any cateran who presumes to
interfere with the progress of the provender from the forest to his
master's kitchen."
"Right again," cried the king, smiting his thigh, "and an answer
worthy of all commendation. Tell him this, MacNeish, that hereafter he
is the chief huntsman to the Castle of Stirling. We will place this
cowardly hellion in the kitchen where he will be safe from the hungry
frenzy of a Buchanan, drunk or sober."
"But, your majesty--" protested the deposed ranger.
"To the kitchen with him!" sternly commanded the king. "Strip off the
woodlander's jacket he has disgraced and tie round him the strings of
a scullion's apron, which will suit his middle better than the belt of
a sword." Then the king, flashing forth his own weapon and stepping
aside, swung it over the head of the Highlander, who stood like a
statue in spite of the menace, and the sword came down with a deft
accuracy which severed the binding cords without touching the person
of the prisoner, freeing him at a stroke. A murmur of admiration at
the dexterity of the king went up from the assemblage, every member of
which was himself an expert with the weapon. The freed Highlander
raised his brawny arms above his head and gave startling vent to the
war-cry of his clan, "Loch Sloy! Loch Sloy!" unmindful of the presence
in which he stood. Then he knelt swiftly and brought his lips to the
buckle of the king's shoe.
"Gratitude in a MacFarlane!" sneered MacNeish.
"Aye," said the king, "and bravery too, for he never winked an eyelash
when the sword swung above him; an admirable combination of qualities
whether in a MacFarlane or a MacNeish. And now, gentlemen," continued
his majesty, "although the affair of the huntsman is settled, it
brings us no nearer our venison. If the cook will not to the king,
then must the king to the cook. Gentlemen, to your arms and your
horses! They say a Scotsman fights well when he is hungry; let us put
the proverb to the test. We ride and dine with his majesty of Kippen."
A spontaneous cheer burst from every man in the great hall to the
accompaniment of a rattle of swords. Most of those present were more
anxious to follow the king to a contest than into a council chamber.
When silence ensued, the mild voice of the archbishop, perhaps because
it was due to his profession, put in a seasonable word; and the nobles
scowled for they knew he had great influence with the king.
"Your majesty, if the Buchanans are drunk----"
"If they are drunk, my lord archbishop," interrupted James, "we will
sober them. 'Tis a duty even the Church owes to the inebriate." And
with that he led the way out of the hall, his reply clearing the brows
of his followers.
A few minutes later a clattering cavalcade rode forth from the Castle
of Stirling, through the town and down the path of Ballengeich, a
score of soldiers bringing up the tail of the procession; and in due
time the company came to the entrance of Arnprior Castle. There seemed
like to be opposition at the gate, but Sir Donald, spurring his horse
forward among the guard, scattered the members of it right and left,
and, raising both voice and sword, shouted,--
"The king! The king! Make way for the King of Scotland!"
The defenders seeing themselves outnumbered, as the huntsmen had been
in that locality a short time before, gave up their axes to the
invaders as meekly as the royal rangers had given up their venison.
The king placed his own guard at the gate. Springing from his horse he
entered the castle door, and mounted the stone steps, sword in hand,
his retinue close at his heels. The great hall to which they ascended
was no monk's chapel of silence. There was wafted to them, or rather
blown down upon them like a fierce hurricane, the martial strains of
"Buchanan for ever," played by pipers anything but scant of wind; yet
even this tornado was not sufficient to drown the roar of human
voices, some singing, others apparently in the heat of altercation,
and during the height of this deafening clamour the king and his
followers entered the dining-hall practically unobserved.
On the long oaken table, servitors were busily placing smoking viands
soon to be consumed; others were filling the drinking-horns, while
some of the guests were engaged in emptying them, although the meal
had not yet begun. Buchanan, his back towards the incomers, his brawny
hands on the table, leaning forward, was shouting to the company,
commanding his guests to seat themselves and fall to while the venison
was hot. There seemed to be several loud voiced disputes going on
regarding precedence. The first intimation that the bellowing laird
had of the intruder's presence was the cold touch of steel on his bare
neck. He sprang round as if a wasp had stung him, his right hand
swinging instinctively to the hilt of his sword, but the point of
another was within an inch of his throat, and his hand fell away from
his weapon.
"The fame of your hospitality has spread abroad, Buchanan," spoke the
clear voice of the king, "so we have come to test its quality."
The pipers had stopped in their march, and with the ceasing of the
music, the wind from the bags escaped to the outer air with a long
wailing groan. The tumult of discussion subsided, and all eyes turned
towards the speaker, some of the guests hastily drawing swords but
returning them again to the scabbards when they saw themselves
confronted by the king. Buchanan steadied himself with his back
against the table, and in the sudden silence it seemed long ere he
found his tongue. At last he said,--
"Does the king come as a guest with a drawn sword in his hand?"
"As you get north of Stirling, Buchanan," replied James with a smile,
"it is customary to bring the knife with you when you go out to dine.
But I am quite in agreement with the Laird of Arnprior in thinking the
sword an ill ornament in a banqueting-hall, therefore bestow your
weapons on Sir Donald here, and command your clan now present to
disarm."
[Illustration: "'AS YOU GET NORTH OF STIRLING, BUCHANAN,' REPLIED
JAMES, WITH A SMILE, 'IT IS CUSTOMARY TO BRING THE KNIFE WITH YOU
WHEN YOU GO OUT TO DINE.'"]
With visible reluctance Buchanan divested himself of sword and dirk,
and his comrades, now stricken dumb, followed his example. The
weapons were thrown together in a corner of the hall where some of
the king's soldiers stood guard over them. His majesty's prediction
regarding the sobering effect of his advent was amply fulfilled. The
disarmed men looked with dismay on one another, for they knew that
such a prelude might well have its grand finale at the block or the
gibbet. The king, although seemingly in high spirits, was an unknown
quantity, and before now there had been those in power who, with a
smile on their lips, had sent doomed men to a scaffold.
"In intercepting my venison, Buchanan," continued the king with the
utmost politeness, "you were actuated by one of two motives. Your
intervention was either an insult to the king, or it was an intimation
that you desired to become his cook. In which light am I to view your
action, Buchanan?"
There was in the king's voice a sinister ring as he uttered this
sentence that belied the smile upon his lips, and apprehension
deepened as all present awaited Buchanan's reply. At the word "cook,"
he had straightened himself, and a deeper flush than the wine had left
there, overspread his countenance; now he bowed with deference and
said,--
"It has ever been my ambition to see your majesty grace with his
presence my humble board."
"I was sure of it," cried James with a hearty laugh which brought
relief to the anxious hearts of many standing before him. The king
thrust his sword into a scabbard, and, with a clangour of hilt on
iron, those behind him followed his example.
"And now," cried James, "let the king's men eat while the laird's men
wait upon them. And as for you, John Buchanan, it is to-day my
pleasure that you have the honour of being my cup-bearer."
Whether the honour thus thrust upon the Laird of Arnprior was as much
to his liking as an invitation to sit down with his guest would have
been, is questionable, but he served his majesty with good grace,
and the king was loud in his praise of the venison, although his
compliments fell sadly on the ears of the hungry men who watched it
disappear so rapidly. At the end of the feast James rose with his
flagon in his hand.
"I give you the king," he cried, "the King of Kippen. When I left
Stirling I had made up my mind that there could be but one king in a
country, but glorious Scotland shall have no such restriction, and I
bestow upon Buchanan, whose ample cheer we have done justice to, the
title of King of Kippen, so long as he does not fall into the error of
supposing that Kippen includes all of Scotland, instead of Scotland
including Kippen. And so, Laird of Arnprior, King of Kippen, we drink
your good health, and when next my venison passes your door, take only
that portion of it which bears the same relation to the whole, as the
district of Kippen does to broad Scotland."
The toast was drunk with cheers, and when silence came, the King of
Kippen, casting a rueful glance along the empty board, said,--
"I thank your majesty for your good wishes, but in truth the advice
you give will be hard to follow, for I see I should have stolen twice
the quantity of venison I did, because as I have not done so, I and my
men are like to go hungry."
And thus Buchanan came into his title of King of Kippen, although he
had to wait some time for his dinner on the day he acquired the
distinction.
THE KING'S TRYST
The king ruled. There was none to question the supremacy of James the
Fifth. At the age of twenty-two he now sat firmly on his throne. He
was at peace with England, friendly with France, and was pledged to
take a wife from that country. His great grandfather, James the
Second, had crushed the Black Douglas, and he himself had scattered
the Red Douglas to exile. No Scottish noble was now powerful enough to
threaten the stability of the throne. The country was contented and
prosperous, so James might well take his pleasure as best pleased him.
If any danger lurked near him it was unseen and unthought of.
The king, ever first in the chase, whether the quarry ran on four legs
or on two, found himself alone on the road leading north-west from
Stirling, having outstripped his comrades in their hunt of the deer.
Evening was falling and James being some miles from Stirling Castle,
raised his bugle to his lips to call together his scattered followers,
but before a blast broke the stillness, his majesty was accosted by a
woman who emerged suddenly and unnoticed from the forest on his left
hand.
"My lord, the king;" she said, and her voice, like the sound of silver
bells, thrilled with a note of inquiry.