so, Lady Catherine, your task is more serious than you anticipated.
There is furthermore another source of danger against you, and it is
my sincere wish that in the struggle to come you may not be too
severely handicapped. While the issue of our contest is still in
doubt, your sister will assuredly unlock the door and give the alarm,
hoping to prevent your contemplated crime, or my killing of you. I
think it right that you should not be called upon to suffer this
intervention, for, if you will permit me to say so, I admire your
determination as much as I admire, in another way, the Lady Isabel's
leaning towards mercy. I shall then, take this key from the larger
door and place it, with your sister, outside on the narrow stairway.
You have withdrawn the rope ladder so she cannot alarm the garrison."
"But I have not withdrawn it," said Catherine quickly. "My sister must
not leave this room or she will bring interference."
"Then," said the king calmly, as he rose and took the key from the
large door, "we shall at least make it impossible for her to open the
way into the hall." And so saying, he stepped to the smaller door,
which he opened, and before either of the women could prevent his
action, or even grasp an inkling of his design, he stepped outside,
key in hand, and thrust to their places the bolts of the stairway
door.
The two girls looked at each other for a moment in silence, Isabel
plainly panic-stricken, while in Catherine's face anger struggled with
chagrin. Each was quick to see the sudden consequences of this turning
of the tables; the two were helpless prisoners in a remote portion of
the castle, no one within its walls being acquainted with their
whereabouts. The king, insulted, hoodwinked, and all but murdered,
was now at liberty, free to ride the few short leagues that lay
between Doune and Stirling, and before daybreak the fortress would be
in the hands of an overwhelming force with the present garrison
prisoners. In the awed stillness an unexpected sound came to them from
the outside; the sound of a man endeavouring to suppress the hearty
laughter that overmastered him. To be doomed is bad enough, but to be
made the subject of levity was too much for the dauntless Catherine.
She flung her dagger ringing to the stone floor with a gesture of
rage, then sank upon a bench and gave way to tears; tears of bitter
humiliation and rage.
"Ladies," said the king from the outside, "I beg that you will allow
me to open the door." But, receiving no answer, the bolts were drawn
once more; James again entered the apartment and gazed down upon two
fair proud heads, crowned with ruddy hair.
"Dear ladies," said the king, "forgive me my untimely mirth. Both of
you take matters much too seriously; a little laughter is necessary in
this world. My Lady Catherine, I told you that I could grant no
concessions under coercion, but now coercion has vanished and I enter
this room a free man of my own will. Tell me, my girl, what is it you
want? The rescinding of your father's exile? It is granted. The right
to live unmolested in your own castle? It is granted. Safe conduct to
England? It is granted. The privilege of remaining in Doune? It is
granted. But do not ask me to rescind banishment against Archibald
Douglas, Earl of Angus, for that I shall not concede. The Douglas
ambition, and not the Scottish king, has wrecked the Douglas family,
both Black and Red. But as far as concerns your own immediate kin,
with one exception, I shall give anything you like to ask."
Catherine rose to her feet, threw back her auburn tresses, and said
curtly,--
"We ask nothing but the privilege of leaving the country you rule."
The king bowed.
"And you, Lady Isabel?"
"I go with my sister and my mother."
[Illustration: "MY FAIR ANTAGONIST, I BID YOU GOOD-NIGHT."]
"I grieve at your decision, ladies, and for the first time in my life
envy England in getting an advantage over poor old Scotland, which I
hope will not be irreparable, for I trust you will return. But if such
be your determination, then go in peace, and in the daylight. Your
journey shall not be molested by me. But, before you add finality to
your intentions, I think it would be but fair to inform your lady
mother that the king is anxious to be of service to her, and perhaps
she may be content to accept what her daughters are apparently too
proud to receive."
James placed the key once more in the lock, and turning to Catherine
said,--
"My fair antagonist, I bid you good-night."
He stretched out his right hand, and she, with some hesitation and
visible reluctance placed her palm in his. Then the king raised to his
lips the hand which at one time seemed like to have stricken him.
"And you, sweet Isabel, whose gentle words I shall not soon forget,
you will not refuse me your hand?"
"No, your majesty, if you will promise to think kindly of me."
The king, however, did not raise her hand to his lips, but placing an
arm about her waist he drew her towards him and kissed her. Next
moment he was hurrying down the stone steps, and the two were left
alone together.
THE KING INVESTIGATES
The king, wishing to decide wisely, was troubled by a conflict of
evidence, the bane of impartial judges all the world over. A courier
from England had brought formal complaint that, while the two
countries were ostensibly at peace, the condition along the border
was practically a state of war. Raids were continually being made
from the southern portion of Scotland across the boundary into England,
and the robbers retreated unscathed to hide themselves among their
hills, carrying their booty with them. These ruffians had long gone
unpunished, and now England made friendly protest in the matter.
The king gathered his nobles about him and laid the case before them.
Not a man among them but was older than himself, and therefore more
experienced. James requested advice regarding the action it might
be thought wise to take. Many of the nobles whose estates lay in
the Lowlands of Scotland had themselves suffered from Highland
cattle-lifters, and thus they were imbued with a fellow feeling for
the raided English across the border. The English protest, they
said, was courteously made. The evil was undoubted, and had existed
unchecked for years, growing worse rather than better. Henry VIII, who
now occupied the English throne, was a strong and determined man, and
this continued source of irritation in the northern part of his realm
might easily lead to a deplorable war between the two countries. In
addition, James of Scotland was nephew to Henry of England, and the
expostulation from uncle to nephew was of the mildest, without any
threat even intimated.
The nobles thought that James might well put a stop to a state of
things which no just man could approve, and thus do an act of justice
which would at the same time please an august relative. James admitted
that these were powerful arguments, but still if the Border robbers,
who had many followers, resisted the Scottish force sent against them,
there would be civil war, an outcome not to be looked forward to with
light heart.
"In truth," said the king, "I would rather lead an army against
England, with England in the right, than against my own countrymen,
even if they were in the wrong."
This remark seemed to encourage certain gentlemen there present, who
up to that moment had not spoken. The Earl of Bothwell, as the highest
in rank among the silent phalanx, stepped forward and said,--
"Your majesty, there are always two sides to a question, and, with
your permission, I should be glad to put in a word for those Border
riders who have been so ruthlessly condemned by men who know nothing
of them."
"It is for the purpose of hearing all there is to say that I called
you together," rejoined the king. "Speak, my Lord of Bothwell."
"In the first place, your majesty, these Border men have had to stand
the first brunt of all invasions into our country for centuries past.
It is, therefore, little to be wondered at that they have small liking
for the English. We are at peace with those to the south of us now, it
is true; but how long that peace will remain unbroken, no man can say.
There is, however, one thing certain, that if the King of Scotland
exercises the power he undoubtedly possesses, and crushes the Border
forces, he will have destroyed a staunch bulwark of his realm, and I
quite agree with those gentlemen who have spoken so eloquently against
the Borderers, that the King of England, and the people of England,
will be well pleased."
This statement had a marked effect on King James, and it would have
been well if those who agreed with the Earl of Bothwell had been as
moderate in their denunciation. But some of them, apparently, could
not forget the youth of the king, and, not having the sense to see
that his majesty's desire was to render a just decision, thought he
might be frightened by strong language.
"It is easy for those to speak well of the pike, who have not felt the
prod of its point," cried Lord Maxwell angrily. "Few English invasions
have reached Stirling, but every one of them have crossed the Border.
What matters the lifting of some English cattle? The Southerners never
scrupled to eat good Scottish beef whenever they set foot on Scottish
soil. I would hang the English envoy for daring to come to a Scottish
king with complaints of cattle lifting."
The king frowned slightly but said nothing, and then Adam Scott of
Tushielaw had to thrust his bull neck into the noose.
"I give you fair warning," he cried, "that if the king's forces are
turned against the Borderers, my sword helps my neighbours."
"And I say the same," shouted Cockburn of Henderland.
Some of the opposition were about to speak, but the king held up his
hand for silence.
"That is treason," he said quietly. "Adam Scott, I have heard that you
are called King of the Border. Scotland is blessed with a number of
men who are king of this, or king of that, and I am sure I make no
objection, as long as they do not forget the difference that exists
between a king in name and a king in reality. I asked for advice, but
not for threats."
Then to the whole assemblage he went on--
"Gentlemen, I thank you for your counsel. I shall give a soothing
reply to my uncle's ambassador, keeping in mind the peace that exists
between the two countries, and then I shall take what has been said on
each side into consideration and let you know the result."
Accepting this as dismissal, those there congregated withdrew, save
only Sir David Lyndsay, the king having made a sign for him to
remain. "Well, Davie," he said, when they were alone, "what do you
think of it all?"
"To tell truth, your majesty," answered the poet, "it's a knotty
problem, not to be solved by rhyming brain. When the first spokesman
finished I was entirely of his opinion, but, after that, the Earl of
Bothwell's plea seemed equally weighty, and between the two I don't
know what to think."
"That is the disadvantage of an unbiased mind, Davie. Now, with good,
strong prejudices, one side or the other, the way would be clear, and
yet I despise a man who doesn't know his own mind."
"Scott and Cockburn seemed to know their minds very well," ventured
the poet, with a smile.
"Yes, and if one or two more of them had spoken as decidedly, I would
have been off to the Border to-night at the head of my troops. It is a
weakness of mine, but I can't put up with a threat very well."
"Kings are rarely called upon to thole a threat," said Sir David, with
a laugh.
"I'm not so sure of that, Davie. Kings have to thole many things if
they are to rule justly. Now, Davie, if you'll but tell me just what
to do, it will be a great help, for then I can take the opposite
direction with confidence."
But the poet shook his head.
"I cannot tell you," he said. "There seems much to be said for both
sides."
"Then, Davie, send down to the town for the cobbler; send for
Flemming, he is a common-sense, canny body; he shall be the Solomon of
the occasion. That broad-faced hammer of his seems to rap out wisdom
as well as drive pegs. Bring him up with you, and we'll place the case
before him."
As the rhymster left the room, Sir Donald Sinclair came clanking in,
seemingly in something of a hurry.
"Was it your majesty's pleasure," began Sir Donald, "to have detained
Adam Scott and Cockburn?"
"No. Why do you ask?"
"Because they have mounted their horses and are off to the Border as
fast as two good steeds can carry them."
"And where are Bothwell, Home, and Maxwell, and the Lairds of
Fairniherst, Johnston and Buccleuch?"
"They are all closeted in the Earl of Bothwell's room, your majesty.
Shall I take any action regarding them?"
"Oh no; do not meddle with them. You heard the opinions given a while
since, Donald? What conclusion did you arrive at?"
"I am scarcely an impartial judge, your majesty. A soldier is ever for
fighting, and I fear he pays little attention to the right or wrong of
it."
"You would try a fall with the Border kings perhaps?"
"Yes, your majesty, I would."
"Then I need have no fear but the troops will respond if I call on
them?"
"None in the least, your majesty."
"Well, I am glad to hear that, Sir Donald, and, meanwhile, I can think
of the project without any doubt regarding my army."
When the cobbler came to the castle with Sir David, the king led the
way to one of his small private rooms, and there sketched out the
argument on both sides of the question with great impartiality.
"Now, Flemming," he said, at the conclusion, "what is there to do?"
For a long time the shoemaker made no reply; then he scratched his
head in perplexed fashion. At last he said:
"It gets beyond me, your majesty. Thieving is not right unless it's
done under cover of law, which these reiving lads to the South seem to
take small account of. On the other hand, to destroy them root and
branch may be leaving Scotland naked to her enemy. I admit I'm fairly
in a corner."
Sir David Lyndsay laughed.
"You're as bad as I am, cobbler," he said.
"There is one point," commented the king, "that no one seems to have
taken any notice of, and that is this: Those who speak against the
Border marauders are those who know little of them except by hearsay;
while the lords in their neighbourhood, who should know them well,
stand up for them, and even threaten to draw sword on their behalf."
"That certainly speaks well for the villains," admitted the cobbler.
"Then what is your verdict," demanded the king.
"Well, I kind of think I should leave them alone," said Flemming
cautiously.
"Do you agree with him, David?"
"I'm not sure but I do. It seems a choice of two evils."
The king laughed riotously and smote his thigh.
"Well, of all half-hearted counsellors, King James has the champion
pair; and yet I had made up my mind before I asked the advice of
either of you."
"And what was that?" inquired Sir David, "to attack them?"
"No."
"To leave them alone?" suggested the cobbler.
"No."
"What then?" cried both together.
"What then? Why, just to get a little surer information. Here are
three men of open minds. I propose that for the next week, or
thereabouts, we three shall be honest cattle merchants, who will mount
our honest horses and take a quiet bit journey along the Border. The
scenery, they tell me, is grand, and David here will make poems on
it. It's a healthy country, and the cobbler has been bending too
assiduously over broken shoes of late, so the fresh air and the
exercise will do him good."
"Losh, your majesty!" cried the cobbler, in dismay, "I'm no horseman.
I never rode any four-legged thing but a cobbler's bench, and that
side-saddle fashion."
"Oh, you'll have learnt when we reach the Border," said the king, with
a laugh. "Before two days are past you'll be riding as well as Sir
David, who is at present the worst horseman in all Scotland."
"Pegasus is the steed I yearn to ride," returned the poet, with a wry
face.
"Yes, and even it sometimes throws you, David. You'll never be the
Psalmist your namesake was. Well, we'll look on it as agreed. Flemming
shall be purse-bearer, and so our tour will be an economical one. Here
is a purse well filled. You will look after the drover's costumes,
make all disbursements, and take care that you do not betray us by
undue lavishness."
Thus it came about that three supposed drovers took their way to the
Border by a route which drovers were never known to travel before,
and, besides this, they were travelling empty-handed towards England,
whereas, real drovers faced the south with their herds before them,
and the north with those herds sold or stolen. Not one of the three
had in his vocabulary a single word pertaining to the cattle trade,
and every man with whom they spoke knew at once that, whatever else
they might be, they were not drovers, and so the ill-fated three went
blundering through the free-booters' country, climbing hills and
descending dales, and frightening honest folk with the questions they
asked; questions about men whose names should be spoken in a whisper,
and even then with a look of fear over the shoulder. Innkeepers who
saw them approach with delight, watched them leave with relief,
thanking God that no raider had happened inside to hear their innocent
inquiries; yet the three themselves were enjoying an interesting and
instructive journey, and the king had come to the conclusion that the
devil was not so black as he was painted.
At last, they stumbled into a hostelry kept by a man whose name was
Armstrong. Their horses were taken care of and the trio sat down to a
hearty meal, as had been their luck all along the Border.
"Landlord, does this meat come from England?" asked the king.
The landlord caught his breath. He stood stock still for a moment and
then replied,--
"I hope it is to your lordship's liking."
"Oh! I'm no lordship," said James, "but an honest drover body, trying
to find new markets for my stock."
"I can see that," replied the landlord; "then you will know that this
meat's raised by Scotchmen."
"Raised!" laughed the king. "Raised where? In Northumberland? Are you
sure 'lift' is not the word you mean?"
"Sir," said the landlord, gravely, "there's no lifting of cattle
hereabout. This is not the Highlands. All in the neighbourhood are
honest farmers or foresters."
"Earning their bread by the sweat of their brow," put in Sir David
Lyndsay.
"Doubtless, when the English are after them," suggested the cobbler.
The landlord did not join in their mirth, but merely said,--
"If your dinner is to your liking, my duty is done."
"Quite so," answered the king. "We were merely curious regarding the
origin of your viands; but the question seems to be a ticklish one in
this district."
"Oh, not at all," replied the innkeeper grimly. "If you question
enough, you are sure to meet some one who will make you a suitable
answer."
The landlord, seemingly not liking the turn of the conversation,
disappeared, and during the rest of the meal they were waited upon by
a lowering, silent woman, who scowled savagely at them, and made no
reply to the raillery of the king, who was in the highest spirits.
They had ridden far that morning since breakfasting, and it was well
after midday when they drew away from a table that had been devoted to
their satisfying. Sir David and Flemming showed little inclination to
proceed with their journey.
"The poor beasts must have a rest," said the poet, although none of
the three were horsemen enough to go out and see how the animals fared
at the hands of the stableman. The king was accustomed to be waited
upon, and the other two knew little and cared less about horses. As
they sat there in great content they heard suddenly a commotion
outside and the clatter of many hoofs on the stone causeway. The door
burst in, and there came, trampling, half a dozen men, who entered
with scant ceremony, led by a stalwart individual who cast a quick
glance from one to the other of the three who were seated. His eye
rested on the king, whom, with quick intuition, he took to be the
leader of the expedition and, doffing his feathered bonnet in a
salutation that had more of mockery than respect in it, he said: "I
hear that, like myself, you're in the cattle trade, and that you're
anxious to learn the prospect of doing business in this mountainous
locality."
"You are quite right," replied the king.
"I have in my byres near by," continued the man, "some of the finest
stirks that ever stood on four hoofs. Would you be willing to come and
give me your opinion of them, and say how much you care to pay for as
many as you need?"
Again the man swept his bonnet nearly to the floor, and his six men,
who stood back against the wall, as if to give the speaker the stage
in the centre of the floor, glanced one at another. The king, however,
was unruffled, and he replied with a twinkle in his eye,--
"My good sir, you are mistaken, we are on the other side of the
market. We are sellers and not buyers."
"So was Judas," said the incomer, his politeness giving way to an
expression of fierceness and cruelty which went far to terrify two of
the seated men. "Are you sure, sir, that the cattle you sell have not
two legs instead of four?"
"I don't understand you," replied the king.
"Is it men or stirks, you would give to the butcher?"
"Still I do not understand you," repeated the king.
"Oh, very well. How much are you asking for your cattle?"
"We are here rather to see how much may be offered."
"I can well believe you. Still, you must know something of the price
of beasts on hoofs. How much would you want for a good, fat stirk?
Answer me that!"
The king glanced at his two companions, and his glance said as plainly
as words, "Give me a hint, in heaven's name, regarding the cost of a
beast;" but in all Scotland he could not have found two men who knew
less about the subject.
"Oh, well," said the king, nonchalantly, not at all liking the turn
affairs had taken, "I suppose we would be satisfied with twenty
pounds," and this being received with a roar of laughter, he added
hastily, "twenty pounds Scots."
"Oh," said the big man, "I was afraid you were going to demand that
amount in English currency. It is evident you will do well at the
trade, if you can find such buyers."
"Then make us an offer," suggested the king, with the air of a man
willing to listen to reason.
"Where are your cattle?"
"They're in the north."
"What part of the north?"
"My good fellow," cried the king, his temper rising, "you have asked
many questions and answered none. Who are you, and what right have
you to make your demands in such a tone?"
"Ah, then there's some spirit among the three of you. I am glad to see
that. Who am I? I am Johnny Armstrong. Did you ever hear tell of him?
And I suspect that your cattle are grown in the high town of Stirling.
Am I right in that? It is in Stirling that you can sell what you may
lift on the Border, and your cattle will be paid for in king's gold.
You are spies, my fine gentlemen, and know as little of cattle as I
know of the king and the court."
The king rejoined calmly,--
"The country is at peace. There can be no spies except in a time of
war."
"Is it even so? Then what are you three doing rampaging up and down my
land on the Border?"
"That the lands may be yours we do not dispute, nor have we interfered
with them. The highways are the king's, and we three are peaceful
subjects of his, claiming, therefore, the right to travel on them as
we will, so long as we infringe not his peace or the liberty of any
man."
"Stoutly spoken and bravely, considering in what king's dominion you
now find yourself. You have to learn that Johnny, and not Jamie, is
king of the Border. And when you're in the hands of a man named
Armstrong, you'll find how little a boy named Stuart can do for you.
Tie them up!"
Before one of the three could move from the stool he occupied, they
were set upon by the ruffians, and each Stirling man found his ankles
fastened together and his elbows tied behind his back with a speed
that amazed him.
"Bless my soul," moaned the poet, "all this in broad daylight, and in
the king's dominion."