The sun had not long been shining on the dark walls of St. Ebba's
monastery, before the low-browed gate of Coldingham Priory opened to let
pass the guests of the previous night. Malcolm had been kissed and
blessed by his guardian, and bidden to transfer his dutiful obedience to
his new protector; and somewhat comforted by believing Sir David to be
mending since last night, he had rent himself away, and was riding in the
frosty morning air beside the kinsman who had so strangely taken charge
of him, and accompanied by Sir James's tall old Scottish squire, by the
English groom, and by Malcolm's own servant, Halbert.
For a long space there was perfect silence: and as Malcolm began to
detach his thoughts from all that he had left behind, he could not help
being struck with the expressions that flitted over his companion's
countenance. For a time he would seem lost in some deep mournful
reverie, and his head drooped as if in sadness or perplexity; then a
sudden gleam would light up his face, as if a brilliant project had
occurred to him, his lips would part, his eyes flash, he would impel his
horse forward as though leading a charge, or lift up his head with
kindling looks, like one rehearsing a speech; but ever a check would come
on him in the midst, his mouth closed in dejection, his brow drew
together in an anguish of impatience, his eyelids drooped in weariness,
and he would ride on in deep reflection, till roused perhaps by the
flight of a moor-fowl, or the rush of a startled roe, he would hum some
gay French hunting-song or plaintive Scottish ballad.
Scarcely a word had been uttered, until towards noon, on the borders of a
little narrow valley, the merry sound of bells clashed up to their ears,
and therewith sounds of music. ''Tis the toon of Christ's Kirk on the
Green,' said the squire, as Sir James looked at him for information,
'where we were to bait. Methought in Lent we had been spared this
gallimawfrey.'
''Tis Midlent week, you pagan,' replied Sir James. 'These good folk have
come a-mothering, and a share of their simnels we'll have.'
'Sir,' entreated the squire, 'were it not more prudent of you to tarry
without, and let me fetch provisions?'
'Hoot, man, a throng is our best friend! Besides, the horses must rest.'
So saying, Sir James rode eagerly forward; Malcolm following, not without
wonder at not having been consulted, for though kept in strict discipline
by his uncle, it had always been with every courtesy due to his rank as a
king's grandson; and the cousins, from whom he had suffered, were of the
same rank with himself. Did this wandering landless knight, now he had
him in his power, mean to disregard all that was his due? But when Sir
James turned round his face sparkling with good-humour and amusement, and
laughed as he said, 'Now then for the humours of a Scottish fair!' all
his offended dignity was forgotten.
The greensward was surrounded by small huts and hovels; a little old
stone church on one side, and a hostel near it, shadowed by a single tall
elm, beneath which was the very centre of the village wake. Not only was
it Midlent, but the day was the feast of a local saint, in whose honour
Lenten requirements were relaxed. Monks and priests were there in
plenty, and so were jugglers and maskers, Robin Hood and Marion, glee-men
and harpers, merchants and hucksters, masterful beggars and sorners,
shepherds in gray mauds with wise collies at their feet, shrewd old
carlines with their winter's spinning of yarn, lean wolf-like borderers
peaceable for the nonce, merry lasses with tow-like locks floating from
their snoods, all seen by the intensely glittering sun of a clear March
day, dry and not too cold for these hardy northern folk.
Nigel, the squire, sighed in despondency; and Malcolm, who hated crowds,
and knew himself a mark for the rude observations of a free-spoken
populace, shrank up to him, when Sir James, nodding in time to the tones
of a bagpipe that was playing at the hostel door, flung his bridle to
Brewster the groom, laughed at his glum and contemptuous looks, merrily
hailed the gudewife with her brown face and big silver ear-rings, seated
himself on the bench at the long wooden table under the great garland of
fir-boughs, willow catkins, and primroses, hung over the boughs of the
tree, crossed himself, murmured his _Benedictus benedicat_, drew his
dagger, carved a slice of the haunch of ox on the table, offered it to
the reluctant Malcolm, then helping himself, entered into conversation
with the lean friar on one side of him, and the stalwart man-at-arms
opposite, apparently as indifferent as the rest of the company to the
fact that the uncovered boards of the table were the only trenchers, and
the salt and mustard were taken by the point of each man's dagger from
common receptacles dispersed along the board. Probably the only person
really disgusted or amazed was the English Brewster, who, though too
cautious to express a word of his feelings, preserved the most complete
silence, and could scarcely persuade himself to taste the rude fare.
Nor when the meal was over was Sir James disposed to heed the wistful
looks of his attendants, but wandered off to watch the contest in archery
at the butts, where arrow after arrow flew wide of the clout, for the
strength of Scotland did not lie in the long-bow, and Albany's edict that
shooting should be practised on Sundays and holidays had not produced as
yet any great dexterity.
Sir James at first laughed merrily at the extraordinary screwings of
visage and contortions of attitude, and the useless demonstration of
effort with which the clowns aimed their shafts and drew their bow,
sometimes to find the arrow on the grass at their feet, sometimes to see
it producing consternation among the bystanders; but when he saw Brewster
standing silently apart, viewing their efforts with a scorn visible
enough in the dead stolidity of his countenance, he murmured a bitter
interjection, and turned away with folded arms and frowning brow.
Nigel again urged their departure, but at that moment the sweet notes of
a long narrative ballad began to sound to the accompaniment of a harp,
and he stood motionless while the wild mournful ditty told of the cruelty
of the Lady of Frendraught, and how
'Morning sun ne'er shone upon
Lord John and Rothiemay.
Large tears were dropping from under the hand with he veiled his emotion;
and when Nigel touched his cloak to remind him that the horses were
ready, he pressed the old man's hand, saying, with a sigh, 'I heard that
last at my father's knee! It rung in my ears for many a year! Here,
lad!' and dropping a gold coin into the wooden bowl carried round by the
blind minstrel's attendant, he was turning away, when the glee-man,
detecting perhaps the ring of the coin, broke forth in stirring tones--
"It fell about the Lammas tide,
When moormen win their hay,
The doughty Earl of Douglas rode
Into England to catch a prey."
Again he stood transfixed, beating time with his hand, his eyes beaming,
his hips moving as he followed the spirit-stirring ballad; and then, as
Douglas falls, and is laid beneath the bracken bush, unseen by his men,
and Montgomery forces Hotspur to yield, not to him, but
'to the bracken bush
That grows upon the lily lea,'
he sobbed without disguise; and no sooner was the ballad ended than he
sprang forward to the harper, crying, 'Again, again; another gold crown
to hear it again!'
'Sir,' entreated Nigel, 'remember how much hangs on your speed.'
'The ballad I _must_ have,' exclaimed Sir James, trying to shake him off.
'It moves the heart more than aught I ever heard! How runs it?'
'_I_ know the ballad,' said Malcolm, half in impatience, half in
contempt. 'I could sing every word of it. Every glee-man has it.'
'Nay--hear you, Sir--the lad can sing it,' reiterated Nigel; and Sir
James, throwing the promised guerdon to the minstrel, let himself be led
away to the front of the inn; but there was a piper, playing to a group
of dancers, and as if his feet could not resist the fascination, Sir
James held out his hand to the first comely lass he saw disengaged, and
in spite of the steel-guarded boots that he wore, answered foot for foot,
spring for spring, to the deft manoeuvres of her shoeless feet, with
equal agility and greater grace. Nigel frowned more than ever at this
exhibition, and when the knight had led his panting partner to a seat,
and called for a tankard of ale for her refreshment, he remonstrated more
seriously still. 'Sir, the gates of Berwick will be shut.'
'The days lengthen, man.'
'And who knows if some of yon land-loupers be not of Walter Stewart's
meine? Granted that they ken not yourself, that lad is only too
ken-speckle. Moreover, you ye made free enough with your siller to set
the haill crew of moss-troopers on our track.'
'Twenty mile to Berwick-gate,' said Sir James, carelessly; 'nor need you
ever look behind you at jades like theirs. Nay, friend, I come, since
you grudge me for once the sight of a little wholesome glee among my own
people. My holiday is dropping from me like sands in an hour-glass!'
He mounted, however, and put his horse to as round a pace as could be
maintained by the whole party with out distress; nor did he again break
silence for many miles.
At the gates of Berwick, then in English hands, be gave a pass-word, and
was admitted, he bade Nigel conduct Lord Malcolm to an inn, explaining
that it was his duty to present himself to the governor; and, being
detained to sup with him, was seen no more till they started the next
morning. The governor rode out with them some ten miles, with a strong
guard of spearmen; and after parting with him they pushed on to the
south.
After the first day's journey, Malcolm was amazed to see Sir James mount
without any of his defensive armour, which was piled on the spare horse;
his head was covered by a chaperon, or flat cap with a short curtain to
it, and his sword was the only weapon he retained. Nigel was also nearly
unarmed, and Sir James advised Malcolm himself to lay aside the light
hawberk he wore; then, at his amazed look, said, 'Poor lad! he never saw
the day when he could ride abroad scathless. When will the breadth of
Scotland be as safe as these English hills?'
He was very kind to his young companion, treating him in all things like
a guest, pointing out what was worthy of note, and explaining what was
new and surprising. Malcolm would have asked much concerning the King,
to whom he was bound, but these questions were the only ones Sir James
put aside, saying that his kinsman would one day learn that it ill
beseemed those who were about a king's person to speak of him freely.
One night was spent at Durham, the parent of Coldingham, and here Malcolm
felt at home, far more grand as was that mighty cathedral institution.
There it stood, with the Weir encircling it, on its own fair though
mighty hill, with all the glory of its Norman mister and lovely
Lady-chapel; yet it seemed to the boy more like a glorified Coldingham
than like a strange region.
'The peace of God rests on the place,' he said, when Sir James asked his
thoughts as he looked back at the grand mass of buildings. 'These are
the only spots where the holy and tender can grow, like the Palestine
lilies sheltered from the blast in the Abbot's garden at Coldingham.'
'Nay, lad, it were an ill world did lilies only grow in abbots' gardens.'
'It is an ill world,' said Malcolm.
'Let us hear what you say in a month's time,' replied the knight,
lightly: then dreaming over the words.
A few days more, and they were riding among the lovely rock and woodland
scenery of Yorkshire, when suddenly there leaped from behind a bush three
or four young men, with a loud shout of 'Stand.'
'Reivers!' thought Malcolm, sick with dismay, as the foremost grasped Sir
James's bridle; but the latter merely laughed, saying, 'How now, Hal! be
these your old tricks?'
'Ay, when such prizes are errant,' said the assailant and Sir James,
springing from his horse, embraced him and his companion with a
cordiality that made Malcolm not a little uneasy. Could he have been
kidnapped by a false Englishman into a den of robbers for the sake of his
ransom?
'You are strict to your time,' said the chief robber. 'I knew you would
be. So, when Ned Marmion came to Beverley, and would have us to see his
hunting at Tanfield, we came on thinking to meet you. Marmion here has a
nooning spread in the forest; ere we go on to Thirsk, where I have a
matter to settle between two wrong-headed churls. How has it been with
you, Jamie? you have added to your meine.'
'Ah, Hal! never in all your cut-purse days did you fall on such an
emprise as I have achieved.'
'Let us hear,' said Hal, linking his arm in Sir James's, who turned for a
moment to say, 'Take care of the lad, John; he is a young kinsman of
mine.'
'Kinsman!' thought Malcolm; 'do all wandering Stewarts claim kin to the
blood royal?' but then, as he looked at Sir James's stately head, he felt
that no assumption could be unbecoming in one of such a presence, and so
kind to himself; and, ashamed of the moment's petulance, dismounted, and,
as John said, 'This is the way to our noon meat,' he let himself be
conducted through the trees to a glade, sheltered from the wind, where a
Lenten though not unsavoury meal of bread, dried fish, and eggs was laid
out on the grass, in a bright warm sunshine; and Hal, declaring himself
to have a hunter's appetite, and that he knew Jamie had been starved in
Scotland, and was as lean as a greyhound, seated himself on the grass,
and to Malcolm's extreme surprise, not to say disgust, was served by Lord
Marmion on the knee and with doffed cap.
While the meal was being eaten, Malcolm studied the strangers. Lord
Marmion was a good-humoured, hearty-looking young Yorkshireman, but the
other two attracted his attention far more. They were evidently
brothers, one perhaps just above, the other just below, thirty; both of
the most perfect mould of symmetry, activity, and strength, though
perhaps more inclining to agility than robustness. Both were
fair-complexioned, and wore no beard; but John was the paler, graver, and
more sedate, and his aquiline profile had an older look than that borne
by Hal's perfectly regular features. It would have been hard to define
what instantly showed the seniority of his brother, for the clearness of
his colouring--bright red and white like a lady's--his short,
well-moulded chin, and the fresh earnestness and animation of his
countenance, gave an air of perpetual youth in spite of the scar of an
arrow on the cheek which told of at least one battle; but there were
those manifestations of being used to be the first which are the evident
tokens of elder sonship, and the lordly manner more and more impressed
Malcolm. He was glad that his own Sir James was equal in dignity, as
well as superior in height, and he thought the terrible red lightning of
those auburn eyes would be impossible to the sparkling azure eyes of the
Englishman, steadfast, keen, and brilliant unspeakably though they were;
but so soon as Sir James seemed to have made his explanation, the look
was most winningly turned on him, a hand held out, and he was thus
greeted: 'Welcome, my young Prince Malcolm; I am happy that your cousin
thinks so well of our cheer, that he has brought you to partake it.'
'His keeper, Somerset,' thought Malcolm, as he bowed stiffly; 'he seems
to treat me coolly enough. I come to serve my King,' he said, but he was
scarcely heard; for as Hal unbuckled his sword before sitting down on the
grass, he thrust into his bosom a small black volume, with which he
seemed to have been beguiling the time; and John exclaimed--
'There goes Godfrey de Bulloin. I tell you, Jamie, 'tis well you are
come! Now have I some one to speak with. Ever since Harry borrowed my
Lady of Westmoreland's book of the Holy War, he has not had a word to
fling at me.'
'Ah!' said Sir James, 'I saw a book, indeed, of the Holy Land! It would
tempt him too much to hear how near the Border it dwells! What was it
named, Malcolm?'
'The "Itinerarium of Adamnanus,"' replied Malcolm, blushing at the sudden
appeal.
'Ha! I've heard of it,' cried the English knight. 'I sent to half the
convent libraries to beg the loan when Gilbert de Lannoy set forth for
the survey of Palestine. Does the Monk of Iona tell what commodity of
landing there may be on the coast?'
Malcolm had the sea-port towns at his fingers' ends, and having in the
hard process of translation, and reading and re-reading one of the few
books that came into his hands, nearly mastered the contents, he was able
to reply with promptness and precision, although with much amazement, for
'Much he marvelled a knight of pride
Like book-bosomed priest should ride;'
nor had he ever before found his accomplishments treated as aught but
matters of scorn among the princes and nobles with whom he had
occasionally been thrown.
'Good! good!' said Sir Harry at last. 'Well read, and clearly called to
mind. The stripling will do you credit, James. Where have you studied,
fair cousin?'
Cousin! was it English fashion to make a cousin of everybody? But
gentle, humble Malcolm had no resentment in him, and felt gratified at
the friendly tone of so grand and manly-looking a knight. 'At home,' he
answered, 'with a travelling scholar who had studied at Padua and Paris.'
'That is where you Scots love to haunt! But know you how they are served
there? I have seen the gibbet where the Mayor of Paris hung two clerks'
sons for loving his daughters over well!'
'The clerks' twa sons of Owsenford that were foully slain!' cried
Malcolm, his face lighting up. 'Oh, Sir, have you seen their gibbet?'
'What? were they friends of yours?' asked Hal, much amused, and shaking
his head merrily at Sir James. 'Ill company, I fear--'
'Only in a ballad,' said Malcolm, colouring, 'that tells how at Yuletide
the ghosts came to their mother with their hats made of the birk that
grew at the gates of Paradise.'
'A rare ballad must that be!' exclaimed Hal. 'Canst sing it? Or are you
weary?--Marmion, prithee tell some of the fellows to bring my harp from
the baggage.'
'His own harp is with ours,' said Sir James; 'he will make a better
figure therewith.'
At his sign, the attendant, Nigel, the only person besides Lord Marmion
of Tanfield who had been present at the meal, besides the two Stewarts
and the English brothers, rose and disappeared between the trees, beyond
which a hum of voices, an occasional laugh, and the stamping of horses
and jingling of bridles, betokened that a good many followers were in
waiting. Malcolm's harp was quickly brought, having been slung in its
case to the saddle of Halbert's horse; and as he had used it to beguile
the last evening's halt, it did not need much tuning. Surprised as his
princely notions were at being commanded rather than requested to sing,
the sweet encouraging smile and tone of kind authority banished all
hesitation in complying, and he gave the ballad of the Clerks' Twa Sons
of Owsenford with much grace and sweetness, while the weakness of his
voice was compensated by the manlier strains with which Sir James
occasionally chimed in. Then, as Harry gave full meed of appreciative
praise and thanks, Sir James said, 'Lend me thine harp, Malcolm; I have
learnt thy song now; and thou, Harry, must hear and own how far our
Scottish minstrelsy exceeds thy boasted Chevy Chase.'
And forth rang in all the mellow beauty of his voice that most glorious
of ballads, the Battle of Otterburn, as much more grand than it had been
when he heard it from the glee-man or from Malcolm, as a magnificent
voice, patriotic enthusiasm, and cultivation and refinement, could make
it. He had lost himself and all around in the passion of the victory,
the pathos of the death. But no such bright look of thanks recompensed
him. Harry's face grew dark, and he growled, 'Douglas dead? Ay, he wins
more fields so than alive! I wish you would keep my old Shrewsbury
friend, Earl Tyneman, as you call him, at home.'
''Tis ill keeping the scholars in bounds when the master is away,'
returned Sir James.
'Well, by this time Tom has taught them how to transgress--sent them home
with the long scourge from robbing orchards in Anjou. He writes to me
almost with his foot in the stirrup, about to give Douglas and Buchan a
lesson. I shall make short halts and long stages south. This is too far
off for tidings.'
'True,' said Sir John, with a satirical curl of the lip; 'above all, when
fair ladies brook not to ink their ivory fingers.'
'There spake the envious fiend,' laughed the elder brother. 'John bears
not the sight of what he will not or cannot get.'
'I'll never be chained to a lady's litter, nor be forced to loiter till
her wimple is pinned,' retorted John. 'Nor do I like dames with two
husbands besides.'
'One would have cancelled the other, as grammarians tell us,' said Harry,
'if thy charms, John, had cancelled thine hook nose! I would they had,
ere her first marriage. Humfrey will burn his fingers there, and we must
hasten back to look after that among other things.--My Lord Marmion,' he
added, starting hastily up, and calling to him as he stood at some
distance conversing with the Scottish Nigel, 'so please you, let us have
the horses;' and as the gentleman hastened to give the summons, he said,
'We shall make good way now. We shall come on Watling Street. Ha,
Jamie, when shall we prove ourselves better men than a pack of Pagan
Romans, by having a set of roads fit for man or beast, of our own making
instead of theirs half decayed? Look where I will, in England or France,
their roads are the same in build--firm as the world itself, straight as
arrows. An army is off one's mind when once one gets on a Roman way.
I'll learn the trick, and have them from Edinburgh to Bordeaux ere ten
years are out; and then, what with traffic and converse with the world,
and ready justice, neither Highland men minor Gascons will have leisure
or taste for robbery.'
'Perhaps Gascons and Scots will have a voice in the matter,' said James,
a little stiffly; and the horses being by this time brought, Sir Harry
mounted, and keeping his horse near that of young Malcolm, to whom he had
evidently taken a fancy, he began to talk to him in so friendly and
winning a manner, that he easily drew from the youth the whole history of
his acquaintance with Sir James Stewart, of the rescue of his sister, and
the promise to conduct him to the captive King of Scots, as the only
means of saving him from his rapacious kindred.
'Poor lad!' said Harry, gravely.
'Do you know King James, Sir?' asked Malcolm, timidly.
'Know him?' said Harry, turning round to scan the boy with his merry blue
eye. 'I know him--yes; that as far as a poor Welsh knight can know his
Grace of Scotland.'
'And, Sir, will he be good lord to me?'
'Eh! that's as you may take him. I would not be one of yonder Scots
under his hands!'
'Has he learned to hate his own countrymen?' asked Malcolm, in an awe-
stricken voice.
'Hate? I trow he has little to love them for. He is a good fellow
enough, my young lord, when left to himself; but best beware. Lions in a
cage have strange tempers.'
A courier rode up at the moment, and presented some letters, which Sir
Harry at once opened and read, beckoning his brother and Sir James to his
side, while Malcolm rode on in their wake, in a state of dismay and
bewilderment. Nigel and Lord Marmion were together at so great an
interval that he could not fall back on them, nor learn from them who
these brothers were. And there was something in the ironical suppressed
pity with which Harry had spoken of his prospects with the King of Scots,
that terrified him all the more, because he knew that Sir James and Nigel
would both hold it unworthy of him to have spoken freely of his own
sovereign with an Englishman. Would James be another Walter? and, if so,
would Sir James Stewart protect him? He had acquired much affection for,
and strong reliance on, the knight; but there was something unexplained,
and his heart sank.
The smooth line of Watling Street at length opened into the old town of
Thirsk, and here bells were ringing, flags flying from the steeple, music
sounded, a mayor and his corporation in their robes rode slowly forth,
crowds lined the road-side, caps were flung up, and a tremendous shout
arose, 'God save King Harry!'
Malcolm gazed about more utterly discomfited. There was 'Harry,' upright
on his horse, listening with a gracious smile, while the mayor rehearsed
a speech about welcome and victories, and the hopeful queen, and, what
was still more to the purpose, tendered a huge pair of gauntlets, each
filled to the brim, one with gold, and the other with silver pieces.
'Eh! Thanks, Master Mayor, but these gloves must be cleared, ere there
is room for me to use them in battle!'
And handing the gold glove to his brother, he scattered the contents of
the silver one far and wide among the populace, who shouted their
blessings louder than ever, and thus he reached the market-place. There
all was set forth as for the lists, a horseman in armour on either side.
'Heigh now, Sirs,' said Harry, 'have we not wars enough toward without
these mummings of vanity?'
'This is no show, my Lord King,' returned the mayor, abashed. 'This is
deadly earnest. These are two honourable gentlemen of Yorkshire, who are
come hither to fight out their quarrel before your Grace.'
'Two honourable foolsheads!' muttered Harry; then, raising his voice,
'Come hither, gentlemen, let us hear your quarrel.'
The two gentlemen were big Yorkshiremen, heavy-browed, and their native
shrewdness packed far away behind a bumpkin stolidity and surliness that
barely allowed them to show respect to the King.
'So please you, Sir,' growled the first in his throat, 'here stands
Christopher Kitson of Barrowbridge, ready to avouch himself a true man,
and prove in yonder fellow's teeth that it was not a broken-kneed beast
that I sent up for a heriard to my Lord Archbishop when my father died;
but that he of Easingwold is a black slanderer and backbiter.'
'And here,' shouted the other, 'stands honest William Trenton of
Easingwold, ready to thrust his lies down his throat, and prove on his
body that the heriard he sent to my Lord Archbishop was a sorry jade.'
'That were best proved by the beast's body,' interposed time King.
'And,' proceeded the doughty Kitson, as though repeating a lesson,
'having vainly pleaded the matter these nine years, we are come to demand
licence to fight it out, with lance, sword, and dagger, in your royal
presence, to set the matter at rest for ever.'
'Breaking a man's head to prove the soundness of a horse!' ejaculated
Harry.
'Your licence is given, Sir King?' demanded Kitson.
'My licence is given for a combat _a l'outrance_,' said Henry; but, as
they were about to flounder back on their big farm-horses, he raised his
voice to a thundering sound: 'Solely on this condition, that he who slays
his neighbour, be he Trenton or Kitson, shall hang for the murder ere I
leave Thirsk.'
There was a recoil, and the mayor himself ventured to observe something
about the judgment of God, and 'never so seen.'
'And I say,' thundered Henry, and his blue eyes seemed to flame with
vehement indignation, 'I say that the ordeal of battle is shamefully
abused, and that it is a taking of God's name--ay, and man's life--in
vain, to appeal thereto on every coxcomb's quarrel, risking the life that
was given him to serve God's ends, not his own sullen fancy. I will have
an end of such things!--And you, gentlemen, since the heriard is dead, or
too old to settle the question, shake hands, and if you must let blood,
come to France with me next month, and flesh your knives on French and
Scots.'
'So please you, Sir,' grumbled Kitson, 'there's Mistress Agnes of
Mineshull; she's been in doubt between the two of us these five years,
and she'd promised to wed whichever of us got the better.'
'I'll settle her mind for her! Whichever I find foremost among the
French, I'll send home to her a knight, and with better sense to boot
than to squabble for nine years as to an old horse.'
He then dismounted, and was conducted into the town-hall, where a banquet
was prepared, taking by the hand Sir James Stewart, and followed by his
brother John, and by Malcolm, who felt as though his brain were turning,
partly with amazement, partly with confusion at his own dulness, as he
perceived that not only was the free-spoken Hal, Henry of Monmouth, King
of England, but that his wandering benefactor, the captive knight, whose
claim of kindred he had almost spurned, was his native sovereign, James
the First of Scotland.