"The lark sang shrill, the cock he crew,
And loudly Marmion's bugles blew,
And with their light and lively call,
Brought groom and yeoman to the stall."
Light of heart they came, but soon their mood was changed. Complaint was
heard on every side. One declared his armor had been used, another that
his spear had been taken. Young Blount, Marmion's second squire, found
his steed covered with foam, though the stable boy swore he had left the
beautiful creature well groomed on the previous evening.
While the impatient squire raged and fumed, old Hubert cried:
"Ho, comrades, help! Bevis lies dying in his stall! To our lord this
will bring sorrow indeed. Who will dare tell him of the horse he loved
so well?"
Fitz-Eustace, who knew of the midnight ride, of the condition of horse
and rider on their return, offered to bear the unwelcome message.
Marmion, sitting plunged in deep thought, received the tidings unmoved,
gave little attention, passed the matter as if it were a mere accident
and ordered the clarions sound "To horse."
Young Blount was less easily dealt with. He declared he would pay no fee
for food or care. Man or demon, he said, had ridden his steed all night
and left him in sorry condition for the day's journey. Marmion gave the
signal to set forth, and led by the calm, gloomy Palmer, they journeyed
all the morning.
Who can picture the thoughts of Palmer and of knight? Could one have
looked beneath the Palmer's cowl there might have been seen a smile
almost sardonic playing upon his features. In passing Blount's horse the
pious man's thin brown hand stole from beneath the long gown and
lovingly caressed the animal, while were muttered the words, "Noble,
noble beast!"
On rode the train through the lovely country, over the smooth
greensward, and under the vaulted screen of branches.
"'A pleasant path,' Fitz-Eustace said,
'Such as where errant-knights might see
Adventures of high chivalry;
Might meet some damsel flying fast,
With hair unbound, and looks aghast;
And smooth and level course were here,
In her defence to break a spear."
He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion's mind, but spoke in vain, for no reply
was given.
Suddenly distant trumpets were heard in prolonged notes over hill and
dale. Each ready archer seized his bow, and Marmion ordered all to spur
on to more open ground. Scarce a furlong had they ridden, when, from an
opposite woodland, they saw approaching a gallant train.
First on prancing steeds came the trumpeters,
"With scarlet mantle, azure vest;
Each at his trump a banner wore,
Which Scotland's royal scutcheon bore:
Heralds and pursuivants, by name
Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Rothsay, came,
In painted tabards, proudly showing
Gules argent, or, and azure glowing,
Attendant on a king-at-arms,
Whose hand the armorial truncheon held,
That feudal strife had often quelled,
When wildest its alarms."
The king-at-arms was of grave, wise, and manly appearance, as became him
who bore a king's welcome, but his expression was keen, sly, and
penetrating.
"On milk-white palfrey forth he paced;
His cap of maintenance was graced
With the proud heron-plume.
From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast,
Silk housings swept the ground,
With Scotland's arms, device, and crest,
Embroidered round and round.
The double treasure might you see,
First by Achaius borne,
The thistle and the fleur-de-lis,
And gallant unicorn.
So bright the King's amorial coat,
That scarce the dazzled eye could note.
In living colors, blazoned brave,
The Lion, which his title gave;
A train, which well beseemed his state,
But all unarmed, around him wait.
Sir David Lindesay of the Mount,
Lord Lion, King-at-arms!"
Marmion sprang from his horse, and as soon as their mutual greetings had
been made, Sir David delivered his message:
"As King-at-arms, I have been sent by James's command to meet you, Lord
Marmion, and to provide fit lodging, until the King himself shall find
time to see the famed, the honored Lord of Fontenaye, the flower of
English chivalry."
Though angry at this reception, Marmion disguised his feelings. The
Palmer, seeing his place as guide taken by the King's messenger, begged
to be permitted to leave the service. But orders had been strictly given
that no one following Marmion should be permitted to separate from the
English band. They therefore set forth together and at length halted
before a noble castle on the side of the valley of the Tyne. It was
Crichtoun Hall, near the city of Edinburgh, and was a lodging meet for
one of highest rank. Tower after tower rose to view, each built in a
different age and each displaying a different style of architecture.
"A mighty mass that could oppose,
When deadliest hatred fired its foes."
Through the gate rode the English ambassador, but met by none of the
rank and file usual on such occasions. Only women, old men, and children
occupied the castle. The sorrowing mistress of the hall gave welcome,
and a stripling of twelve years offered his best service. Every man that
could draw a sword had marched that morning to conquer or to die on
Flodden Field. Long would the lady look in vain to see her husband and
his gallant band return.
Here Marmion and his men rested for two days, attended as became a
King's guest, yet practically a prisoner. This was by the royal command.
James did not choose that English eyes should look upon Scotland's
gathering forces until they were ready to march against the foe. When
Marmion was moody Lindesay's wit cheered; policies of war and of peace
were discussed, and the lore of Rome and Greece was reviewed.
The second night, as they walked by the fading light on the battlements
of Crichtoun Castle, Lindesay carelessly remarked that the journey of
Marmion, the toil of travel, might as well have been spared, for no
power on earth or from heaven could dissuade James from war. A holy
messenger sent by divine command had appeared in spirit, and vainly
counselled the King against the impending conflict.
More closely questioned, Sir David told the following tale:
"When the King was but a lad, a thoughtless prince, traitors had set the
boy in the army hostile to his royal father. The King, seeing his own
banner displayed against him, and his son in the opposing faction, lost
courage, fled from the field, and in fleeing fell and was slain. After
the battle, James returned to Stirling Castle, seized with deep remorse.
Ever after, he inflicted upon himself most severe penance.
"While engaged one day in self-imposed penitential devotions, there
appeared to him, in the chapel of Linlithgow, a vision. At the time,
around him in their stalls, sat the Knights of the Thistle, chanters
sung, and bells tolled. The monarch in sackcloth, and wearing the
painful iron belt which constantly reminded him of his father's death,
was kneeling in prayer, when there appeared the loved disciple, John,
who in these words warned the King against warfare:
"'Sir King, to warn thee not to war--
Woe waits on thine array;
James Stuart, doubly warn'd, beware,
God keep thee as he may!'
"When the King raised his head, the monitor had vanished.
"'The Marshal and myself had cast
To stop him as he outward pass'd;
But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast,
He vanish'd from our eyes,
Like sunbeam on the billow cast
That glances but, and dies.'"
While telling the strange story, Sir David had not marked in the dim
twilight the pallor that had overspread the countenance of Marmion, who,
after a pause, said:
"Three days ago, I had judged your tale a myth, but since crossing the
Tweed, I have seen that which makes me credit the miracle you relate."
He hesitated, and evidently wished his remark unmade, but pressed by the
strong impulse that prompts man to reveal a secret to some listening
ear, he told of the midnight ride and the tilt with the elfin knight at
Gifford's Court. The same sly expression crept over the face of the
King-at-arms as he asked, "Where lodged the Palmer on that fateful
night?"
Here their conversation was interrupted. By the King's command, each
train on the following day was to proceed by its own way to Scotland's
camp, near Edinburgh. Early they set out for the moor surrounding the
city, where lay the Scotch hosts.
From the crown of Blackford, Marmion gazed on the martial scene. It was
a Kingdom's vast array. Thousands on thousands of pavilions, white as
snow, dotted the upland, dale, and down, and checkered the heath between
town and forest. The relics of the old oaks softened the glaring white
with a background of restful green.
From north, from south, from east, from west, had gathered Scotland's
warriors. All between the ages of sixteen and sixty, from king to
vassal, stood ready to fight for the beloved land. Marmion heard the
mingled hum of myriads of voices float up the mountain side. He saw the
shifting lines, and marked the flashing of shield and lance. Nor did he
mark less that in the air,
"A thousand streamers flaunted fair,
Various in shape, device and hue,
Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue,
Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square,
Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol, there
O'er the pavilions flew.
Highest and midmost, was descried
The royal banner floating wide;
The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight,
Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone,
Yet bent beneath the standard's weight
Whene'er the western wind unroll'd,
With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold,
And gave to view the dazzling field,
Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield,
The ruddy lion ramped in gold.
"Lord Marmion view'd the landscape bright,--
He viewed it with a chief's delight,--
Until within him burn'd his heart,
As on the battle-day;
Such glance did falcon never dart,
When stooping on his prey.
'Oh! well, Lord Lion, hast thou said,
Thy King from warfare to dissuade
Were but a vain essay;
For, by St. George, were that host mine,
Nor power infernal, nor divine,
Should once to peace my soul incline,
Till I had dimmed their armor's shine
In glorious battle-fray!'"
A bard near at hand replied:
"'Tis better to sit still, than rise, perchance to fall."
From this scene of preparation for battle, their eyes wandered to the
fairest scene of peace. The distant city glowed in gloomy splendor. The
sun's morning beams tinged turret and tower. The wreaths of rising smoke
turned to clouds of red and gold. Dusky grandeur clothed the height
where the huge castle stood in state. Far to the north, ridge on ridge,
rose the mountains, the rosy morning light bathing their sides in floods
of sunshine, and turning each heather bell at their feet into an
amethyst. Yonder could be seen the shores of Fife, nearer Preston Bay
and Berwick. Between them rolled the broad Firth, islands floating on
its bosom like emeralds on a chain of gold.
"Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent;
As if to give his rapture vent,
The spur he to his charger lent,
And raised his bridle hand,
And making demivolte in air,
Cried, 'Where's the coward that would not dare
To fight for such a land!'"
While they gazed the time arrived for King James to take his way to a
solemn mass. The distant bells chimed the hour, the fife, the sackbut,
the psaltery, the cymbal, the war-pipe, in discordant cry took up the
note, and together the sounds rolled up the hillside.
Sir David sighed as he listened.
"I look," he said, "upon this city, Empress of the North, her palaces,
her castles, her stately halls, her holy towers, and think what war's
mischance may bring. These silvery bells may toll the knell of our
gallant King. We must not dream that conquest is sure or easily bought.
God is ruler of the battlefield, but when yon host begins the combat,
wives, mothers, and maids may weep, and priests prepare the death
service, for when such a power is led out by such a King, not all will
return."
[Illustration: THE GRAVE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT, DRYBURGH ABBEY.]