Lindesay now bade the guard open the palisade that closed the tented
field, and as into its ample bounds Marmion passed, the warders' men
drew back. The Scottish warriors stared at the strangers, and envy arose
at seeing them so well appointed. Such length of shaft, bows so mighty,
had never been seen by northern eyes. Little did the Highlanders then
think to feel these shafts through links of Scotch mail on Flodden
Field.
No less did Marmion and his men marvel that one small country could
marshal forth such hosts. Men-at-arms were heavily sheathed in mail.
They were like iron towers on Flemish steeds. Young squires and knights
practiced their chargers on the plain to pass, to wheel, to curvet, that
the swords of their riders might not descend amiss on foeman's casque.
Hardy burghers were there, marching on foot. No waving plume, no crest
they wore, but corselet, gorget, and brigantine, brightly burnished. The
yeomen, too, were on foot, yet dressed in steel. Each at his back
carried forty days' provisions. His arms were the halbert, axe, or
spear, a crossbow, a dagger, or a sword. Each seemed almost sad at
leaving the dear cottage, the simple pleasures and duties of home, to
march into a foreign land. It was not cowardice, not terror, for the
more they loved Scotland the more fiercely would they fight.
Quite another class was the Borderer, bred to war. He joyed to hear the
roar of battle. No harp, no lute, could please his ear as did the loud
slogan. Nobles might fight for fame, vassals might follow, burghers
might guard their townships, but to a battle the Borderer joyfully took
his way as to a game, scarce caring who might win the day.
Marmion next viewed the Celtic race. Each tribe had its own chief, its
belted plaid, its warpipes varying with the clan. Their legs were bare;
the undressed hide of the deer gave them buskins, a plaid covered the
shoulders, and a broadsword, a dagger, a studded targe, completed the
outfit.
Through the Scottish camp, the English train had now passed, and the
city gates were reached. The streets were alive with martial show. The
Lion King led to lodgings that overlooked the town. Here Marmion, by the
King's command, was to remain until the vesper hour and then to ride to
Holy-Rood. Meanwhile Sir David ordered a banquet rich and rare.
At the hour appointed, Marmion, attended by the Lion-Lord, arrived at
the palace hall, at Holy-Rood. In this princely abode James was feasting
the chiefs of Scotland. The historic halls rang with mirth, for well the
monarch loved song and banquet. By day the tourney was held, at night
the mazy dance was trod by quaint maskers. The scene of this night
outshone all others. The dazzling lights hanging from the galleries,
displayed the grace of lords and ladies of the court. The "motley fool"
retailed his jest, the juggler performed his feat, the minstrel plied
his harp, and the lady touched a softer string.
All made room as through this throng the King came to greet his guest.
And now, his courtesy to show,
"He doff'd to Marmion, bending low,
His broider'd cap and plume.
For royal was his garb and mien,
His cloak, of crimson velvet piled,
Trimm'd with the fur of martin wild;
His gorgeous collar hung adown,
Wrought with the badge of Scotland's crown,
The thistle brave, of old renown:
His trusty blade, Toledo right,
Descended from a baldric bright;
White were his buskins, on the heel,
His spurs inlaid of gold and steel:
His bonnet, all of crimson fair,
Was buttoned with a ruby rare:
And Marmion deemed he ne'er had seen
A prince of such a noble mien."
His splendid form, his eagle eyes, his light footstep, his merry laugh
and speaking glance made him envied of men and adored of women. He joyed
to linger in banquet bower, but often in the midst of wildest glee, a
shadow and an expression of pain flitted across the handsome face. His
hands instinctively clasped as he felt the pain of the penance belt,
worn in memory of his slain father. In a moment the pang was past, and
forward, with redoubled zest, he rushed into the stream of revelry.
Courtiers said that Lady Heron, wife of Sir Hugh of Norham, held sway
over the heart of the King. To Scotland's court she had come to be a
hostage, and to reconcile the offended King to her husband. The fair
Queen of France also held the king in thrall. She had sent him a
turquoise ring and a glove, and charged him as her knight in English
fray, to break for her a lance. For love of the French Queen, as much as
for the rights of Scotland, he clothed himself in mail and put his
country's noblest, dearest, and best in arms, to die on Flodden Field.
For Love of Lady Heron, he admitted English spies to his inmost
counsels.
"And thus, for both, he madly planned
The ruin of himself and land."
For these two artful women he sacrificed the true happiness of his home.
"Nor England's fair, nor France's Queen,
Were worth one pearl-drop bright and sheen,
From Margaret's eyes that fell,--
His own Queen Margaret, who, in Lithgow's bower
All lonely sat, and wept the weary hour."
In gay Holy-Rood, Dame Heron, Lady of Norham, smiled at the King,
glanced archly at the courtiers, and ably played the coquette. When
asked to draw from the harp music to charm the ring of admirers, she
laughed, blushed, and with pretty oaths, by yea and nay, declared she
could not, would not, dare not! At length, however, she seated herself
at Scotland's loved instrument, touched and tuned the strings, laid
aside hood and wimple, the better to display her charms, and with a
borrowed simplicity well assumed, sang a lively air, Lochinvar.
"Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wild border his steed was the best;
And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none,
He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone;
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
"He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone;
He swam the Esk river, where ford there was none;
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came late;
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
"So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,
Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all:
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,
For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,
'O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?'
"'I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied;
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide--
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.'
"The bride kiss'd the goblet: the knight took it up,
He quaff'd off the wine, and threw down the cup,
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh,
With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye,
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,--
'Now tread we a measure!' said young Lochinvar.
"So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride's-maidens whisper'd, ''Twere better by far
To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.'
"One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reach'd the hall door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
'She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young Lochinvar.
"There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?"
The monarch hung over the wily singer, and beat the measure as she sang.
He pressed closer, and whispered praises in her ear. The courtiers broke
in applause, the ladies whispered, and looked wise. The witching dame,
not satisfied to win a King, threw her glances at Lord Marmion. The
glances were significant, familiar, and told of confidences long and old
between the English lord and his countrywoman, guests of a Scotch King,
on the eve of a great conflict between the two countries.
The King saw their meeting eyes, saw himself treated almost with
disdain, and darkest anger shook his frame, for sovereigns illy bear
rivals in word, or smile, or look. He drew forth the parchment on which
was written Marmion's commission, and strode to the side of brave
Douglas, the sixth who had worn the coronet of Angus. The King stood
side by side with this brave Scotsman, who had been madly watching the
pageant, the fire flashing from his stern eye. This very day he had
besought his King to withdraw from the coming war, only to call forth
the reproaches of his ungrateful ruler. Yet at this moment, James felt a
pride in standing by the side of Bothwell's Lord, and placing in his
custody Marmion, the flower of English chivalry.
"The Douglas' form, like ruin'd tower,
Seem'd o'er the gaudy scene to lower:
His locks and beard in silver grew;
His eyebrows kept their sable hue.
Near Douglas, where the monarch stood,
His bitter speech he thus pursued:
'Lord Marmion, since these letters say
That in the North you needs must stay
While slightest hopes of peace remain,
Uncourteous speech it were, and stern,
To say--Return to Lindisfarne--
Then rest you in Tantallon Hold;
Your host shall be the Douglas bold,
A chief unlike his sires of old.
He wears their motto on his blade,
Their blazon o'er his towers display'd;
Yet loves his sovereign to oppose,
More than to face his country's foes.
And, I bethink me, by St. Stephen,
But e'en this morn to me was given
A prize, the first fruits of the war,
Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar,
A bevy of the maids of Heaven.
Under your guard these holy maids
Shall safe return to cloister shades.'"
The proud heart of Douglas felt the keen thrust. It was true, he would
not, even for the King he devotedly loved, draw sword in an unholy
cause. As a burning tear stole down his scarred cheek, he turned aside
to conceal what might seem weakness. This sight the king could not bear,
and seizing the hand of Angus, exclaimed:
"'Now, by the Bruce's soul,
Angus, my hasty speech forgive!
I well may say of you,--
That never king did subject hold,
In speech more free, in war more bold,
More tender and more true:
Forgive me, Douglas, once again!'"
While monarch and man embraced, while the aged noble's tears fell like
rain, Marmion seized the moment to restore himself to favor with both,
and whispered half aloud to the King:
"'Oh! let such tears unwonted plead
For respite short from dubious deed!
A child will weep a bramble's smart,
A maid to see her sparrow part,
A stripling for a woman's heart:
But woe awaits a country when
She sees the tears of bearded men.
Then, oh! what omen, dark and high,
When Douglas wets his manly eye!'"
That a stranger should see his changing moods, and above all, should
presume to tamper therewith, aroused in James the fierce spirit of
revenge. Said the fiery monarch:
"'Laugh those that can, weep those that may,
Southward I march by break of day;
And if within Tantallon strong
The good Lord Marmion tarries long,
Perchance our meeting next may fall
At Tamworth, in his castle-hall.'"
Marmion felt the taunt, and answered gravely: "My humble home would be
much honored if King James should visit its halls, but Nottingham has as
true archers as e'er drew bow, and Yorkshire men are stern and brave.
"'And many a banner will be torn,
And many a knight to earth be borne,
And many a sheaf of arrows spent,
Ere Scotland's King shall cross the Trent.'"
Scornfully the Monarch turned away, and commanded the gayeties to
proceed. He flung aside cloak and sword, and gallantly led Dame Heron in
the dance, as the minstrels, at the King's command, struck up "Blue
Bonnets o'er the Border."
[Illustration: SCOTT'S MONUMENT, EDINBURGH.]