How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills
Their mountain pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring which instils
The stirring memory of a thousand years.
BYRON.
We must now leave the lower parties in our historical drama, to attend
to the incidents which took place among those of a higher rank and
greater importance.
We pass from the hut of an armourer to the council room of a monarch,
and resume our story just when, the tumult beneath being settled, the
angry chieftains were summoned to the royal presence. They entered,
displeased with and lowering upon each other, each so exclusively filled
with his own fancied injuries as to be equally unwilling and unable
to attend to reason or argument. Albany alone, calm and crafty, seemed
prepared to use their dissatisfaction for his own purposes, and turn
each incident as it should occur to the furtherance of his own indirect
ends.
The King’s irresolution, although it amounted even to timidity, did not
prevent his assuming the exterior bearing becoming his situation. It
was only when hard pressed, as in the preceding scene, that he lost his
apparent composure. In general, he might be driven from his purpose, but
seldom from his dignity of manner. He received Albany, Douglas, March,
and the prior, those ill assorted members of his motley council, with a
mixture of courtesy and loftiness, which reminded each haughty peer that
he stood in the presence of his sovereign, and compelled him to do the
beseeming reverence.
Having received their salutations, the King motioned them to be seated;
and they were obeying his commands when Rothsay entered. He walked
gracefully up to his father, and, kneeling at his footstool, requested
his blessing. Robert, with an aspect in which fondness and sorrow were
ill disguised, made an attempt to assume a look of reproof, as he laid
his hand on the youth’s head and said, with a sigh, “God bless thee, my
thoughtless boy, and make thee a wiser man in thy future years!”
“Amen, my dearest father!” said Rothsay, in a tone of feeling such as
his happier moments often evinced. He then kissed the royal hand, with
the reverence of a son and a subject; and, instead of taking a place at
the council board, remained standing behind the King’s chair, in such a
position that he might, when he chose, whisper into his father’s ear.
The King next made a sign to the prior of St. Dominic to take his place
at the table, on which there were writing materials, which, of all the
subjects present, Albany excepted, the churchman was alone able to use.
The King then opened the purpose of their meeting by saying, with much
dignity:
“Our business, my lords, respected these unhappy dissensions in the
Highlands, which, we learn by our latest messengers, are about to
occasion the waste and destruction of the country, even within a few
miles of this our own court. But, near as this trouble is, our ill fate,
and the instigations of wicked men, have raised up one yet nearer, by
throwing strife and contention among the citizens of Perth and those
attendants who follow your lordships and others our knights and nobles.
I must first, therefore, apply to yourselves, my lords, to know why our
court is disturbed by such unseemly contendings, and by what means they
ought to be repressed? Brother of Albany, do you tell us first your
sentiments on this matter.”
“Sir, our royal sovereign and brother,” said the Duke, “being in
attendance on your Grace’s person when the fray began, I am not
acquainted with its origin.”
“And for me,” said the Prince, “I heard no worse war cry than a minstrel
wench’s ballad, and saw no more dangerous bolts flying than hazel nuts.”
“And I,” said the Earl of March, “could only perceive that the stout
citizens of Perth had in chase some knaves who had assumed the Bloody
Heart on their shoulders. They ran too fast to be actually the men of
the Earl of Douglas.”
Douglas understood the sneer, but only replied to it by one of those
withering looks with which he was accustomed to intimate his mortal
resentment. He spoke, however, with haughty composure.
“My liege,” he said, “must of course know it is Douglas who must
answer to this heavy charge, for when was there strife or bloodshed
in Scotland, but there were foul tongues to asperse a Douglas or
a Douglas’s man as having given cause to them? We have here goodly
witnesses. I speak not of my Lord of Albany, who has only said that he
was, as well becomes him, by your Grace’s side. And I say nothing of my
Lord of Rothsay, who, as befits his rank, years, and understanding, was
cracking nuts with a strolling musician. He smiles. Here he may say his
pleasure; I shall not forget a tie which he seems to have forgotten. But
here is my Lord of March, who saw my followers flying before the clowns
of Perth. I can tell that earl that the followers of the Bloody Heart
advance or retreat when their chieftain commands and the good of
Scotland requires.”
“And I can answer--” exclaimed the equally proud Earl of March, his
blood rushing into his face, when the King interrupted him.
“Peace! angry lords,” said the King, “and remember in whose presence you
stand. And you, my Lord of Douglas, tell us, if you can, the cause of
this mutiny, and why your followers, whose general good services we are
most willing to acknowledge, were thus active in private brawl.”
“I obey, my lord,” said Douglas, slightly stooping a head that seldom
bent. “I was passing from my lodgings in the Carthusian convent, through
the High Street of Perth, with a few of my ordinary retinue, when I
beheld some of the baser sort of citizens crowding around the Cross,
against which there was nailed this placard, and that which accompanies
it.”
He took from a pocket in the bosom of his buff coat a human hand and a
piece of parchment. The King was shocked and agitated.
“Read,” he said, “good father prior, and let that ghastly spectacle be
removed.”
The prior read a placard to the following purpose:
“Inasmuch as the house of a citizen of Perth was assaulted last night,
being St. Valentine’s Eve, by a sort of disorderly night walkers,
belonging to some company of the strangers now resident in the Fair
City; and whereas this hand was struck from one of the lawless limmers
in the fray that ensued, the provost and magistrates have directed that
it should be nailed to the Cross, in scorn and contempt of those by whom
such brawl was occasioned. And if any one of knightly degree shall say
that this our act is wrongfully done, I, Patrick Charteris of Kinfauns,
knight, will justify this cartel in knightly weapons, within the
barrace; or, if any one of meaner birth shall deny what is here said, he
shall be met with by a citizen of the Fair City of Perth, according to
his degree. And so God and St. John protect the Fair City!”
“You will not wonder, my lord,” resumed Douglas, “that, when my almoner
had read to me the contents of so insolent a scroll, I caused one of
my squires to pluck down a trophy so disgraceful to the chivalry and
nobility of Scotland. Where upon, it seems some of these saucy burghers
took license to hoot and insult the hindmost of my train, who wheeled
their horses on them, and would soon have settled the feud, but for
my positive command that they should follow me in as much peace as the
rascally vulgar would permit. And thus they arrived here in the guise
of flying men, when, with my command to repel force by force, they might
have set fire to the four corners of this wretched borough, and stifled
the insolent churls, like malicious fox cubs in a burning brake of
furze.”
There was a silence when Douglas had done speaking, until the Duke of
Rothsay answered, addressing his father:
“Since the Earl of Douglas possesses the power of burning the town where
your Grace holds your court, so soon as the provost and he differ about
a night riot, or the terms of a cartel, I am sure we ought all to be
thankful that he has not the will to do so.”
“The Duke of Rothsay,” said Douglas, who seemed resolved to maintain
command of his temper, “may have reason to thank Heaven in a more
serious tone than he now uses that the Douglas is as true as he is
powerful. This is a time when the subjects in all countries rise against
the law: we have heard of the insurgents of the Jacquerie in France; and
of Jack Straw, and Hob Miller, and Parson Ball, among the Southron;
and we may be sure there is fuel enough to catch such a flame, were it
spreading to our frontiers. When I see peasants challenging noblemen,
and nailing the hands of the gentry to their city cross, I will not say
I fear mutiny--for that would be false--but I foresee, and will stand
well prepared for, it.”
“And why does my Lord Douglas say,” answered the Earl of March, “that
this cartel has been done by churls? I see Sir Patrick Charteris’s name
there, and he, I ween, is of no churl’s blood. The Douglas himself,
since he takes the matter so warmly, might lift Sir Patrick’s gauntlet
without soiling of his honour.”
“My Lord of March,” replied Douglas, “should speak but of what he
understands. I do no injustice to the descendant of the Red Rover,
when I say he is too slight to be weighed with the Douglas. The heir of
Thomas Randolph might have a better claim to his answer.”
“And, by my honour, it shall not miss for want of my asking the grace,”
said the Earl of March, pulling his glove off.
“Stay, my lord,” said the King. “Do us not so gross an injury as to
bring your feud to mortal defiance here; but rather offer your ungloved
hand in kindness to the noble earl, and embrace in token of your mutual
fealty to the crown of Scotland.”
“Not so, my liege,” answered March; “your Majesty may command me to
return my gauntlet, for that and all the armour it belongs to are
at your command, while I continue to hold my earldom of the crown of
Scotland; but when I clasp Douglas, it must be with a mailed hand.
Farewell, my liege. My counsels here avail not, nay, are so unfavourably
received, that perhaps farther stay were unwholesome for my safety. May
God keep your Highness from open enemies and treacherous friends! I am
for my castle of Dunbar, from whence I think you will soon hear news.
Farewell to you, my Lords of Albany and Douglas; you are playing a high
game, look you play it fairly. Farewell, poor thoughtless prince, who
art sporting like a fawn within spring of a tiger! Farewell, all--George
of Dunbar sees the evil he cannot remedy. Adieu, all.”
The King would have spoken, but the accents died on his tongue, as he
received from Albany a look cautioning him to forbear. The Earl of March
left the apartment, receiving the mute salutations of the members of the
council whom he had severally addressed, excepting from Douglas alone,
who returned to his farewell speech a glance of contemptuous defiance.
“The recreant goes to betray us to the Southron,” he said; “his pride
rests on his possessing that sea worn hold which can admit the English
into Lothian [the castle of Dunbar]. Nay, look not alarmed, my liege, I
will hold good what I say. Nevertheless, it is yet time. Speak but the
word, my liege--say but ‘Arrest him,’ and March shall not yet cross the
Earn on his traitorous journey.”
“Nay, gallant earl,” said Albany, who wished rather that the two
powerful lords should counterbalance each other than that one should
obtain a decisive superiority, “that were too hasty counsel. The Earl of
March came hither on the King’s warrant of safe conduct, and it may
not consist with my royal brother’s honour to break it. Yet, if your
lordship can bring any detailed proof--”
Here they were interrupted by a flourish of trumpets.
“His Grace of Albany is unwontedly scrupulous today,” said Douglas;
“but it skills not wasting words--the time is past--these are March’s
trumpets, and I warrant me he rides at flight speed so soon as he passes
the South Port. We shall hear of him in time; and if it be as I
have conjectured, he shall be met with though all England backed his
treachery.”
“Nay, let us hope better of the noble earl,” said the King, no way
displeased that the quarrel betwixt March and Douglas had seemed to
obliterate the traces of the disagreement betwixt Rothsay and his father
in law; “he hath a fiery, but not a sullen, temper. In some things he
has been--I will not say wronged, but disappointed--and something is to
be allowed to the resentment of high blood armed with great power. But
thank Heaven, all of us who remain are of one sentiment, and, I may say,
of one house; so that, at least, our councils cannot now be thwarted
with disunion. Father prior, I pray you take your writing materials,
for you must as usual be our clerk of council. And now to business,
my lords; and our first object of consideration must be this Highland
cumber.”
“Between the Clan Chattan and the Clan Quhele,” said the prior, “which,
as our last advices from our brethren at Dunkeld inform us, is ready
to break out into a more formidable warfare than has yet taken place
between these sons of Belial, who speak of nothing else than of utterly
destroying one another. Their forces are assembling on each side, and
not a man claiming in the tenth degree of kindred but must repair to the
brattach of his tribe, or stand to the punishment of fire and sword.
The fiery cross hath flitted about like a meteor in every direction, and
awakened strange and unknown tribes beyond the distant Moray Firth--may
Heaven and St. Dominic be our protection! But if your lordships cannot
find remedy for evil, it will spread broad and wide, and the patrimony
of the church must in every direction be exposed to the fury of these
Amalekites, with whom there is as little devotion to Heaven as there is
pity or love to their neighbour--may Our Lady be our guard! We hear some
of them are yet utter heathens, and worship Mahound and Termagaunt.”
“My lords and kinsmen,” said Robert, “ye have heard the urgency of this
case, and may desire to know my sentiments before you deliver what your
own wisdom shall suggest. And, in sooth, no better remedy occurs to me
than to send two commissioners, with full power from us to settle such
debates as be among them, and at the same time to charge them, as they
shall be answerable to the law, to lay down their arms, and forbear all
practices of violence against each other.”
“I approve of your Grace’s proposal,” said Rothsay; “and I trust the
good prior will not refuse the venerable station of envoy upon
this peacemaking errand. And his reverend brother, the abbot of the
Carthusian convent, must contend for an honour which will certainly
add two most eminent recruits to the large army of martyrs, since the
Highlanders little regard the distinction betwixt clerk and layman in
the ambassadors whom you send to them.”
“My royal Lord of Rothsay,” said the prior, “if I am destined to the
blessed crown of martyrdom, I shall be doubtless directed to the path
by which I am to attain it. Meantime, if you speak in jest, may Heaven
pardon you, and give you light to perceive that it were better buckle
on your arms to guard the possessions of the church, so perilously
endangered, than to employ your wit in taunting her ministers and
servants.”
“I taunt no one, father prior,” said the youth, yawning; “Nor have
I much objection to taking arms, excepting that they are a somewhat
cumbrous garb, and in February a furred mantle is more suiting to the
weather than a steel corselet. And it irks me the more to put on cold
harness in this nipping weather, that, would but the church send a
detachment of their saints--and they have some Highland ones well known
in this district, and doubtless used to the climate--they might fight
their own battles, like merry St. George of England. But I know not how
it is, we hear of their miracles when they are propitiated, and of their
vengeance if any one trespasses on their patrimonies, and these are
urged as reasons for extending their lands by large largesses; and yet,
if there come down but a band of twenty Highlanders, bell, book, and
candle make no speed, and the belted baron must be fain to maintain the
church in possession of the lands which he has given to her, as much as
if he himself still enjoyed the fruits of them.”
“Son David,” said the King, “you give an undue license to your tongue.”
“Nay, Sir, I am mute,” replied the Prince. “I had no purpose to disturb
your Highness, or displease the father prior, who, with so many miracles
at his disposal, will not face, as it seems, a handful of Highland
caterans.”
“We know,” said the prior, with suppressed indignation, “from what
source these vile doctrines are derived, which we hear with horror from
the tongue that now utters them. When princes converse with heretics,
their minds and manners are alike corrupted. They show themselves in the
streets as the companions of maskers and harlots, and in the council as
the scorners of the church and of holy things.”
“Peace, good father!” said the King. “Rothsay shall make amends for
what he has idly spoken. Alas! let us take counsel in friendly fashion,
rather than resemble a mutinous crew of mariners in a sinking vessel,
when each is more intent on quarrelling with his neighbours than in
assisting the exertions of the forlorn master for the safety of the
ship. My Lord of Douglas, your house has been seldom to lack when the
crown of Scotland desired either wise counsel or manly achievement; I
trust you will help us in this strait.”
“I can only wonder that the strait should exist, my lord,” answered
the haughty Douglas. “When I was entrusted with the lieutenancy of
the kingdom, there were some of these wild clans came down from the
Grampians. I troubled not the council about the matter, but made the
sheriff, Lord Ruthven, get to horse with the forces of the Carse--the
Hays, the Lindsays, the Ogilvies, and other gentlemen. By St. Bride!
When it was steel coat to frieze mantle, the thieves knew what lances
were good for, and whether swords had edges or no. There were some
three hundred of their best bonnets, besides that of their chief, Donald
Cormac, left on the moor of Thorn and in Rochinroy Wood; and as many
were gibbeted at Houghmanstares, which has still the name from the
hangman work that was done there. This is the way men deal with thieves
in my country; and if gentler methods will succeed better with these
Earish knaves, do not blame Douglas for speaking his mind. You smile,
my Lord of Rothsay. May I ask how I have a second time become your jest,
before I have replied to the first which you passed on me?”
“Nay, be not wrathful, my good Lord of Douglas,” answered the Prince; “I
did but smile to think how your princely retinue would dwindle if every
thief were dealt with as the poor Highlanders at Houghmanstares.”
The King again interfered, to prevent the Earl from giving an angry
reply.
“Your lordship,” said he to Douglas, “advises wisely that we should
trust to arms when these men come out against our subjects on the fair
and level plan; but the difficulty is to put a stop to their disorders
while they continue to lurk within their mountains. I need not tell
you that the Clan Chattan and the Clan Quhele are great confederacies,
consisting each of various tribes, who are banded together, each to
support their own separate league, and who of late have had dissensions
which have drawn blood wherever they have met, whether individually or
in bands. The whole country is torn to pieces by their restless feuds.”
“I cannot see the evil of this,” said the Douglas: “the ruffians will
destroy each other, and the deer of the Highlands will increase as
the men diminish. We shall gain as hunters the exercise we lose as
warriors.”
“Rather say that the wolves will increase as the men diminish,” replied
the King.
“I am content,” said Douglas: “better wild wolves than wild caterans.
Let there be strong forces maintained along the Earish frontier, to
separate the quiet from the disturbed country. Confine the fire of civil
war within the Highlands; let it spend its uncontrolled fury, and it
will be soon burnt out for want of fuel. The survivors will be humbled,
and will be more obedient to a whisper of your Grace’s pleasure
than their fathers, or the knaves that now exist, have, been to your
strictest commands.”
“This is wise but ungodly counsel,” said the prior, shaking his head; “I
cannot take it upon my conscience to recommend it. It is wisdom, but it
is the wisdom of Achitophel, crafty at once and cruel.”
“My heart tells me so,” said the King, laying his hand on his
breast--“my heart tells me that it will be asked of me at the awful day,
‘Robert Stuart, where are the subjects I have given thee?’ It tells me
that I must account for them all, Saxon and Gael, Lowland, Highland, and
Border man; that I will not be required to answer for those alone who
have wealth and knowledge, but for those also who were robbers because
they were poor, and rebels because they were ignorant.”
“Your Highness speaks like a Christian king,” said the prior; “but you
bear the sword as well as the sceptre, and this present evil is of a
kind which the sword must cure.”
“Hark ye, my lords,” said the Prince, looking up as if a gay thought
had suddenly struck him. “Suppose we teach these savage mountaineers
a strain of chivalry? It were no hard matter to bring these two great
commanders, the captain of the Clan Chattan and the chief of the no less
doughty race of the Clan Quhele, to defy each other to mortal combat.
They might fight here in Perth--we would lend them horse and armour;
thus their feud would be stanched by the death of one, or probably both,
of the villains, for I think both would break their necks in the first
charge; my father’s godly desire of saving blood would be attained; and
we should have the pleasure of seeing such a combat between two savage
knights, for the first time in their lives wearing breeches and mounted
on horses, as has not been heard of since the days of King Arthur.”
“Shame upon you, David!” said the King. “Do you make the distress of
your native country, and the perplexity of our councils, a subject for
buffoonery?”
“If you will pardon me, royal brother,” said Albany, “I think that,
though my princely nephew hath started this thought in a jocular manner,
there may be something wrought out of it, which might greatly remedy
this pressing evil.”
“Good brother,” replied the King, “it is unkind to expose Rothsay’s
folly by pressing further his ill timed jest. We know the Highland clans
have not our customs of chivalry, nor the habit or mode of doing battle
which these require.”
“True, your Grace,” answered Albany; “yet I speak not in scorn, but in
serious earnest. True, the mountaineers have not our forms and mode of
doing battle in the lists, but they have those which are as effectual
to the destruction of human life, and so that the mortal game is played,
and the stake won and lost, what signifies it whether these Gael fight
with sword and lance, as becomes belted knights, or with sandbags, like
the crestless churls of England, or butcher each other with knives and
skenes, in their own barbarous fashion? Their habits, like our own,
refer all disputed rights and claims to the decision of battle. They
are as vain, too, as they are fierce; and the idea that these two clans
would be admitted to combat in presence of your Grace and of your
court will readily induce them to refer their difference to the fate of
battle, even were such rough arbitrement less familiar to their customs,
and that in any such numbers as shall be thought most convenient. We
must take care that they approach not the court, save in such a fashion
and number that they shall not be able to surprise us; and that point
being provided against, the more that shall be admitted to combat upon
either side, the greater will be the slaughter among their bravest and
most stirring men, and the more the chance of the Highlands being quiet
for some time to come.”
“This were a bloody policy, brother,” said the King; “and again I say,
that I cannot bring my conscience to countenance the slaughter of these
rude men, that are so little better than so many benighted heathens.”
“And are their lives more precious,” asked Albany, “than those of nobles
and gentlemen who by your Grace’s license are so frequently admitted to
fight in barrace, either for the satisfying of disputes at law or simply
to acquire honour?”
The King, thus hard pressed, had little to say against a custom so
engrafted upon the laws of the realm and the usages of chivalry as the
trial by combat; and he only replied: “God knows, I have never granted
such license as you urge me with unless with the greatest repugnance;
and that I never saw men have strife together to the effusion of blood,
but I could have wished to appease it with the shedding of my own.”
“But, my gracious lord,” said the prior, “it seems that, if we follow
not some such policy as this of my Lord of Albany, we must have recourse
to that of the Douglas; and, at the risk of the dubious event of battle,
and with the certainty of losing many excellent subjects, do, by means
of the Lowland swords, that which these wild mountaineers will otherwise
perform with their own hand. What says my Lord of Douglas to the policy
of his Grace of Albany?”
“Douglas,” said the haughty lord, “never counselled that to be done by
policy which might be attained by open force. He remains by his opinion,
and is willing to march at the head of his own followers, with those
of the barons of Perth shire and the Carse, and either bring these
Highlanders to reason or subjection, or leave the body of a Douglas
among their savage wildernesses.”
“It is nobly spoken, my Lord of Douglas,” said Albany; “and well might
the King rely upon thy undaunted heart and the courage of thy resolute
followers. But see you not how soon you may be called elsewhere, where
your presence and services are altogether indispensable to Scotland and
her monarch? Marked you not the gloomy tone in which the fiery March
limited his allegiance and faith to our sovereign here present to that
space for which he was to remain King Robert’s vassal? And did not you
yourself suspect that he was plotting a transference of his allegiance
to England? Other chiefs, of subordinate power and inferior fame, may do
battle with the Highlanders; but if Dunbar admit the Percies and their
Englishmen into our frontiers, who will drive them back if the Douglas
be elsewhere?”
“My sword,” answered Douglas, “is equally at the service of his Majesty
on the frontier or in the deepest recesses of the Highlands. I have seen
the backs of the proud Percy and George of Dunbar ere now, and I may
see them again. And, if it is the King’s pleasure I should take measures
against this probable conjunction of stranger and traitor, I admit that,
rather than trust to an inferior or feebler hand the important task of
settling the Highlands, I would be disposed to give my opinion in favour
of the policy of my Lord of Albany, and suffer those savages to carve
each other’s limbs, without giving barons and knights the trouble of
hunting them down.”
“My Lord of Douglas,” said the Prince, who seemed determined to omit no
opportunity to gall his haughty father in law, “does not choose to leave
to us Lowlanders even the poor crumbs of honour which might be gathered
at the expense of the Highland kerne, while he, with his Border
chivalry, reaps the full harvest of victory over the English. But Percy
hath seen men’s backs as well as Douglas; and I have known as great
wonders as that he who goes forth to seek such wool should come back
shorn.”
“A phrase,” said Douglas, “well becoming a prince who speaks of honour
with a wandering harlot’s scrip in his bonnet, by way of favor.”
“Excuse it, my lord,” said Rothsay: “men who have matched unfittingly
become careless in the choice of those whom they love par amours. The
chained dog must snatch at the nearest bone.”
“Rothsay, my unhappy son!” exclaimed the King, “art thou mad? or
wouldst thou draw down on thee the full storm of a king and father’s
displeasure?”
“I am dumb,” returned the Prince, “at your Grace’s command.”
“Well, then, my Lord of Albany,” said the King, “since such is your
advice, and since Scottish blood must flow, how, I pray you, are we to
prevail on these fierce men to refer their quarrel to such a combat as
you propose?”
“That, my liege,” said Albany, “must be the result of more mature
deliberation. But the task will not be difficult. Gold will be needful
to bribe some of the bards and principal counsellors and spokesmen. The
chiefs, moreover, of both these leagues must be made to understand that,
unless they agree to this amicable settlement--”
“Amicable, brother!” said the King, with emphasis.
“Ay, amicable, my liege,” replied his brother, “since it is better the
country were placed in peace, at the expense of losing a score or two of
Highland kernes, than remain at war till as many thousands are destroyed
by sword, fire, famine, and all the extremities of mountain battle.
To return to the purpose: I think that the first party to whom the
accommodation is proposed will snatch at it eagerly; that the other will
be ashamed to reject an offer to rest the cause on the swords of their
bravest men; that the national vanity, and factious hate to each other,
will prevent them from seeing our purpose in adopting such a rule of
decision; and that they will be more eager to cut each other to pieces
than we can be to halloo them on. And now, as our counsels are finished,
so far as I can aid, I will withdraw.”
“Stay yet a moment,” said the prior, “for I also have a grief to
disclose, of a nature so black and horrible, that your Grace’s pious
heart will hardly credit its existence, and I state it mournfully,
because, as certain as that I am an unworthy servant of St. Dominic, it
is the cause of the displeasure of Heaven against this poor country, by
which our victories are turned into defeat, our gladness into mourning,
our councils distracted with disunion, and our country devoured by civil
war.”
“Speak, reverend prior,” said the King; “assuredly, if the cause of
such evils be in me or in my house, I will take instant care to their
removal.”
He uttered these words with a faltering voice, and eagerly waited for
the prior’s reply, in the dread, no doubt, that it might implicate
Rothsay in some new charge of folly or vice. His apprehensions perhaps
deceived him, when he thought he saw the churchman’s eye rest for a
moment on the Prince, before he said, in a solemn tone, “Heresy, my
noble and gracious liege--heresy is among us. She snatches soul after
soul from the congregation, as wolves steal lambs from the sheep fold.”
“There are enough of shepherds to watch the fold,” answered the Duke of
Rothsay. “Here are four convents of regular monks alone around this poor
hamlet of Perth, and all the secular clergy besides. Methinks a town so
well garrisoned should be fit to keep out an enemy.”
“One traitor in a garrison, my lord,” answered the prior, “can do much
to destroy the security of a city which is guarded by legions; and if
that one traitor is, either from levity, or love of novelty, or whatever
other motive, protected and fostered by those who should be most eager
to expel him from the fortress, his opportunities of working mischief
will be incalculably increased.”
“Your words seem to aim at some one in this presence, father prior,”
said the Douglas; “if at me, they do me foul wrong. I am well aware that
the abbot of Aberbrothock hath made some ill advised complaints, that
I suffered not his beeves to become too many for his pastures, or his
stock of grain to burst the girnels of the monastery, while my followers
lacked beef and their horses corn. But bethink you, the pastures and
cornfields which produced that plenty were bestowed by my ancestors
on the house of Aberbrothock, surely not with the purpose that their
descendant should starve in the midst of it; and neither will he, by St.
Bride! But for heresy and false doctrine,” he added, striking his large
hand heavily on the council table, “who is it that dare tax the Douglas?
I would not have poor men burned for silly thoughts; but my hand and
sword are ever ready to maintain the Christian faith.”
“My lord, I doubt it not,” said the prior; “so hath it ever been with
your most noble house. For the abbot’s complaints, they may pass to a
second day. But what we now desire is a commission to some noble lord of
state, joined to others of Holy Church, to support by strength of hand,
if necessary, the inquiries which the reverend official of the bounds,
and other grave prelates, my unworthy self being one, are about to make
into the cause of the new doctrines, which are now deluding the simple,
and depraving the pure and precious faith, approved by the Holy Father
and his reverend predecessors.”
“Let the Earl of Douglas have a royal commission to this effect,” said
Albany; “and let there be no exception whatever from his jurisdiction,
saving the royal person. For my own part, although conscious that I have
neither in act nor thought received or encouraged a doctrine which Holy
Church hath not sanctioned, yet I should blush to claim an immunity
under the blood royal of Scotland, lest I should seem to be seeking
refuge against a crime so horrible.”
“I will have nought to do with it,” said Douglas: “to march against
the English, and the Southron traitor March, is task enough for me.
Moreover, I am a true Scotsman, and will not give way to aught that may
put the Church of Scotland’s head farther into the Roman yoke, or make
the baron’s coronet stoop to the mitre and cowl. Do you, therefore, most
noble Duke of Albany, place your own name in the commission; and I pray
your Grace so to mitigate the zeal of the men of Holy Church who may
be associated with you, that there be no over zealous dealings; for the
smell of a fagot on the Tay would bring back the Douglas from the walls
of York.”
The Duke hastened to give the Earl assurance that the commission should
be exercised with lenity and moderation.
“Without a question,” said King Robert, “the commission must be ample;
and did it consist with the dignity of our crown, we would not ourselves
decline its jurisdiction. But we trust that, while the thunders of
the church are directed against the vile authors of these detestable
heresies, there shall be measures of mildness and compassion taken with
the unfortunate victims of their delusions.”
“Such is ever the course of Holy Church, my lord,” said the prior of St.
Dominic’s.
“Why, then, let the commission be expedited with due care, in name of
our brother Albany, and such others as shall be deemed convenient,” said
the King. “And now once again let us break up our council; and, Rothsay,
come thou with me, and lend me thine arm; I have matter for thy private
ear.”
“Ho, la!” here exclaimed the Prince, in the tone in which he would have
addressed a managed horse.
“What means this rudeness, boy?” said the King; “wilt thou never learn
reason and courtesy?”
“Let me not be thought to offend, my liege,” said the Prince; “but we
are parting without learning what is to be done in the passing strange
adventure of the dead hand, which the Douglas hath so gallantly taken
up. We shall sit but uncomfortably here at Perth, if we are at variance
with the citizens.”
“Leave that to me,” said Albany. “With some little grant of lands and
money, and plenty of fair words, the burghers may be satisfied for this
time; but it were well that the barons and their followers, who are in
attendance on the court, were warned to respect the peace within burgh.”
“Surely, we would have it so,” said the King; “let strict orders be
given accordingly.”
“It is doing the churls but too much grace,” said the Douglas; “but be
it at your Highness’s pleasure. I take leave to retire.”
“Not before you taste a flagon of Gascon wine, my lord?” said the King.
“Pardon,” replied the Earl, “I am not athirst, and I drink not for
fashion, but either for need or for friendship.” So saying, he departed.
The King, as if relieved by his absence, turned to Albany, and said:
“And now, my lord, we should chide this truant Rothsay of ours; yet he
hath served us so well at council, that we must receive his merits as
some atonement for his follies.”
“I am happy to hear it,” answered Albany, with a countenance of pity and
incredulity, as if he knew nothing of the supposed services.
“Nay, brother, you are dull,” said the King, “for I will not think you
envious. Did you not note that Rothsay was the first to suggest the mode
of settling the Highlands, which your experience brought indeed into
better shape, and which was generally approved of; and even now we had
broken up, leaving a main matter unconsidered, but that he put us in
mind of the affray with the citizens?”
“I nothing doubt, my liege,” said the Duke of Albany, with the
acquiescence which he saw was expected, “that my royal nephew will soon
emulate his father’s wisdom.”
“Or,” said the Duke of Rothsay, “I may find it easier to borrow
from another member of my family that happy and comfortable cloak of
hypocrisy which covers all vices, and then it signifies little whether
they exist or not.”
“My lord prior,” said the Duke, addressing the Dominican, “we will for a
moment pray your reverence’s absence. The King and I have that to say to
the Prince which must have no further audience, not even yours.”
The Dominican bowed and withdrew.
When the two royal brothers and the Prince were left together, the King
seemed in the highest degree embarrassed and distressed, Albany sullen
and thoughtful, while Rothsay himself endeavoured to cover some anxiety
under his usual appearance of levity. There was a silence of a minute.
At length Albany spoke.
“Royal brother,” he said, “my princely nephew entertains with so much
suspicion any admonition coming from my mouth, that I must pray your
Grace yourself to take the trouble of telling him what it is most
fitting he should know.”
“It must be some unpleasing communication indeed, which my Lord of
Albany cannot wrap up in honied words,” said the Prince.
“Peace with thine effrontery, boy,” answered the King, passionately.
“You asked but now of the quarrel with the citizens. Who caused that
quarrel, David? What men were those who scaled the window of a peaceful
citizen and liege man, alarmed the night with torch and outcry, and
subjected our subjects to danger and affright?”
“More fear than danger, I fancy,” answered the Prince; “but how can I of
all men tell who made this nocturnal disturbance?”
“There was a follower of thine own there,” continued the King--“a man of
Belial, whom I will have brought to condign punishment.”
“I have no follower, to my knowledge, capable of deserving your
Highness’s displeasure,” answered the Prince.
“I will have no evasions, boy. Where wert thou on St. Valentine’s Eve?”
“It is to be hoped that I was serving the good saint, as a man of mould
might,” answered the young man, carelessly.
“Will my royal nephew tell us how his master of the horse was employed
upon that holy eve?” said the Duke of Albany.
“Speak, David; I command thee to speak,” said the King.
“Ramorny was employed in my service, I think that answer may satisfy my
uncle.”
“But it will not satisfy me,” said the angry father. “God knows, I never
coveted man’s blood, but that Ramorny’s head I will have, if law can
give it. He has been the encourager and partaker of all thy numerous
vices and follies. I will take care he shall be so no more. Call
MacLouis, with a guard.”
“Do not injure an innocent man,” interposed the Prince, desirous at
every sacrifice to preserve his favourite from the menaced danger: “I
pledge my word that Ramorny was employed in business of mine, therefore
could not be engaged in this brawl.”
“False equivocator that thou art!” said the King, presenting to the
Prince a ring, “behold the signet of Ramorny, lost in the infamous
affray! It fell into the hands of a follower of the Douglas, and was
given by the Earl to my brother. Speak not for Ramorny, for he dies; and
go thou from my presence, and repent the flagitious counsels which could
make thee stand before me with a falsehood in thy mouth. Oh, shame,
David--shame! as a son thou hast lied to thy father, as a knight to the
head of thy order.”
The Prince stood mute, conscience struck, and self convicted. He then
gave way to the honourable feelings which at bottom he really possessed,
and threw himself at his father’s feet.
“The false knight,” he said, “deserves degradation, the disloyal subject
death; but, oh! let the son crave from the father pardon for the servant
who did not lead him into guilt, but who reluctantly plunged himself
into it at his command. Let me bear the weight of my own folly, but
spare those who have been my tools rather than my accomplices. Remember,
Ramorny was preferred to my service by my sainted mother.”
“Name her not, David, I charge thee,” said the King; “she is happy that
she never saw the child of her love stand before her doubly dishonoured
by guilt and by falsehood.”
“I am indeed unworthy to name her,” said the Prince; “and yet, my dear
father, in her name I must petition for Ramorny’s life.”
“If I might offer my counsel,” said the Duke of Albany, who saw that
a reconciliation would soon take place betwixt the father and son, “I
would advise that Ramorny be dismissed from the Prince’s household and
society, with such further penalty as his imprudence may seem to merit.
The public will be contented with his disgrace, and the matter will be
easily accommodated or stifled, so that his Highness do not attempt to
screen his servant.”
“Wilt thou, for my sake, David,” said the King, with a faltering voice
and the tear in his eye, “dismiss this dangerous man?--for my sake, who
could not refuse thee the heart out of my bosom?”
“It shall be done, my father--done instantly,” the Prince replied; and
seizing the pen, he wrote a hasty dismissal of Ramorny from his service,
and put it into Albany’s hands. “I would I could fulfil all your wishes
as easily, my royal father,” he added, again throwing himself at the
King’s feet, who raised him up and fondly folded him in his arms.
Albany scowled, but was silent; and it was not till after the space of a
minute or two that he said: “This matter being so happily accommodated,
let me ask if your Majesty is pleased to attend the evensong service in
the chapel?”
“Surely,” said the King. “Have I not thanks to pay to God, who has
restored union to my family? You will go with us, brother?”
“So please your Grace to give me leave of absence--no,” said the Duke.
“I must concert with the Douglas and others the manner in which we may
bring these Highland vultures to our lure.”
Albany retired to think over his ambitious projects, while the
father and son attended divine service, to thank God for their happy
reconciliation.