_Carta de Pitancia Centum Librarum._
Robertus Dei gracia Rex Scottorum omnibus probis hominibus tocius terre
sue Salutem. Sciatis nos pro salute anime nostre et pro salute animarum
antecessorum et suocessorum nostrorum Regum Scocie Dedisse Concessisse
et hac presenti Carta nostra confirmasse Deo et Beate Marie virgini et
Religiosis viris Abbati et Conventui de Melross et eorum successoribus
in perpetuum Centum Libras Sterlingorum Annui Redditus singulis annis
percipiendas de firmis nostris Burgi Berwici super. Twedam ad terminos
Pentecostis et Sancti Martini in hyeme pro equali portione vel de nova
Custuma nostra Burgi predicti si firme nostre predicte ad dictam summam
pecunie sufficere non poterunt vel de nova Custuma nostra Burgorum
nostrorum de Edenburg et de Hadington Si firme nostre et Custuma nostra
ville Berwici aliquo casu contingente ad hoc forte non sufficiant. Ita
quod dicta summa pecunie Centum Librarum eis annuatim integre et
absque contradictione aliqua plenarie persolvatur pre cunctis aliis
quibuscunque assignacionibus per nos factis seu faciendis ad inveniendum
in perpetunm singulis diebus cuilibet monacho monasterii predicti
comedenti in Refectorio unum sufficiens ferculum risarum factarum
cum lacte, amigdalarum vel pisarum sive aliorum ciborum consimilis
condicionis inventornm in patria et illud ferculum ferculum Regis
vocabitur in eternum. Et si aliquis monachus ex aliqua causa honesta de
dicto ferculo comedere noluerit vel refici non poterit non minus
attamen sibi de dicto ferculo ministretur et ad portam pro pauperibus
deportetur. Nec volumus quod occasione ferculi nostri predicti prandium
dicti Conventus de quo antiquitus communiter eis deserviri sive
ministrari solebat in aliquo pejoretur seu diminuatur. Volum us insuper
et ordinamus quod Abbas ejusdem monasterii qui pro tempore fuerit de
cousensu saniorum de Conventu specialiter constituat unum monachum
providum et discretum ad recipiendum ordinandum et expendendum totam
summam pecunie memorate pro utilitate conventus secundum votum et
intencionem mentis nostre superius annotatum et ad reddendum fidele
compotum coram Abbate et Maioribus de Conventu singulis annis de pecunia
sic recepta. Et volumus quod dicti religiosi teneantur annuatim in
perpetuum pro predicta donacione nostra ad perpetuam nostri memoriam
vestire quindecim pauperes ad festum Sancti Martini in hieme et eosdem
cibare eodem die liberando eorum cuilibet quatuor ulnas panni grossi
et lati vel sex ulnas panni stricti et eorum cuilibet unum novum par
sotularium de ordine suo. Et si dicti religiosi in premissis vel
aliquo premissorum aliquo anno defecerint volumus quod illud quod
minus perimpletum fuerit dupplicetur diebus magis necessariis per visum
capitalis forestarii nostri de Selkirk, qui pro tempore fuerit. Et quod
dicta dupplicatio fiat ante natale domini proximo sequens festum Sancti
Martini predictum. In cujus rei testimonium presenti Carte nostre
sigillum nostrum precipimus apponi. Testibus venerabilibus in Christo
patribus Willielmo, Johanne, Willielmo et David Sancti Andree,
Glasguensis, Dunkeldensis et Moraviensis ecclesiarum dei gracia
episcopis Bernardo Abbate de Abirbrothock Cancellario, Duncano, Malisio,
et Hugone de Fyf de Strathin et de Ross, Comitibus Waltero Senescallo
Scocie, Jacobo domini de Duglas et Alexandro Fraser Camerario nostro
Socie militibus. Apud Abirbrothock, decimo die Januarij. Anno Regni
nostri vicesimo.]
or of _caritas_, or of boiled almonds, but of an English band coming
against us from Hexham, commanded by Sir John Foster; nor is it of the
screening us from the east wind, but how to escape Lord James Stewart,
who cometh to lay waste and destroy with his heretic soldiers.”
“I thought that purpose had been broken by the feud between Semple and
the Kennedies,” said the Sub-Prior, hastily.
“They have accorded that matter at the expense of the church as usual,”
said the Abbot; “the Earl of Cassilis is to have the teind-sheaves of
his lands, which were given to the house of Crossraguel, and he has
stricken hands with Stewart, who is now called Murray.--_Principes
convenerunt unum adversus Dominum._--There are the letters.”
The Sub-Prior took the letters, which had come by an express messenger
from the Primate of Scotland, who still laboured to uphold the tottering
fabric of the system under which he was at length buried, and,
stepping towards the lamp, read them with an air of deep and settled
attention--the Sacristan and Father Nicholas looked as helplessly at
each other, as the denizens of the poultry-yard when the hawk soars
over it. The Abbot seemed bowed down with the extremity of sorrowful
apprehension, but kept his eye timorously fixed on the Sub-Prior, as if
striving to catch some comfort from the expression of his countenance.
When at length he beheld that, after a second intent perusal of the
letters, he remained still silent and full of thought, he asked him in
an anxious tone, “What is to be done?”
“Our duty must be done,” answered the Sub-Prior, “and the rest is in the
hands of God.”
“Our duty--our duty?” answered the Abbot, impatiently; “doubtless we are
to do our duty; but what is that duty? or how will it serve us?--Will
bell, book, and candle, drive back the English heretics? or will Murray
care for psalms and antiphonars? or can I fight for the Halidome, like
Judas Maccabeus, against those profane Nicanors? or send the Sacristan
against this new Holofernes, to bring back his head in a basket?”
“True, my Lord Abbot,” said the Sub-Prior, “we cannot fight with carnal
weapons, it is alike contrary to our habit and vow; but we can die for
our Convent and for our Order. Besides, we can arm those who will and
can fight. The English are but few in number, trusting, as it would
seem, that they will be joined by Murray, whose march has been
interrupted. If Foster, with his Cumberland and Hexham bandits, ventures
to march into Scotland, to pillage and despoil our House, we will levy
our vassals, and, I trust, shall be found strong enough to give him
battle.”
“In the blessed name of Our Lady,” said the Abbot, “think you that I am
Petrus Eremita, to go forth the leader of an host?”
“Nay,” said the Sub-Prior, “let some man skilled in war lead our
people--there is Julian Avenel, an approved soldier.”
“But a scoffer, a debauched person, and, in brief, a man of Belial,”
quoth the Abbot.
“Still,” said the monk, “we must use his ministry in that to which he
has been brought up. We can guerdon him richly, and indeed I already
know the price of his service. The English, it is expected, will
presently set forth, hoping here to seize upon Piercie Shafton, whose
refuge being taken with us, they make the pretext of this unheard-of
inroad.”
“Is it even so?” said the Abbot; “I never judged that his body of satin
and his brain of feathers boded us much good.”
“Yet we must have his assistance, if possible,” said the Sub-Prior; “he
may interest in our behalf the great Piercie, of whose friendship he
boasts, and that good and faithful Lord may break Foster's purpose. I
will despatch the jackman after him with all speed.--Chiefly, however, I
trust to the military spirit of the land, which will not suffer peace to
be easily broken on the frontier. Credit me, my lord, it will bring
to our side the hands of many, whose hearts may have gone astray after
strange doctrines. The great chiefs and barons will be ashamed to let
the vassals of peaceful monks fight unaided against the old enemies of
Scotland.”
“It may be,” said the Abbot, “that Foster will wait for Murray, whose
purpose hitherward is but delayed for a short space.”
“By the rood, he will not,” said the Sub-Prior; “we know this Sir John
Foster--a pestilent heretic, he will long to destroy the church--born a
Borderer, he will thirst to plunder her of her wealth--a Border-warden,
he will be eager to ride in Scotland. There are too many causes to urge
him on. If he joins with Murray, he will have at best but an auxiliary's
share of the spoil--if he comes hither before him, he will reckon on the
whole harvest of depredation as his own. Julian Avenel also has, as I
have heard, some spite against Sir John Foster; they will fight,
when they meet, with double determination.--Sacristan, send for our
bailiff.--Where is the roll of fencible men liable to do suit and
service to the Halidome?--Send off to the Baron of Meigallot; he
can raise threescore horse and better--Say to him the Monastery will
compound with him for the customs of his bridge, which have been in
controversy, if he will show himself a friend at such a point.--And now,
my lord, let us compute our possible numbers, and those of the enemy,
that human blood be not spilled in vain--Let us therefore calculate----”
“My brain is dizzied with the emergency,” said the poor Abbot--“I am
not, I think, more a coward than others, so far as my own person is
concerned; but speak to me of marching and collecting soldiers, and
calculating forces, and you may as well tell of it to the youngest
novice of a nunnery. But my resolution is taken.--Brethren,” he said,
rising up, and coming forward with that dignity which his comely person
enabled him to assume, “hear for the last time the voice of your Abbot
Boniface. I have done for you the best that I could; in quieter times
I had perhaps done better, for it was for quiet that I sought the
cloister, which has been to me a place of turmoil, as much as if I had
sate in the receipt of custom, or ridden forth as leader of an armed
host. But now matters turn worse and worse, and I, as I grow old, am
less able to struggle with them. Also, it becomes me not to hold a
place, whereof the duties, through my default or misfortune, may be but
imperfectly filled by me. Wherefore I have resolved to demit this mine
high office, so that the order of these matters may presently devolve
upon Father Eustatius here present, our well-beloved Sub-Prior; and
I now rejoice that he hath not been provided according to his merits
elsewhere, seeing that I well hope he will succeed to the mitre and
staff which it is my present purpose to lay down.”
“In the name of Our Lady, do nothing hastily, my lord!” said Father
Nicholas--“I do remember that when the worthy Abbot Ingelram, being in
his ninetieth year--for I warrant you he could remember when Benedict
the Thirteenth was deposed--and being ill at ease and bed-rid, the
brethren rounded in his ear that he were better resign his office. And
what said he, being a pleasant man? marry, that while he could crook his
little finger he would keep hold of the crosier with it.”
The Sacristan also strongly remonstrated against the resolution of
his Superior, and set down the insufficiency he pleaded to the native
modesty of his disposition. The Abbot listened in downcast silence; even
flattery could not win his ear.
Father Eustace took a nobler tone with his disconcerted and dejected
Superior. “My Lord Abbot,” he said, “if I have been silent concerning
the virtues with which you have governed this house, do not think that I
am unaware of them. I know that no man ever brought to your high office
a more sincere wish to do well to all mankind; and if your rule has
not been marked with the bold lines which sometimes distinguished your
spiritual predecessors, their faults have equally been strangers to your
character.”
“I did not believe,” said the Abbot, turning his looks to Father Eustace
with some surprise, “that you, father, of all men, would have done me
this justice.”
“In your absence,” said the Sub-Prior, “I have even done it more
fully. Do not lose the good opinion which all men entertain of you, by
renouncing your office when your care is most needed.”
“But, my brother,” said the Abbot, “I leave a more able in my place.”
“That you do not,” said Eustace; “because it is not necessary you should
resign, in order to possess the use of whatever experience or talent I
may be accounted master of. I have been long enough in this profession
to know that the individual qualities which any of us may have, are not
his own, but the property of the Community, and only so far useful when
they promote the general advantage. If you care not in person, my lord,
to deal with this troublesome matter, let me implore you to go instantly
to Edinburgh, and make what friends you can in our behalf, while I in
your absence will, as Sub-Prior, do my duty in defence of the Halidome.
If I succeed, may the honour and praise be yours, and if I fail, let the
disgrace and shame be mine own.”
The Abbot mused for a space, and then replied,--“No, Father Eustatius,
you shall not conquer me by your generosity. In times like these, this
house must have a stronger pilotage than my weak hands afford; and he
who steers the vessel must be chief of the crew. Shame were it to accept
the praise of other men's labours; and, in my poor mind, all the praise
which can be bestowed on him who undertakes a task so perilous and
perplexing, is a meed beneath his merits. Misfortune to him would
deprive him of an iota of it! Assume, therefore, your authority
to-night, and proceed in the preparations you judge necessary. Let the
Chapter be summoned to-morrow after we have heard mass, and all shall be
ordered as I have told you. Benedicite, my brethren!--peace be with you!
May the new Abbot-expectant sleep as sound as he who is about to resign
his mitre.”
They retired, affected even to tears. The good Abbot had shown a point
of his character to which they were strangers. Even Father Eustace
had held his spiritual Superior hitherto as a good-humoured, indolent,
self-indulgent man, whose chief merit was the absence of gross faults;
so that this sacrifice of power to a sense of duty, even if a little
alloyed by the meaner motives of fear and apprehended difficulties,
raised him considerably in the Sub-Prior's estimation. He even felt an
aversion to profit by the resignation of the Abbot Boniface, and in a
manner to rise on his ruins; but this sentiment did not long contend
with those which led him to recollect higher considerations. It could
not be denied that Boniface was entirely unfit for his situation in the
present crisis; and the Sub-Prior felt that he himself, acting merely
as a delegate, could not well take the decisive measures which the time
required; the weal of the Community therefore demanded his elevation.
If, besides, there crept in a feeling of a high dignity obtained, and
the native exultation of a haughty spirit called to contend with
the imminent dangers attached to a post of such distinction, these
sentiments were so cunningly blended and amalgamated with others of
a more disinterested nature, that, as the Sub-Prior himself was
unconscious of their agency, we, who have a regard for him, are not
solicitous to detect it.
The Abbot elect carried himself with more dignity than formerly, when
giving such directions as the pressing circumstances of the times
required; and those who approached him could perceive an unusual
kindling of his falcon eye, and an unusual flush upon his pale and
faded cheek. With briefness and precision he wrote and dictated various
letters to different barons, acquainting them with the meditated
invasion of the Halidome by the English, and conjuring them to lend aid
and assistance as in a common cause. The temptation of advantage was
held out to those whom he judged less sensible of the cause of honour,
and all were urged by the motives of patriotism and ancient animosity to
the English. The time had been when no such exhortations would have been
necessary. But so essential was Elizabeth's aid to the reformed party
in Scotland, and so strong was that party almost every where, that
there was reason to believe a great many would observe neutrality on the
present occasion, even if they did not go the length of uniting with the
English against the Catholics.
When Father Eustace considered the number of the immediate vassals of
the church whose aid he might legally command, his heart sunk at the
thoughts of ranking them under the banner of the fierce and profligate
Julian Avenel.
“Were the young enthusiast Halbert Glendinning to be found,” thought
Father Eustace in his anxiety, “I would have risked the battle under his
leading, young as he is, and with better hope of God's blessing. But the
bailiff is now too infirm, nor know I a chief of name whom I might trust
in this important matter better than this Avenel.”--He touched a bell
which stood on the table, and commanded Christie of the Clinthill to be
brought before him.--“Thou owest me a life,” said he to that person on
his entrance, “and I may do thee another good turn if thou be'st sincere
with me.”
Christie had already drained two standing-cups of wine, which would, on
another occasion, have added to the insolence of his familiarity. But at
present there was something in the augmented dignity of manner of Father
Eustace, which imposed a restraint on him. Yet his answers partook of
his usual character of undaunted assurance. He professed himself willing
to return a true answer to all inquiries.
“Has the Baron (so styled) of Avenel any friendship with Sir John
Foster, Warden of the West Marches of England?”
“Such friendship as is between the wild-cat and the terrier,” replied
the rider.
“Will he do battle with him should they meet?”
“As surely,” answered Christie, “as ever cock fought on
Shrovetide-even.”
“And would he fight with Foster in the Church's quarrel?”
“On any quarrel, or upon no quarrel whatever,” replied the jackman.
“We will then write to him, letting him know, that if upon occasion of
an apprehended incursion by Sir John Foster, he will join his force with
ours, he shall lead our men, and be gratified for doing so to the extent
of his wish.--Yet one word more--Thou didst say thou couldst find out
where the English knight Piercie Shafton has this day fled to?”
“That I can, and bring him back too, by fair means or force, as best
likes your reverence.”
“No force must be used upon him. Within what time wilt thou find him
out?”
“Within thirty hours, so he have not crossed the Lothian firth--If it
is to do you a pleasure, I will set off directly, and wind him as a
sleuth-dog tracks the moss-trooper,” answered Christie.
“Bring him hither then, and thou wilt deserve good at our hands, which I
may soon have free means of bestowing on thee.”
“Thanks to your reverence, I put myself in your reverence's hands. We of
the spear and snaffle walk something recklessly through life; but if a
man were worse than he is, your reverence knows he must live, and that's
not to be done without shifting, I trow.”
“Peace, sir, and begone on thine errand--thou shalt have a letter from
us to Sir Piercie.”
Christie made two steps towards the door; then turning back and
hesitating, like one who would make an impertinent pleasantry if he
dared, he asked what he was to do with the wench Mysie Happer whom the
Southron knight had carried off with him.
“Am I to bring her hither, please your reverence?”
“Hither, you malapert knave?” said the churchman; “remember you to whom
you speak?”
“No offence meant,” replied Christie; “but if such is not your will, I
would carry her to Avenel Castle, where a well-favoured wench was never
unwelcome.
“Bring the unfortunate girl to her father's and break no scurril jests
here,” said the Sub-Prior--“See that thou guide her in all safety and
honour.”
“In safety, surely,” said the rider, “and in such honour as her outbreak
has left her.--I bid your reverence farewell, I must be on horse before
cock-crow.”
“What, in the dark!--how knowest thou which way to go?”
“I tracked the knight's horse-tread as far as near to the ford, as we
rode along together,” said Christie, “and I observed the track turn
to the north-ward. He is for Edinburgh, I will warrant you--so soon
as daylight comes I will be on the road again. It is a kenspeckle
hoof-mark, for the shoe was made by old Eckie of Cannobie--I would swear
to the curve of the caulker.” So saying, he departed.
“Hateful necessity,” said Father Eustace, looking after him, “that
obliges us to use such implements as these! But assailed as we are
on all sides, and by all conditions of men, what alternative is left
us?--But now let me to my most needful task.”
The Abbot elect accordingly sate down to write letters, arrange orders,
and take upon him the whole charge of an institution which tottered to
its fall, with the same spirit of proud and devoted fortitude wherewith
the commander of a fortress, reduced nearly to the last extremity,
calculates what means remain to him to protract the fatal hour of
successful storm. In the meanwhile Abbot Boniface, having given a few
natural sighs to the downfall of the pre-eminence he had so long enjoyed
amongst his brethren, fell fast asleep, leaving the whole cares and
toils of office to his assistant and [Chapter ending is missing in the
original]
Chapter the Thirty-Fifth.
And when he came to broken briggs,
He slacked his bow and swam;
And when he came to grass growing,
Set down his feet and ran.
GIL MORRICE.
We return to Halbert Glendinning, who, as our readers may remember, took
the high road to Edinburgh. His intercourse with the preacher, Henry
Warden, from whom he received a letter at the moment of his deliverance,
had been so brief, that he had not even learned the name of the nobleman
to whose care he was recommended. Something like a name had been spoken
indeed, but he had only comprehended that he was to meet the chief
advancing towards the south, at the head of a party of horse. When day
dawned on his journey he was in the same uncertainty. A better scholar
would have been informed by the address of the letter, but Halbert
had not so far profited by Father Eustace's lessons as to be able
to decipher it. His mother-wit taught him that he must not, in such
uncertain times, be too hasty in asking information of any one; and
when, after a long day's journey, night surprised him near a little
village, he began to be dubious and anxious concerning the issue of his
journey.
In a poor country, hospitality is generally exercised freely, and
Halbert, when he requested a night's quarters, did nothing either
degrading or extraordinary. The old woman, to whom he made this request,
granted it the more readily, that she thought she saw some resemblance
between Halbert and her son Saunders, who had been killed in one of
the frays so common in the time. It is true, Saunders was a short
square-made fellow, with red hair and a freckled face, and somewhat
bandy-legged, whereas the stranger was of a brown complexion, tall,
and remarkably well-made. Nevertheless, the widow was clear that there
existed a general resemblance betwixt her guest and Saunders, and kindly
pressed him to share of her evening cheer. A pedlar, a man of about
forty years old, was also her guest, who talked with great feeling of
the misery of pursuing such a profession as his in the time of war and
tumult.
“We think much of knights and soldiers,” said he; “but the pedder-coffe
who travels the land has need of more courage than them all. I am sure
he maun face mair risk, God help him. Here have I come this length,
trusting the godly Earl of Murray would be on his march to the Borders,
for he was to have guestened with the Baron of Avenel; and instead of
that comes news that he has gone westlandways about some tuilzie in
Ayrshire. And what to do I wot not; for if I go to the south without a
safeguard, the next bonny rider I meet might ease me of sack and pack,
and maybe of my life to boot; and then, if I try to strike across the
moors, I may be as ill off before I can join myself to that good Lord's
company.”
No one was quicker at catching a hint than Halbert Glendinning. He said
he himself had a desire to go westward. The pedlar looked at him with
a very doubtful air, when the old dame, who perhaps thought her young
guest resembled the umquhile Saunders, not only in his looks, but in a
certain pretty turn to sleight-of-hand, which the defunct was supposed
to have possessed, tipped him the wink, and assured the pedlar he need
have no doubt that her young cousin was a true man.
“Cousin!” said the pedlar, “I thought you said this youth had been a
stranger.”
“Ill hearing makes ill rehearsing,” said the landlady; “he is a stranger
to me by eye-sight, but that does not make him a stranger to me by
blood, more especially seeing his likeness to my son Saunders, poor
bairn.”
The pedlar's scruples and jealousies being thus removed, or at least
silenced, the travellers agreed that they would proceed in company
together the next morning by daybreak, the pedlar acting as a guide to
Glendinning, and the youth as a guard to the pedlar, until they should
fall in with Murray's detachment of horse. It would appear that the
lady never doubted what was to be the event of this compact, for, taking
Glendinning aside, she charged him, “to be moderate with the puir body,
but at all events, not to forget to take a piece of black say, to make
the auld wife a new rokelay.” Halbert laughed and took his leave.
It did not a little appal the pedlar, when, in the midst of a black
heath, the young man told him the nature of the commission with which
their hostess had charged him. He took heart, however, upon seeing
the open, frank, and friendly demeanor of the youth, and vented his
exclamations on the ungrateful old traitress. “I gave her,” he said,
“yesterday-e'en nae farther gane, a yard of that very black say, to make
her a couvre-chef; but I see it is ill done to teach the cat the way to
the kirn.”
Thus set at ease on the intentions of his companion (for in those happy
days the worst was always to be expected from a stranger), the pedlar
acted as Halbert's guide over moss and moor, over hill and many a
dale, in such a direction as might best lead them towards the route of
Murray's party. At length they arrived upon the side of an eminence,
which commanded a distant prospect over a tract of savage and desolate
moorland, marshy and waste--an alternate change of shingly hill and
level morass, only varied by blue stagnant pools of water. A road
scarcely marked winded like a serpent through the wilderness, and the
pedlar, pointing to it, said--“The road from Edinburgh to Glasgow. Here
we must wait, and if Murray and his train be not already passed by, we
shall soon see trace of them, unless some new purpose shall have altered
their resolution; for in these blessed days no man, were he the nearest
the throne, as the Earl of Murray may be, knows when he lays his head on
his pillow at night where it is to lie upon the following even.”
They paused accordingly and sat down, the pedlar cautiously using for a
seat the box which contained his treasures, and not concealing from his
companion that he wore under his cloak a pistolet hanging at his belt in
case of need. He was courteous, however, and offered Halbert a share of
the provisions which he carried about him for refreshment. They were of
the coarsest kind--oat-bread baked in cakes, oatmeal slaked with cold
water, an onion or two, and a morsel of smoked ham completed the feast.
But such as it was, no Scotsman of the time, had his rank been much
higher than that of Glendinning, would have refused to share in it,
especially as the pedlar produced, with a mysterious air, a tup's horn,
which he carried slung from his shoulders, and which, when its contents
were examined, produced to each party a clam-shell-full of excellent
usquebaugh--a liquor strange to Halbert, for the strong waters known in
the south of Scotland came from France, and in fact such were but rarely
used. The pedlar recommended it as excellent, said he had procured it in
his last visit to the braes of Doune, where he had securely traded under
the safe-conduct of the Laird of Buchanan. He also set an example
to Halbert, by devoutly emptying the cup “to the speedy downfall of
Anti-Christ.”
Their conviviality was scarce ended, ere a rising dust was seen on the
road of which they commanded the prospect, and half a score of horsemen
were dimly descried advancing at considerable speed, their casques
glancing, and the points of their spears twinkling as they caught a
glimpse of the sun.
“These,” said the pedlar, “must be the out-scourers of Murray's party;
let us lie down in the peat-hag, and keep ourselves out of sight.”
“And why so?” said Halbert; “let us rather go down and make a signal to
them.”
“God forbid!” replied the pedlar; “do you ken so ill the customs of our
Scottish nation? That plump of spears that are spurring on so fast are
doubtless commanded by some wild kinsman of Morton, or some such daring
fear-nothing as neither regards God nor man. It is their business, if
they meet with any enemies, to pick quarrels and clear the way of them;
and the chief knows nothing of what happens, coming up with his more
discreet and moderate friends, it may be a full mile in the rear. Were
we to go near these lads of the laird's belt, your letter would do you
little good, and my pack would do me muckle black ill; they would tirl
every steek of claithes from our back, fling us into a moss-hag with a
stone at our heels, naked as the hour that brought us into this cumbered
and sinful world, and neither Murray nor any other man ever the wiser.
But if he did come to ken of it, what might he help it?--it would be
accounted a mere mistake, and there were all the moan made. O credit
me, youth, that when men draw cold steel on each other in their native
country, they neither can nor may dwell deeply on the offences of those
whose swords are useful to them.”
They suffered, therefore, the vanguard, as it might be termed, of the
Earl of Murray's host to pass forward; and it was not long until a
denser cloud of dust began to arise to the northward.
“Now,” said the pedlar, “let us hurry down the hill; for to tell the
truth,” said he, dragging Halbert along earnestly, “a Scottish noble's
march is like a serpent--the head is furnished with fangs, and the tail
hath its sting; the only harmless point of access is the main body.”
“I will hasten as fast as you,” said the youth; “but tell me why the
rearward of such an army should be as dangerous as the van?”
“Because, as the vanguard consists of their picked wild desperates,
resolute for mischief, such as neither fear God nor regard their
fellow-creatures, but understand themselves bound to hurry from the road
whatever is displeasing to themselves, so the rear-guard consists of
misproud serving-men, who, being in charge of the baggage, take care to
amend by their exactions upon travelling-merchants and others, their own
thefts on their master's property. You will hear the advanced _enfans
perdus_, as the French call them, and so they are indeed, namely,
children of the fall, singing unclean and fulsome ballads of sin and
harlotrie. And then will come on the middle-ward, when you will hear the
canticles and psalms sung by the reforming nobles, and the gentry, and
honest and pious clergy, by whom they are accompanied. And last of all,
you will find in the rear a legend of godless lackies, palfreniers, and
horse-boys, talking of nothing but dicing, drinking, and drabbing.”
As the pedlar spoke, they had reached the side of the high-road, and
Murray's main body was in sight, consisting of about three hundred
horse, marching with great regularity, and in a closely compacted body.
Some of the troopers wore the liveries of their masters, but this
was not common. Most of them were dressed in such colours as chance
dictated. But the majority, being clad in blue cloth, and the whole
armed with cuirass and back-plate, with sleeves of mail, gauntlets,
and poldroons, and either mailed hose or strong jack-boots, they had
something of a uniform appearance.
Many of the leaders were clad in complete armour, and all in a certain
half-military dress, which no man of quality in those disturbed times
ever felt himself sufficiently safe to abandon.
The foremost of this party immediately rode up to the pedlar and to
Halbert Glendinning, and demanded of them who they were. The pedlar told
his story, the young Glendinning exhibited his letter, which a gentleman
carried to Murray. In an instant after, the word “Halt!” was given
through the squadron, and at once the onward heavy tramp, which seemed
the most distinctive attribute of the body, ceased, and was heard no
more. The command was announced that the troop should halt here for an
hour to refresh themselves and their horses. The pedlar was assured of
safe protection, and accommodated with the use of a baggage horse.
But at the same time he was ordered into the rear; a command which he
reluctantly obeyed, and not without wringing pathetically the hand of
Halbert as he separated from him.
The young heir of Glendearg was in the meanwhile conducted to a plot of
ground more raised, and therefore drier than the rest of the moor. Here
a carpet was flung on the ground by way of table-cloth, and around it
sat the leaders of the party, partaking of an entertainment as coarse,
with relation to their rank, as that which Glendinning had so lately
shared. Murray himself rose as he came forward, and advanced a step to
meet him.
This celebrated person had in his appearance, as well as in his mind,
much of the admirable qualities of James V. his father. Had not the
stain of illegitimacy rested upon his birth, he would have filled the
Scottish throne with as much honour as any of the Stewart race. But
History, while she acknowledges his high talents, and much that was
princely, nay, royal, in his conduct, cannot forget that ambition led
him farther than honour or loyalty warranted. Brave amongst the bravest,
fair in presence and in favour, skilful to manage the most intricate
affairs, to attach to himself those who were doubtful, to stun and
overwhelm, by the suddenness and intrepidity of his enterprises, those
who were resolute in resistance, he attained, and as to personal merit
certainly deserved, the highest place in the kingdom. But he abused,
under the influence of strong temptation, the opportunities which his
sister Mary's misfortunes and imprudence threw in his way; he supplanted
his sovereign and benefactress in her power, and his history affords
us one of those mixed characters, in which principle was so often
sacrificed to policy, that we must condemn the statesman while we pity
and regret the individual. Many events in his life gave likelihood to
the charge that he himself aimed at the crown; and it is too true, that
he countenanced the fatal expedient of establishing an English, that is
a foreign and a hostile interest, in the councils of Scotland. But his
death may be received as an atonement for his offences, and may serve
to show how much more safe is the person of a real patriot, than that of
the mere head of a faction, who is accounted answerable for the offences
of his meanest attendants.
When Murray approached, the young rustic was naturally abashed at the
dignity of his presence. The commanding form and the countenance to
which high and important thoughts were familiar, the features which bore
the resemblance of Scotland's long line of kings, were well calculated
to impress awe and reverence. His dress had little to distinguish
him from the high-born nobles and barons by whom he was attended. A
buff-coat, richly embroidered with silken lace, supplied the place of
armour; and a massive gold chain, with its medal, hung round his neck.
His black velvet bonnet was decorated with a string of large and fair
pearls, and with a small tufted feather; a long heavy sword was girt to
his side, as the familiar companion of his hand. He wore gilded spurs on
his boots, and these completed his equipment.
“This letter,” he said, “is from the godly preacher of the word, Henry
Warden, young man? is it not so?” Halbert answered in the affirmative.
“And he writes to us, it would seem, in some strait, and refers us to
you for the circumstances. Let us know, I pray you, how things stand
with him.”
In some perturbation Halbert Glendinning gave an account of the
circumstances which had accompanied the preacher's imprisonment. When
he came to the discussion of the _handfasting_ engagement, he was struck
with the ominous and displeased expression of Murray's brows, and,
contrary to all prudential and politic rule, seeing something was wrong,
yet not well aware what that something was, had almost stopped short in
his narrative.
“What ails the fool?” said the Earl, drawing his dark-red eyebrows
together, while the same dusky glow kindled on his brow--“Hast thou not
learned to tell a true tale without stammering?”
“So please you,” answered Halbert, with considerable address, “I have
never before spoken in such a presence.”
“He seems a modest youth,” said Murray, turning to his next attendant,
“and yet one who in a good cause will neither fear friend nor
foe.--Speak on, friend, and speak freely.”
Halbert then gave an account of the quarrel betwixt Julian Avenel
and the preacher, which the Earl, biting his lip the while, compelled
himself to listen to as a thing of indifference. At first he appeared
even to take the part of the Baron.
“Henry Warden,” he said, “is too hot in his zeal. The law both of God
and man maketh allowance for certain alliances, though not strictly
formal, and the issue of such may succeed.”
This general declaration he expressed, accompanying it with a glance
around upon the few followers who were present at this interview. The
most of them answered--“There is no contravening that;” but one or
two looked on the ground, and were silent. Murray then turned again to
Glendinning, commanding him to say what next chanced, and not to omit
any particular. When he mentioned the manner in which Julian had cast
from him his concubine, Murray drew a deep breath, set his teeth hard,
and laid his hand on the hilt of his dagger. Casting his eyes once more
around the circle, which was now augmented by one or two of the reformed
preachers, he seemed to devour his rage in silence, and again commanded
Halbert to proceed. When he came to describe how Warden had been dragged
to a dungeon, the Earl seemed to have found the point at which he might
give vent to his own resentment, secure of the sympathy and approbation
of all who were present. “Judge you,” he said, looking to those around
him, “judge you, my peers, and noble gentlemen of Scotland, betwixt me
and this Julian Avenel--he hath broken his own word, and hath violated
my safe-conduct--and judge you also, my reverend brethren, he hath put
his hand forth upon a preacher of the gospel, and perchance may sell his
blood to the worshippers of Anti-Christ!”
“Let him die the death of a traitor,” said the secular chiefs, “and let
his tongue be struck through with the hangman's fiery iron to avenge his
perjury!”
“Let him go down to his place with Baal's priests,” said the preachers,
“and be his ashes cast into Tophet!”
Murray heard them with the smile of expected revenge; yet it is probable
that the brutal treatment of the female, whose circumstances somewhat
resembled those of the Earl's own mother, had its share in the grim
smile which curled his sun-burnt cheek and its haughty lip. To Halbert
Glendinning, when his narrative was finished, he spoke with great
kindness.
“He is a bold and gallant youth,” said he to those around, “and formed
of the stuff which becomes a bustling time. There are periods when men's
spirits shine bravely through them. I will know something more of him.”
He questioned him more particularly concerning the Baron of Avenel's
probable forces--the strength of his castle--the dispositions of his
next heir, and this brought necessarily forward the sad history of his
brother's daughter, Mary Avenel, which was told with an embarrassment
that did not escape Murray.
“Ha! Julian Avenel,” he said, “and do you provoke my resentment, when
you have so much more reason to deprecate my justice! I knew Walter
Avenel, a true Scotsman and a good soldier. Our sister, the Queen, must
right his daughter; and were her land restored, she would be a fitting
bride to some brave man who may better merit our favour than the traitor
Julian.”--Then looking at Halbert, he said, “Art thou of gentle blood,
young man?”
Halbert, with a faltering and uncertain voice, began to speak of his
distant pretensions to claim a descent from the ancient Glendonwynes of
Galloway, when Murray interrupted him with a smile.
“Nay--nay--leave pedigrees to bards and heralds. In our days, each,
man is the son of his own deeds. The glorious light of reformation hath
shone alike on prince and peasant; and peasant as well as prince may be
illustrated by fighting in its defence. It is a stirring world, where
all may advance themselves who have stout hearts and strong arms. Tell
me frankly why thou hast left thy father's house.”
Halbert Glendinning made a frank confession of his duel with Piercie
Shafton, and mentioned his supposed death.
“By my hand,” said Murray, “thou art a bold sparrow-hawk, to match thee
so early with such a kite as Piercie Shafton. Queen Elizabeth would give
her glove filled with gold crowns to know that meddling coxcomb to be
under the sod.--Would she not, Morton?”
“Ay, by my word, and esteem her glove a better gift than the crowns,”
replied Morton, “which few Border lads like this fellow will esteem just
valuation.”
“But what shall we do with this young homicide?” said Murray; “what will
our preachers say?”
“Tell them of Moses and of Benaiah,” said Morton; “it is but the smiting
of an Egyptian when all is said out.”
“Let it be so,” said Murray, laughing; “but we will bury the tale,
as the prophet did the body, in the sand. I will take care of this
swankie.--Be near to us, Glendinning, since that is thy name. We retain
thee as a squire of our household. The master of our horse will see thee
fully equipped and armed.”
During the expedition which he was now engaged in, Murray found several
opportunities of putting Glendinning's courage and presence of mind to
the test, and he began to rise so rapidly in his esteem, that those who
knew the Earl considered the youth's fortune as certain. One step only
was wanting to raise him to a still higher degree of confidence and
favour--it was the abjuration of the Popish religion. The ministers who
attended upon Murray and formed his chief support amongst the people,
found an easy convert in Halbert Glendinning, who, from his earliest
days, had never felt much devotion towards the Catholic faith, and who
listened eagerly to more reasonable views of religion. By thus
adopting the faith of his master, he rose higher in his favour, and was
constantly about his person during his prolonged stay in the west of
Scotland, which the intractability of those whom the Earl had to deal
with, protracted from day to day, and week to week.
Chapter the Thirty-Sixth.
Faint the din of battle bray'd
Distant down the hollow wind;
War and terror fled before,
Wounds and death were left behind.
PENROSE.
The autumn of the year was well advanced, when the Earl of Morton, one
morning, rather unexpectedly, entered the antechamber of Murray, in
which Halbert Glendinning was in waiting.
“Call your master, Halbert,” said the Earl; “I have news for him from
Teviotdale; and for you too, Glendinning.--News! news! my Lord of
Murray!” he exclaimed at the door of the Earl's bedroom; “come forth
instantly.” The Earl appeared, and greeted his ally, demanding eagerly
his tidings.
“I have had a sure friend with me from the south,” said Morton; “he has
been at Saint Mary's Monastery, and brings important tidings.” “Of
what complexion?” said Murray, “and can you trust the bearer?” “He is
faithful, on my life,” said Morton; “I wish all around your Lordship may
prove equally so.”
“At what, and whom, do you point?” demanded Murray.
“Here is the Egyptian of trusty Halbert Glendinning, our Southland
Moses, come alive again, and flourishing, gay and bright as ever, in
that Teviotdale Goshen, the Halidome of Kennaquhair.”
“What mean you, my lord?” said Murray.
“Only that your new henchman has put a false tale upon you. Piercie
Shafton is alive and well; by the same token that the gull is thought to
be detained there by love to a miller's daughter, who roamed the country
with him in disguise.”
“Glendinning,” said Murray, bending his brow into his darkest frown,
“thou hast not, I trust, dared to bring me a lie in thy mouth, in order
to win my confidence?”
“My lord,” said Halbert, “I am incapable of a lie. I should choke on one
were my life to require that I pronounced it. I say, that this sword of
my father was through the body--the point came out behind his back--the
hilt pressed upon his breast-bone. And I will plunge it as deep in the
body of any one who shall dare to charge me with falsehood.”
“How, fellow!” said Morton, “wouldst thou beard a nobleman?”
“Be silent, Halbert,” said Murray, “and you, my Lord of Morton, forbear
him. I see truth written on his brow.”
“I wish the inside of the manuscript may correspond with the
superscription,” replied his more suspicious ally. “Look to it, my lord,
you will one day lose your life by too much confidence.”
“And you will lose your friends by being too readily suspicious,”
answered Murray. “Enough of this--let me hear thy tidings.”
“Sir John Foster,” said Morton, “is about to send a party into Scotland
to waste the Halidome.”
“How! without waiting my presence and permission?” said Murray--“he is
mad--will he come as an enemy into the Queen's country?”
“He has Elizabeth's express orders,” answered Morton, “and they are not
to be trifled with. Indeed, his march has been more than once projected
and laid aside during the time we have been here, and has caused much
alarm at Kennaquhair. Boniface, the old Abbot, has resigned, and whom
think you they have chosen in his place?”
“No one surely,” said Murray; “they would presume to hold no election
until the Queen's pleasure and mine were known?”
Morton shrugged his shoulders--“They have chosen the pupil of
old Cardinal Beatoun, that wily determined champion of Rome, the
bosom-friend of our busy Primate of Saint Andrews. Eustace, late the
Sub-Prior of Kennaquhair, is now its Abbot, and, like a second Pope
Julius, is levying men and making musters to fight with Foster if he
comes forward.”
“We must prevent that meeting,” said Murray, hastily; “whichever party
wins the day, it were a fatal encounter for us--Who commands the troop
of the Abbot?”
“Our faithful old friend, Julian Avenel, nothing less,” answered Morton.
“Glendinning,” said Murray, “sound trumpets to horse directly, and let
all who love us get on horseback without delay--Yes, my lord, this were
indeed a fatal dilemma. If we take part with our English friends, the
country will cry shame on us--the very old wives will attack us with
their rocks and spindles--the very stones of the street will rise up
against us--we cannot set our face to such a deed of infamy. And my
sister, whose confidence I already have such difficulty in preserving,
will altogether withdraw it from me. Then, were we to oppose the English
Warden, Elizabeth would call it a protecting of her enemies and what
not, and we should lose her.”
“The she-dragon,” said Morton, “is the best card in our pack; and yet
I would not willingly stand still and see English blades carve Scots
flesh--What say you to loitering by the way, marching far and easy for
fear of spoiling our horses? They might then fight dog fight bull, fight
Abbot fight archer, and no one could blame us for what chanced when we
were not present.”
“All would blame us, James Douglas,” replied Murray; “we should lose
both sides--we had better advance with the utmost celerity, and do what
we can to keep the peace betwixt them.--I would the nag that brought
Piercie Shafton hither had broken his neck over the highest heuch in
Northumberland!--He is a proper coxcomb to make all this bustle about,
and to occasion perhaps a national war!”
“Had we known in time,” said Douglas, “we might have had him privily
waited upon as he entered the Borders; there are strapping lads enough
would have rid us of him for the lucre of his spur-whang. [Footnote:
_Spur-whang_--Spur-leather.] But to the saddle, James Stewart, since so
the phrase goes. I hear your trumpets. Bound to horse and away--we shall
soon see which nag is best breathed.”
Followed by a train of about three hundred well-mounted men-at-arms,
these two powerful barons directed their course to Dumfries, and from
thence eastward to Teviotdale, marching at a rate which, as Morton had
foretold, soon disabled a good many of their horses, so that when
they approached the scene of expected action, there were not above
two hundred of their train remaining in a body, and of these most were
mounted on steeds which had been sorely jaded.
They had hitherto been amused and agitated by various reports concerning
the advance of the English soldiers, and the degree of resistance which
the Abbot was able to oppose to them. But when they were six or seven
miles from Saint Mary's of Kennaquhair, a gentleman of the country, whom
Murray had summoned to attend him, and on whose intelligence he knew he
could rely, arrived at the head of two or three servants, “bloody with
spurring, fiery red with haste.” According to his report, Sir John
Foster, after several times announcing, and as often delaying, his
intended incursion, had at last been so stung with the news that Piercie
Shafton was openly residing within the Halidome, that he determined to
execute the commands of his mistress, which directed him, at every risk,
to make himself master of the Euphuist's person. The Abbot's unceasing
exertions had collected a body of men almost equal in number to those of
the English Warden, but less practised in arms. They were united under
the command of Julian Avenel, and it was apprehended they would join
battle upon the banks of a small stream which forms the verge of the
Halidome.
“Who knows the place?” said Murray.
“I do, my lord,” answered Glendinning.
“'Tis well,” said the Earl; “take a score of the best-mounted
horse--make what haste thou canst, and announce to them that I am coming
up instantly with a strong power, and will cut to pieces, without mercy,
whichever party strikes the first blow.--Davidson,” said he to the
gentleman who brought the intelligence, “thou shalt be my guide.--Hie
thee on, Glendinning--Say to Foster, I conjure him, as he respects his
mistress's service, that he will leave the matter in my hands. Say to
the Abbot, I will burn the Monastery over his head, if he strikes a
stroke till I come--Tell the dog, Julian Avenel, that he hath already
one deep score to settle with me--I will set his head on the top of the
highest pinnacle of Saint Mary's, if he presume to open another. Make
haste, and spare not the spur for fear of spoiling horse-flesh.”
“Your bidding shall be obeyed, my lord,” said Glendinning; and choosing
those whose horses were in best plight to be his attendants, he went off
as fast as the jaded state of their cavalry permitted. Hill and hollow
vanished from under the feet of the chargers.
They had not ridden half the way, when they met stragglers coming off
from the field, whose appearance announced that the conflict was begun.
Two supported in their arms a third, their elder brother, who was
pierced with an arrow through the body. Halbert, who knew them to belong
to the Halidome, called them by their names, and questioned them of the
state of the affray; but just then, in spite of their efforts to retain
him in the saddle, their brother dropped from the horse, and they
dismounted in haste to receive his last breath. From men thus engaged,
no information was to be obtained. Glendinning, therefore, pushed
on with his little troop, the more anxiously, as he perceived other
stragglers, bearing Saint Andrew's cross upon their caps and corslets,
flying apparently from the field of battle. Most of these, when they
were aware of a body of horsemen approaching on the road, held to the
one hand or the other, at such a distance as precluded coming to speech
of them. Others, whose fear was more intense, kept the onward road,
galloping wildly as fast as their horses could carry them, and when
questioned, only glared without reply on those who spoke to them, and
rode on without drawing bridle. Several of these were also known to
Halbert, who had therefore no doubt, from the circumstances in which
he met them, that the men of the Halidome were defeated. He became now
unspeakably anxious concerning the fate of his brother, who, he could
not doubt, must have been engaged in the affray. He therefore increased
the speed of his horse, so that not above five or six of his followers
could keep up with him. At length he reached a little hill, at the
descent of which, surrounded by a semi-circular sweep of a small stream,
lay the plain which had been the scene of the skirmish.
It was a melancholy spectacle. War and terror, to use the expression
of the poet, had rushed on to the field, and left only wounds and death
behind them. The battle had been stoutly contested, as was almost always
the case with these Border skirmishes, where ancient hatred, and mutual
injuries, made men stubborn in maintaining the cause of their conflict.
Towards the middle of the plain, there lay the bodies of several men who
had fallen in the very act of grappling with the enemy; and there
were seen countenances which still bore the stern expression of
unextinguishable hate and defiance, hands which clasped the hilt of the
broken falchion, or strove in vain to pluck the deadly arrow from the
wound. Some were wounded, and, cowed of the courage they had lately
shown, were begging aid, and craving water, in a tone of melancholy
depression, while others tried to teach the faltering tongue to
pronounce some half-forgotten prayer, which, even when first learned,
they had but half understood. Halbert, uncertain what course he was next
to pursue, rode through the plain to see if, among the dead or wounded,
he could discover any traces of his brother Edward. He experienced no
interruption from the English. A distant cloud of dust announced that
they were still pursuing the scattered fugitives, and he guessed, that
to approach them with his followers, until they were again under some
command, would be to throw away his own life, and that of his men, whom
the victors would instantly confound with the Scots, against whom they
had been successful. He resolved, therefore, to pause until Murray came
up with his forces, to which he was the more readily moved, as he heard
the trumpets of the English Warden sounding the retreat, and recalling
from the pursuit. He drew his men together, and made a stand in an
advantageous spot of ground, which had been occupied by the Scots in the
beginning of the action, and most fiercely disputed while the skirmish
lasted.
While he stood here, Halbert's ear was assailed by the feeble moan of
a woman, which he had not expected to hear amid that scene, until
the retreat of the foes had permitted the relations of the slain to
approach, for the purpose of paying them the last duties. He looked with
anxiety, and at length observed, that by the body of a knignt in bright
armour, whose crest, though soiled and broken, still showed the marks
of rank and birth, there sat a female wrapped in a horseman's cloak, and
holding something pressed against her bosom, which he soon discovered to
be a child. He glanced towards the English. They advanced not, and the
continued and prolonged sound of their trumpets, with the shouts of
the leaders, announced that their powers would not be instantly
re-assembled. He had, therefore, a moment to look after this unfortunate
woman. He gave his horse to a spearman as he dismounted, and,
approaching the unhappy female, asked her, in the most soothing tone he
could assume, whether he could assist her in her distress. The mourner
made him no direct answer; but endeavouring, with a trembling and
unskilful hand, to undo the springs of the visor and gorget, said, in
a tone of impatient grief, “Oh, he would recover instantly could I but
give him air--land and living, life and honour, would I give for the
power of undoing these cruel iron platings that suffocate him!” He that
would soothe sorrow must not argue on the vanity of the most deceitful
hopes. The body lay as that of one whose last draught of vital air had
been drawn, and who must never more have concern with the nether sky.
But Halbert Glendinning failed not to raise the visor and cast loose
the gorget, when, to his great surprise, he recognized the pale face of
Julian Avenel. His last fight was over, the fierce and turbid spirit had
departed in the strife in which it had so long delighted.
“Alas! he is gone,” said Halbert, speaking to the young woman, in whom
he had now no difficulty of knowing the unhappy Catherine.
“Oh, no, no, no!” she reiterated, “do not say so--he is not dead--he is
but in a swoon. I have lain as long in one myself--and then his voice
would arouse me, when he spoke kindly, and said, Catherine, look up
for my sake--And look up, Julian, for mine!” she said, addressing the
senseless corpse; “I know you do but counterfeit to frighten me, but I
am not frightened,” she added, with an hysterical attempt to laugh; and
then instantly changing her tone, entreated him to “speak, were it but
to curse my folly. Oh, the rudest word you ever said to me would now
sound like the dearest you wasted on me before I gave you all. Lift him
up,” she said, “lift him up, for God's sake!--have you no compassion? He
promised to wed me if I bore him a boy, and this child is so like to
its father!--How shall he keep his word, if you do not help me to awaken
him?--Christie of the Clinthill, Rowley, Hutcheon! ye were constant at
his feast, but ye fled from him at the fray, false villains as ye are!”
“Not I, by Heaven!” said a dying man, who made some shift to raise
himself on his elbow, and discovered to Halbert the well-known features
of Christie; “I fled not a foot, and a man can but fight while his
breath lasts--mine is going fast.--So, youngster,” said he, looking at
Glendinning, and seeing his military dress, “thou hast ta'en the basnet
at last? it is a better cap to live in than die in. I would chance had
sent thy brother here instead--there was good in him--but thou art as
wild, and wilt soon be as wicked as myself.”
“God forbid!” said Halbert, hastily.
“Marry, and amen, with all my heart,” said the wounded man, “there will
be company enow without thee where I am going. But God be praised I had
no hand in that wickedness,” said he, looking to poor Catherine; and
with some exclamation in his mouth, that sounded betwixt a prayer and
a curse, the soul of Christie of the Clinthill took wing to the last
account.
Deeply wrapt in the painful interest which these shocking events had
excited, Glendinning forgot for a moment his own situation and duties,
and was first recalled to them by a trampling of horse, and the cry of
Saint George for England, which the English soldiers still continued
to use. His handful of men, for most of the stragglers had waited for
Murray's coming up, remained on horseback, holding their lances upright,
having no command either to submit or resist.
“There stands our Captain,” said one of them, as a strong party of
English came up, the vanguard of Foster's troop.
“Your Captain! with his sword sheathed, and on foot in the presence of
his enemy? a raw soldier, I warrant him,” said the English leader. “So!
ho! young man, is your dream out, and will you now answer me if you will
fight or fly?”
“Neither,” answered Halbert Glendinning, with great tranquillity.
“Then throw down thy sword and yield thee,” answered the Englishman.
“Not till I can help myself no otherwise,” said Halbert, with the same
moderation of tone and manner.
“Art thou for thine own hand, friend, or to whom dost thou owe service?”
demanded the English Captain.
“To the noble Earl of Murray.”
“Then thou servest,” said the Southron, “the most disloyal nobleman who
breathes--false both to England and Scotland.”
“Thou liest,” said Glendinning, regardless of all consequences.
“Ha! art thou so hot how, and wert so cold but a minute since? I lie, do
I? Wilt thou do battle with me on that quarrel?”
“With one to one--one to two--or two to five, as you list,” said Halbert
Glendinning; “grant me but a fair field.”
“That thou shalt have.--Stand back, my mates,” said the brave
Englishman. “If I fall, give him fair play, and let him go off free with
his people.”
“Long life to the noble Captain!” cried the soldiers, as impatient to
see the duel, as if it had been a bull-baiting.
“He will have a short life of it, though,” said the sergeant, “if he,
an old man of sixty, is to fight, for any reason, or for no reason, with
every man he meets, and especially the young fellows he might be father
to.--And here comes the Warden besides to see the sword-play.”
In fact, Sir John Foster came up with a considerable body of his
horsemen, just as his Captain, whose age rendered him unequal to the
combat with so strong and active a youth as Glendinning, was deprived of
his sword.
“Take it up for shame, old Stawarth Bolton,” said the English Warden;
“and thou, young man, tell me who and what thou art?”
“A follower of the Earl of Murray, who bore his will to your honour,”
answered Glendinning,--“but here he comes to say it himself; I see the
van of his horsemen come over the hills.”
“Get into order, my masters,” said Sir John Foster to his followers;
“you that have broken your spears, draw your swords. We are something
unprovided for a second field, but if yonder dark cloud on the hill edge
bring us foul weather, we must bear as bravely as our broken cloaks
will bide it. Meanwhile, Stawarth, we have got the deer we have hunted
for--here is Piercie Shafton hard and fast betwixt two troopers.”
“Who, that lad?” said Bolton; “he is no more Piercie Shafton than I am.
He hath his gay cloak indeed--but Piercie Shafton is a round dozen of
years older than that slip of roguery. I have known him since he was
thus high. Did you never see him in the tilt-yard or in the presence?”
“To the devil with such vanities!” said Sir John Foster; “when had I
leisure for them or any thing else? During my whole life has she kept me
to this hangman's office, chasing thieves one day and traitors another,
in daily fear of my life; the lance never hung up in the hall, the foot
never out of the stirrup, the saddles never off my nags' backs; and
now, because I have been mistaken in the person of a man I never saw,
I warrant me, the next letters from the Privy Council will rate me as I
were a dog--a man were better dead than thus slaved and harassed.”
A trumpet interrupted Foster's complaints, and a Scottish pursuivant who
attended, declared “that the noble Earl of Murray desired, in all honour
and safety, a personal conference with Sir John Foster, midway between
their parties, with six of company in each, and ten free minutes to come
and go.”
“And now,” said the Englishman, “comes another plague. I must go speak
with yonder false Scot, and he knows how to frame his devices, to cast
dust in the eyes of a plain man, as well as ever a knave in the north.
I am no match for him in words, and for hard blows we are but too ill
provided.--Pursuivant, we grant the conference--and you, Sir Swordsman,”
(speaking to young Glendinning,) “draw off with your troopers to your
own party--march--attend your Earl's trumpet.--Stawarth Bolton, put
our troop in order, and be ready to move forward at the wagging of a
finger.--Get you gone to your own friends, I tell you, Sir Squire, and
loiter not here.”
Notwithstanding this peremptory order, Halbert Glendinning could not
help stopping to cast a look upon the unfortunate Catherine, who lay
insensible of the danger and of the trampling of so many horses around
her, insensible, as the second glance assured him, of all and forever.
Glendinning almost rejoiced when he saw that the last misery of life
was over, and that the hoofs of the war-horses, amongst which he was
compelled to leave her, could only injure and deface a senseless
corpse. He caught the infant from her arms, half ashamed of the shout
of laughter which rose on all sides, at seeing an armed man in such a
situation assume such an unwonted and inconvenient burden.
“Shoulder your infant!” cried a harquebusier.
“Port your infant!” said a pikeman.
“Peace, ye brutes,” said Stawarth Bolton, “and respect humanity in
others if you have none yourselves. I pardon the lad having done some
discredit to my gray hairs, when I see him take care of that helpless
creature, which ye would have trampled upon as if ye had been littered
of bitch-wolves, not born of women.”
While this passed, the leaders on either side met in the neutral space
betwixt the forces of either, and the Earl accosted the English Warden:
“Is this fair or honest usage, Sir John, or for whom do you hold the
Earl of Morton and myself, that you ride in Scotland with arrayed
banner, fight, slay, and make prisoners at your own pleasure? Is it well
done, think you, to spoil our land and shed our blood, after the many
proofs we have given to your mistress of our devotion due to her will,
saving always the allegiance due to our own sovereign?”
“My Lord of Murray,” answered Foster, “all the world knows you to be a
man of quick ingine and deep wisdom, and these several weeks you have
held me in hand with promising to arrest my sovereign mistress's rebel,
this Piercie Shafton of Wilverton, and you have never kept your word,
alleging turmoils in the west, and I wot not what other causes of
hinderance. Now, since he has had the insolence to return hither, and
live openly within ten miles of England, I could no longer, in plain
duty to my mistress and queen, tarry upon your successive delays, and
therefore I have used her force to take her rebel, by the strong hand,
wherever I can find him.”
“And is Piercie Shafton in your hands, then?” said the Earl of Murray.
“Be aware that I may not, without my own great shame, suffer you to
remove him hence without doing battle.”
“Will you, Lord Earl, after all the advantages you have received at the
hands of the Queen of England, do battle in the cause of her rebel?”
said Sir John Foster.
“Not so, Sir John,” answered the Earl, “but I will fight to the death in
defence of the liberties of our free kingdom of Scotland.”
“By my faith,” said Sir John Foster, “I am well content--my sword is not
blunted with all it has done yet this day.”
“By my honour, Sir John,” said Sir George Heron of Chipchase, “there is
but little reason we should fight these Scottish Lords e'en now, for I
hold opinion with old Stawarth Bolton, and believe yonder prisoner to be
no more Piercie Shafton than he is the Earl of Northumberland; and you
were but ill advised to break the peace betwixt the countries for a
prisoner of less consequence than that gay mischief-maker.”
“Sir George,” replied Foster, “I have often heard you herons are afraid
of hawks--Nay, lay not hand on sword, man--I did but jest; and for this
prisoner, let him be brought up hither, that we may see who or what
he is--always under assurance, my Lords,” he continued, addressing the
Scots.
“Upon our word and honour,” said Morton, “we will offer no violence.”
The laugh turned against Sir John Foster considerably, when the
prisoner, being brought up, proved not only a different person from Sir
Piercie Shafton, but a female in man's attire.
“Pluck the mantle from the quean's face, and cast her to the
horse-boys,” said Foster; “she has kept such company ere now, I
warrant.”
Even Murray was moved to laughter, no common thing with him, at the
disappointment of the English Warden; but he would not permit any
violence to be offered to the fair Molinara, who had thus a second time
rescued Sir Piercie Shafton at her own personal risk.
“You have already done more mischief than you can well answer,” said the
Earl to the English Warden, “and it were dishonour to me should I permit
you to harm a hair of this young woman's head.”
“My lord,” said Morton, “if Sir John will ride apart with me but for
one moment, I will show him such reasons as shall make him content to
depart, and to refer this unhappy day's work to the judgment of the
Commissioners nominated to try offences on the Border.”
He then led Sir John Foster aside, and spoke to him in this
manner:--“Sir John Foster, I much marvel that a man who knows your Queen
Elizabeth as you do, should not know that, if you hope any thing from
her, it must be for doing her useful service, not for involving her in
quarrels with her neighbours without any advantage. Sir Knight, I will
speak frankly what I know to be true. Had you seized the true Piercie
Shafton by this ill-advised inroad; and had your deed threatened, as
most likely it might, a breach betwixt the countries, your politic
princess and her politic council would rather have disgraced Sir John
Foster than entered into war in his behalf. But now that you have
stricken short of your aim, you may rely on it you will have little
thanks for carrying the matter farther. I will work thus far on the Earl
of Murray, that he will undertake to dismiss Sir Piercie Shafton from
the realm of Scotland.--Be well advised, and let the matter now pass
off--you will gain nothing by farther violence, for if we fight, you as
the fewer and the weaker through your former action, will needs have the
worse.”
Sir John Foster listened with his head declining on his breast-plate.
“It is a cursed chance,” he said, “and I shall have little thanks for my
day's work.”
He then rode up to Murray, and said, that, in deference to his
Lordship's presence and that of my Lord of Morton, he had come to the
resolution of withdrawing himself, with his power, without farther
proceedings.
“Stop there, Sir John Foster,” said Murray; “I cannot permit you
to retire in safety, unless you leave some one who may be surety to
Scotland, that the injuries you have at present done us may be fully
accounted for--you will reflect, that by permitting your retreat, I
become accountable to my Sovereign, who will demand a reckoning of me
for the blood of her subjects, if I suffer those who shed it to depart
so easily.”
“It shall never be told in England,” said the Warden, “that John Foster
gave pledges like a subdued man, and that on the very field on which he
stands victorious.--But,” he added, after a moment's pause, “if Stawarth
Bolton wills to abide with you on his own free choice, I will say
nothing against it; and, as I bethink me, it were better he should stay
to see the dismissal of this same Piercie Shafton.”
“I receive him as your hostage, nevertheless, and shall treat him as
such,” said the Earl of Murray. But Foster, turning away as if to give
directions to Bolton and his men, affected not to hear this observation.
“There rides a faithful servant of his most beautiful and Sovereign
Lady,” said Murray aside to Morton. “Happy man! he knows not whether the
execution of her commands may not cost him his head; and yet he is most
certain that to leave them unexecuted will bring disgrace and death
without reprieve. Happy are they who are not only subjected to the
caprices of Dame Fortune, but held bound to account and be responsible
for them, and that to a sovereign as moody and fickle as her humorous
ladyship herself!”
“We also have a female Sovereign, my lord,” said Morton.
“We have so, Douglas,” said the Earl,--with a suppressed sigh; “but it
remains to be seen how long a female hand can hold the reins of power
in a realm so wild as ours. We will now go on to Saint Mary's, and see
ourselves after the state of that House.--Glendinning, look to that
woman, and protect her.--What the fiend, man, hast thou got in thine
arms?--an infant as I live!--where couldst thou find such a charge, at
such a place and moment?”
Halbert Glendinning briefly told the story. The Earl rode forward to the
place where the body of Julian Avenel lay, with his unhappy companion's
arms wrapped around him like the trunk of an uprooted oak borne down by
the tempest with all its ivy garlands. Both were cold dead. Murray was
touched in an unwonted degree, remembering, perhaps, his own birth.
“What have they to answer for, Douglas,” he said, “who thus abuse the
sweetest gifts of affection?”
The Earl of Morton, unhappy in his marriage, was a libertine in his
amours.
“You must ask that question of Henry Warden, my lord, or of John Knox--I
am but a wild counsellor in women's matters.”
“Forward to Saint Mary's,” said the Earl; “pass the word
on--Glendinning, give the infant to this same female cavalier, and let
it be taken charge of. Let no dishonour be done to the dead bodies,
and call on the country to bury or remove them.--Forward, I say, my
masters!”
Chapter the Thirty-Seventh.
Gone to be married?--Gone to swear a peace!